“Major Clifton, my sister is now your wife, and you have, doubtless, the perfect right to control her actions—neither do I accuse you of undue severity in this affair, for, under like circumstances, I should, perhaps, be tempted to act in the same way. I cannot account for this letter. For the present, it must remain unexplained. Nor can I exculpate myself any more than my sister from the odium of a suspicion, which God knows I am willing to bear with her, since I cannot clear her of it. You do not know how dear to an only brother’s heart is his only sister. Yes! I _am_ willing to share the odium with her, hoping, _knowing_ that it will pass away in time. And then, Major Clifton, you will feel more pain at the recollection of the injustice you have done us, than I feel now in suffering it. You will be more angry with yourself than I could be with you. You will reproach yourself more bitterly than I could reproach you, were I never so indignant. And I am not indignant at all. I could not be so! All feelings are subdued to calmness in the sacred proximity of the unburied dead in the next room. One thing only remains to be said. It is this: I cannot continue to live upon this place, under the cloud of the master’s ill opinion. My engagement as manager of this farm terminates with this year, I shall be glad, if before the time expires, you will provide yourself with another overseer.” “As you please, Mr. Kavanagh. Yet I should not have sent you away with your young family.” “You are considerate, sir!” said Carl, bowing, then adding—“I presume you have no further commands for me, Major Clifton?” “None, Mr. Kavanagh.” “Good-night, sir.” “Good-night.” The next day was the day of the funeral. Before the people began to assemble, Catherine, impelled by an irresistible desire to gaze once more upon the face of her beloved friend, found herself at the door of the front parlor in which the corpse was laid out for burial. But here, with her hand upon the lock, she hesitated, and finally stifling her crying want turned away, saying within herself—“No, I will not intrude. I will be guided by the spirit as well as by the letter of his commands. He will not accept my love. To yield him perfect unquestioning obedience is all the earthly comfort I have left.” And she began to retrace her steps. Major Clifton came out of the back room and met her face to face. “What were you doing near that door, Catherine?” “I wished to take a last look at her dear—” Here Kate burst into tears and wept convulsively a few minutes—during which, Clifton watched her in stern sorrow. Then controlling herself, she said, “I wished to look once more, and for the last time, upon her beloved face. But when I reached the door, and was about to enter, I remembered your commands and turned back.” Clifton, who had never taken his eyes from her, groaned aloud. Then he said, gravely and sadly—