Old Mr. Clifton, now feeling and looking so much better and franker, and remembering that Major Cabell was his guest as well as his relative, went up to him and held out his hand, saying, heartily—
“Charley, give me your hand! I do not know what you are going to do, but I know that I am ready to meet what comes! In olden times mortal foes shook hands before they entered upon a deadly combat. In our times the executioner and his victim exchange courtesies. And the humanity of it is a touching comment upon the cruel necessities of our legal and social code. Let us not be more ungracious adversaries than they. Give me your hand. You are welcome to Clifton as long as you please to give us your company. Sport is good now on the mountains, and you can amuse yourself as you please.”
Major Cabell paused in his walk, and placed his hand in the open palm of Mr. Clifton, saying—
“I will take you at your word, sir! I will remain your guest for a few days. I will hope that what you have said in regard to the marriage of myself and your daughter, has been spoken in haste, and under the influence of anger. I trust that you will review your words. To-day you speak from excitement—to-morrow I hope that judgment will dictate your reply. You will remember that I, too, had something to complain of in the fact that my affianced bride, or one that I considered such, should have been so ill guided, or so illy guided herself, as to suffer her affections to fall into this entanglement. But we will say no more about it now, for I see Mrs. Clifton about to enter.”
Georgia entered indeed, smiling.
Old Mr. Clifton seized the opportunity, and while Major Cabell was paying his devoirs to the beauty, excused himself and left the room to go and see how Zuleime was getting on, and to reassure her if necessary.
As soon as he had left the room, Georgia drew Major Cabell off to a distant sofa. And they sat down and entered upon a long, confidential conversation. And when it was ended, they arose and separated with looks of great satisfaction.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE WIDOWED BRIDE.
Her look composed, and steady eye,
Bespoke a matchless constancy,