He went into his room and refreshed himself with a new toilet. And when he entered the parlor, an hour after, no one would have suspected from his handsome, animated face, the existence of the sorrow that lay subdued at the bottom of his heart. They dined together, and after dinner Catherine thought it best to retire and leave the mother and son alone to enjoy more fully their re-union. When she had left the room— “How pretty and lady-like Catherine is growing, madam,” said Major Clifton, looking after her, but addressing his mother. “Yes,” replied Mrs. Clifton, “lady-like, but not very pretty; Kate will never be pretty; but if she be ‘blessed to her mind,’ she will be more, she will be handsome.” After spending a long afternoon with his mother, Major Clifton took temporary leave, and went over to White Cliffs, to pay his respects to Mrs. Georgia. Most happily for all concerned, Georgia had just left home for a visit of some weeks at Richmond—ignorant, it is to be supposed, of Major Clifton’s arrival. He returned and spent the evening with the ladies at Hardbargain. The next morning found Mrs. Clifton very much better—and in the evening she rode out, accompanied by Major Clifton and Catherine. Mrs. Clifton’s cheerfulness infected all the party—both upon this evening and afterwards. Her decline was so gradual, so painless, that she never took to her bed—but when weakest, sat in the easy-chair in the parlor, often with a little light knitting in her hands, that she would leisurely work upon, or drop into her lap, to be resumed at pleasure, while she conversed with Catherine and Major Clifton, or listened while one of them read, or both sang. There never were more pleasant, serene days, than these of the invalid’s gentle decay. It was genial, pensive autumn; the fall of the leaf without the house, and the fall of the leaf within. Catherine was now the housekeeper. She had—through the increasing weakness of the lady—so gradually slidden into this office, that she scarcely knew at what time its whole burden had accumulated upon her. One morning, while Catherine was in the store-room giving out meal and bacon to the negroes, Mrs. Clifton and Major Clifton occupied the parlor alone. He had been reading to her from Jeremy Taylor, but seeing that she had dropped her knitting, and was sitting back with a look of weariness, he thought it time to desist and close the book. “Dear mother, you are fatigued; will you have anything? What shall I bring you?” “Nothing, my son. I am not wearied more than usual, and it will pass in a few minutes.” The lady was silent for a little while, during which Major Clifton refrained from conversation. And then, after some little thought, she raised her eyes until they met his own and looking at him full in the face, she asked— “When are you going to marry Catherine, Archer?” Major Clifton started violently, and looked at the lady in silent astonishment. “Nay, pray answer me—my question is an earnest one.”