Notwithstanding all her habitual calmness and cheerful patience, Mrs. Clifton began to grow uneasy at her son’s protracted stay. He had been absent a year and a month. And even now, instead of setting out on his return, he only wrote of coming home soon. At one time he was at Vienna, at another at Berlin, then at the Hague, progressing, indeed, but very, very slowly towards England and Liverpool, from which port he intended to embark. Every letter that came from him at this period, was opened and read with visible uneasiness by his mother. At length the glad tidings came, a letter from the mid-ocean, brought by a swift sailing packet-boat that had spoken the vessel in which he had embarked. He was hastening home, and might now be expected at any hour. The news contained in his letter excited the invalid so much upon the evening of its reception, that she passed a sleepless night, and rose the next morning weaker than she had ever been before; so weak, indeed, that she was obliged, in coming down stairs, to lean on the arms of Catherine and her maid for support. And when she reached the parlor, she was compelled to recline in an easy-chair, propped up by pillows, and with her feet supported by a foot-cushion. But her cheerfulness was undiminished. She gave many directions as to the adjustment and adornment of the room, and the preparation of certain dainties. Lastly she called Catherine to her side, and took her hand. Catherine did not appear to the best advantage, with her plain, dark gingham dress, and her chestnut hair divided simply above her forehead, rippling in tiny wavelets around her broad temples, and gathered into a twist behind. This plainness of style did not become her strongly marked features. And the lady saw it, for she gazed thoughtfully upon the girl awhile, and then lifting her hand, disengaged a portion of her tresses from the comb, and let them fall, turning into natural ringlets down her cheeks, saying— “There, Catherine, when hair curls naturally and voluntarily, it is certain that the face it belongs to requires it so, and that it should be permitted to follow its nature, for nature does all things well. Why don’t you always wear your hair so? It is so much prettier.” “Because, dear lady, I never thought it of any importance how my hair was fixed, so that it looked neat. But I will wear it this way, if it pleases you.” “It does. Your face is not a classic one, dear Kate, and none but a classic face can bear that attic simplicity of style. Your countenance is a very noble one, Kate, but its very nobility is hard and stern, without the softening shadow of these ringlets nature has bestowed upon you. There now, look in the mirror, my little Oliver Cromwell, your face is much more womanly than before.”