And she did, abundantly!—but pressed and kissed her father’s neck the while for his tender words. This melted down the old man’s heart so that he said—
“They shan’t plague you! None of them shall! Charley Cabell shan’t come here to trouble you! That he shan’t. Come what will, you shan’t be forced to marry him! No, no, my darling—my poor little heart-broken darling, you shan’t! I’ll see him in perdition first! And myself, too! There, don’t stop! Cry it all out on father’s neck! Don’t stop! Catch your breath and begin again! That’s right! That’s a good girl! Oh, she’ll cry a plenty this bout. Once I couldn’t bear to hear women cry! It was because I did not know that if the grief was not cried out, it would stay in the heart and burst it! I will never try to stop a woman from crying again. Cry on, my poor little thing!” And so most tenderly, but half-childishly, the old man talked, and petted, and cooed over her.
Catherine slipped down stairs to prepare tea and toast.
When she came back, she found Zuleime lying back upon the pillow exhausted, but composed, and still pressing the little lock of hair. Catherine set down the little waiter, and took a bowl and napkin and washed her face with cologne and water, and then brought the cup of tea.
Zuleime shook her head mournfully.
Catherine stooped and whispered.
“For your father’s sake, dear. Look at him.”
Zuleime raised her eyes to the old man’s grief-worn, anxious face, and then extended her hand for the cup, and drank the tea.
While Zuleime was resting in Catherine’s arms and drinking the tea, a knock was heard at the door, and when Mr. Clifton opened it, a servant appeared and told him that Major Cabell had arrived, and wished to speak with him.
And the old gentleman set his teeth, and immediately went below.