“Yes, let it be soon; let it be within a week, dear child. My time is short, Kate, and I wish to bless your marriage before I go hence. You know I told you that I could calculate the progress of decay, and the length of life with some accuracy, and I tell you now that my days are numbered.” “Come, Kate, if you cannot speak, give me one of your short, quick nods. Come, this is Saturday—shall we be married to-morrow?—next day?—Tuesday?—Wednesday?—Thursday?” Catherine, whose heart had been filling all this time, now burst into tears. He drew her head upon his shoulder, where she sobbed awhile, until he stooped and whispered, “Dear Catherine, try to calm yourself—do you not see how you excite our mother? there, lift up your head, and go to her; and both of you together arrange all these little matters as mother and daughter should, and she will let me know the result,” and tenderly withdrawing his arm, he passed her round before him, and stood her beside Mrs. Clifton’s easy-chair, and arose and took his hat and left the room, with the same happy, half-contemplative smile upon his lips. Kate sank down by the side of Mrs. Clifton, and dropping her head upon the lady’s lap, wept afresh. The gentle invalid put her hands upon the maiden’s shoulders caressingly, but did not seek to arrest the current of her emotion. It was plain that the girl herself sought to stay her tears, for, between her sobs, she exclaimed— “Forgive—excuse—I know it’s weak, wrong—it is only because—I’m so grateful!” The fit of emotion exhausted itself, and she lifted up her face, wiped her eyes, and said— “Lady—” “Call me mother, Kate.” “Mother! heart’s dearest mother! do you think he mistook me?” “How, Kate?” “I couldn’t speak! Indeed, indeed I could not! But I want you to tell him, _mother_, how grateful I am, and how happy! Tell him, _for I never can_, how much and how long I have loved him. My heart has been single to him ever since I first knew him. I will try to make him a good wife—indeed, indeed I will. And where my weakness or my ignorance fails, I will pray to Heaven daily for more strength and light. Oh! I know what a sacrifice of pride and prejudice he has made for love of me—tell him so, mother, and tell him—” “No, dear Kate, I will not tell him that. He has made no sacrifice. Nonsense. And if he had, you are worth it all, all—his wealth, rank, position, pride and all! Be true to yourself.” “Oh, what am I, that he should indeed prefer me to all the ladies in the great city that he has left; and what can I bring him but my love and my duty—all my love and all my duty!” “And do you undervalue these, Kate? Why, they are the treasures of treasures. And you would judge them so in another’s case. But here you are fond and blind. Now, dearest Kate, I am so anxious to see you the wife of Archer. And I wish to enjoy that pleasure as long as I can—when shall it be?”