This afternoon, then, he was lying at his ease on the cool lounge between the two front windows, which were drawing strong drafts of air, and flapping the festooned curtains lazily. He had thrown himself out at full length upon the lounge, in the most delightfully _degagè_ attitude, albeit it was somewhat angular and awkward—his head being thrown back over the end of the lounge, his hands clasped above his forehead, and his elbows very prominent, one foot, minus a slipper, hoisted upon the window-sill, and the other slippered foot dangling on the carpet. But the picturesque beauty of his dark, handsome face, atoned for all the rest. His mother sat in an easy-chair near him, with her feet upon a footstool, and a work-stand by her side. She was engaged in stitching wristbands—for that vigorous woman never required a lounge in the day-time—but though she never took one, yet she never blamed the indulgence of that habit in others for which she herself felt no inclination. She was the most liberal and benevolent of all human beings, in every act of her daily life. She was happy in seeing others comfortable around her. She was ever pleased to see them enjoying those relaxations which her own strong nature did not need. Indeed, courage without asperity, fortitude without indurancy, strength without hardness, self-denial without sternness, power without arrogance, formed the peculiar excellence of her character. No wonder that her son revered her. No wonder it had been said of him, that he never could love a woman with all the power of his nature, unless in mental and moral endowments—she resembled his mother. As they talked together this afternoon, the hours slipped away till late in the evening, before the image of the beautiful Carolyn had power to draw him from the _tête à tête_. During the afternoon he had prevailed with his mother to receive Carl Kavanagh as her overseer—and to have the comfortable log cabin which had been occupied by the first proprietor of the soil, prepared for the reception of the family. When Archer Clifton at length arose to take his leave, he pressed his mother to his heart with so much fondness and power, that the quiet, calm lady laughed, a little, low, jolly laugh, and jested about Carolyn’s jealousy—even of his mother. * * * * * Captain Clifton returned to White Cliffs, and gave himself up for the rest of the evening, to the charms of Carolyn’s conversation.