“My dear madam, you have taken me by surprise!” “Necessary bluntness, Archer.” “Very Oliver Cromwellish, madam, my mother.” “You must excuse it, dear Archer. You did not open the subject to me, therefore, feeling more anxious upon that affair than any other on earth, I am forced to broach it to you. But you have not answered my question yet.” “Dear madam—what—exactly—was it?” “When are you going to marry Catherine?” “Upon my honor, my dear madam, I have no intention of marrying Catherine; nor have I ever given her reason to suppose so.” “Ah! I had thought, or rather, I had hoped otherwise,” said the lady, relapsing into silence, while Major Clifton subsided into painful thought. Again the dark suspicions insinuated by Mrs. Georgia, arose in his mind, to be repressed again with loathing; and he said indignantly to himself—“It is not true! I can never believe her to be an intriguante. Georgia is mistaken—Georgia’s grateful and affectionate interest in my welfare, leads her to unjust suspicions of others. Kate is noble-hearted—Kate is true—is truth itself. It would be misery to believe otherwise.” Mrs. Clifton gently interrupted his silent self-communion, by saying— “Well, Archer, since you have no intention whatever of marrying Catherine yourself, you can have no reasonable ground of objection to her union with another?” He looked up in surprise and anxiety, but soon the startled expression subsided into calmness, and he replied, coolly— “_Catherine’s_ union with another! Oh! the supposition involves an impossibility.” “I know you think so, Archer. I know you feel perfectly secure of this sweet girl, and just as easy about her as if she were secured to you by all the chains that church and state can forge, and that is the reason why you take things so coolly, and listen to your pride. But I tell you that it is not as you think. You are not forever secure of Catherine. Our moods of mind, and our views of things, change with time. And however the maiden may feel or think now, if you hesitate for years between your pride and love, she will naturally arrive at the conclusion that many a generous hearted woman has come to before her, and say to herself, ‘Well, I cannot be happy myself, but my life must not, therefore, be wasted—I can make some one else happy,’ and being scorned by one she loves, give herself away to one who loves her.” Major Clifton started to his feet, with all the dark side of his character uppermost, exclaiming— “Let her attempt it! I would stop such a marriage at the altar! Catherine is mine, or nobody’s. She could not repel my claim.” “Dear Archer, sit down; do not excite yourself or me. Remember, I am in a dying state,” said the lady, as the best means of calming him.