“I am not angry, mother. If I were only angry I should let the marriage go on, if Miss Clifton thought proper to do so, for I should know that my anger would pass away. No, I am not angry, mother, but shocked, repulsed, and totally estranged. I could no more marry Miss Clifton now, than I could take any other loathed object to my bosom! The idea makes me shudder!” “Still I affirm that all this is intense anger, nothing else, and that there will come a reaction. Why in anger, Archer, the object is as much loathed as in love it is desired—but _that_ is temporary, and _this_, I hope, you will find permanent. I hope, at bottom, you respect Carolyn? _I esteem_ her. She has been a spoiled child, but has so many undeveloped good qualities, that she only wants the discipline of a little affection to make her a very excellent woman. I shall say no more about this affair to-night, but wait to see what disposition I shall find you in to-morrow!” At this moment there was a knock at the door, and instantly afterwards Henny came in and informed her mistress that Mr. Kavanagh had come to take his sister home. “Ask Mr. Kavanagh to sit down in the hall. Put up your sewing, Catherine, my dear!” said the lady. Catherine arose to fold up her work, while Captain Clifton looked very much as if he would like to stop her again. “Does she not remain with you at night, madam?” “Certainly not—her brother always comes for her at bedtime.” “How early does she come in the morning?” “She never comes in the morning. Catherine has her own domestic affairs to attend to during the forenoon. She never gets here till late in the afternoon.” “Then I shall not see her to-morrow—not see her again for many months—perhaps _never_ see her again! Come here, Catherine!” Catherine came to his side, and stood, as usual, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, and her cheek painfully flushed. He took her hand and pressed it in his own, while he said— “Catherine! you have heard all that passed between myself and Mrs. Clifton, this evening?” A quick, short, but not ungraceful nod was all her answer. “And you know that I am going away on a distant and dangerous service; I leave here very early in the morning—I may never come back, Catherine,” he said, slowly, looking at her steadily. Her hand in his grew cold—her cheek paled—her heart stopped still as death—but no word did she speak in reply. “Catherine! before I go, I intend to give you a command—do you hear me?” A spasmodic nod was her reply. “I may be gone many years. In the meanwhile you will grow up to womanhood, Catherine; do not have any lovers—_beaux_—as young girls call them, while I am away—and above all things, do not choose a husband without first consulting me through my mother.” Not knowing what to reply to this, Catherine remained perfectly silent. “Will you obey me in this, girl?” he asked, rather impatiently. A low, earnest choking “Yes sir,” was her answer.