He broke the silence by saying, coldly— “Mrs. Clifton—” She started and colored, at hearing herself addressed by her new name. “It is my intention to make White Cliffs our future home. I desire that you be ready to accompany me thither to-morrow morning.” Catherine bowed her head in acquiescence. And with a cold nod, he placed his hat upon his head, and walked forth. Catherine went in, and occupied the remainder of the day in directing the labor of her servants, who were all employed in setting the house in order after the late, confusing events, in packing away goods, and covering up furniture, and in preparing generally for the closing up of the building. CHAPTER XXXII. DEDICATION. Stand up, look below, It is my life at thy feet I throw, To step with into light and joy, Not a power of life but I’ll employ To satisfy thy nature’s want.—BROWNING. The next morning after breakfast, the family carriage was announced to take them to White Cliffs. Catherine put on her bonnet and shawl, and stood waiting, until Major Clifton, drawing on his gloves, came forward and attended her to the carriage door. He handed her in, entered himself, took the seat opposite to her, and bade the coachman drive on. The whole distance between Hardbargain and White Cliffs was passed over in perfect silence by the parties. Major Clifton preserving a stern gravity of demeanor, and Catherine scarcely daring to lift her eyes, lest she should encounter that severe but sorrowful gaze that almost broke her heart. She longed to inquire— “Oh, Major Clifton! What is this that has arisen between us? Give the misery a name! Tell me?” But the shyness and fear she had always felt in his presence, and doubly felt when he was reserved or displeased, and above all, the bashfulness of new bridehood, forced her into silence. At last the ride was over, and the carriage stopped before the main entrance of the mansion-house. The plantation laborers, in their holyday clothes, marshalled by the overseer, were assembled upon the lawn, and the house servants in their “Sunday’s best,” with the housekeeper at their head, waited on the piazza “to pay their duty.” When the carriage had drawn up, Major Clifton alighted and assisted his bride to get out. He led her up the marble stairs to the front door. The housekeeper with a curtsey, stepped forward to attend her. But with the courteous kindness that Major Clifton seldom omitted, he waved her aside, merely saying— “Mrs. Mercer, send all these women about their duties, and tell Turnbull to disperse the men. I do not wish to be disturbed. There is my pocket-book—give them what they want—only let me be quiet.”