“My dearest mother,” he began, but his voice choked, and to conceal the emotion he could not entirely suppress, he turned to Catherine and gave her a brother’s greeting in silence, but at the same time darting into her eyes a look of stern rebuke from his own, which seemed to say, “You, at least, should have written and informed me of this.” And the suspicions excited by Mrs. Georgia rose darkly in his mind, but were repressed again instantly. “Dearest Archer, I am not usually so ill as I seem to-day. I have never been confined to my bed, or even my chair yet. Only to-day and yesterday, the joy of looking for you has prevented my taking the usual quantity of sleep. I shall be much better to-morrow. Sit down by me and rest, and when you are rested, your room is quite ready for you, if you wish to change your dress before dinner. Catherine, my love, will you go and direct them to serve dinner?” Catherine left the room and gave the necessary commands. Then she ordered a boy to take Major Clifton’s baggage up into his chamber, and went up stairs to show him where to put it. In the meantime, Major Clifton, in looking upon his mother’s wasted form, had lost all self-command, and saying hastily that he thought he would change his traveling dress at once, hurried out of the room to give vent to a passionate sorrow, no longer to be restrained. He ran up stairs, but paused upon the first landing. Catherine, in leaving his room, found him leaning upon the balustrades, with his face buried in his hands, weeping convulsively. To women, there is something really appalling in a man’s tears—we look upon them with more than pity—with awe—with something like the feeling with which Mary and Martha must have witnessed the Saviour’s tears—with deep reverence be it said. Catherine would have crept by and slipped down stairs quietly, for she had a feeling of self-reproach for having even seen that strong outburst of sorrow; but he stood up and seized her hand, and drew her towards him, exclaiming— “Stop, Catherine! You have seen my weakness! Now, tell me why you did not write to me of this? Cruel and selfish girl! were you so intent upon your own projects, that you could not find time to indite a line to let me know that my mother was dying?”