The man obeyed, Carl seated himself, and in person repeated his condolences, and his tenders of service. In reply, Major Clifton took from his pocket the forged note and laid it before him, saying, coldly— “There is the note your sister wrote to you, and sent by mistake to Mrs. Georgia Clifton. Read it.” Carl took it up, wondering what might be the use of reading it _now_, but as he glanced over its contents, his eyes grew wide with astonishment, and when he had finished it, he laid it down again, exclaiming— “I am confounded!” “I should think so, sir!” coldly remarked Major Clifton. “She speaks of letting _me_ the farm! I never had the slightest desire to rent the farm, and before I heard the will read, I had not even the slightest idea that Mrs. Clifton designed to leave it to my sister!” “Ah! Really?” asked Mr. Clifton, ironically. “Really and truly, and sincerely and positively, I had not.” “Tautological asseveration is no evidence. Why should she have written to you thus if you had not?” “How do I know, sir? I tell you I am amazed! And if I did not know, beyond all possibility of doubt, the hand-writing to be Catherine’s, I should say that she did not write, and that she never could have written such a letter.” “Which means plainly this, that if there did not exist the most positive proof to the contrary, you would fain deny it,” sneered Major Clifton. “Yes, sir!” answered Carl, boldly. “If the proof positive to _my mind_, as well as to your own did not exist, I _would_ deny it, and I _do_ deny any personal agency or knowledge about it whatever! I say to you that I am amazed! It is incomprehensible to me how Catherine could have conceived, much less written such a letter! And above all things, it is inexplicable how she should have written so disrespectfully of Mrs. Clifton, whom she loved and venerated so much.” “Or whom, for certain purposes, she _pretended_ to love and venerate so much.” “She _did_, sir! She really _did_. She was sincere in her esteem and affection. She was sincere in all things.” “I know she affected rare sincerity.” “It was no affectation, Major Clifton. I have known her from childhood—it was truth. And I tell you, I scarcely believe my own eyes! I scarcely believe that I am awake when I see that letter! I am confounded!” “Well, sir!” said Major Clifton, sternly, his whole manner changing, “_I_, at least am not so confounded as not to know that she never would have written such a letter to you, had you not been the confidant of her plans. And _you_ are not so confounded as to be ignorant, that, after such a development, I am constrained to forbid you the house, and to interdict all communication between your sister and yourself.” There was something of Catherine’s own nobility in the manner of Carl’s reply. He stood a moment with his forehead thrown back, as if in calm, unimpassioned thought, then he said—