“Oh, Catherine, my dear, if you could but have liked him well enough to have married him. He is an honest, kind-hearted man,” said Mrs. Clifton, with a sigh of regret.
“Yes, he is a good man. Heaven bless him with a good wife,” answered Kate.
Neither of these unworldly women once reverted to the advantages of rank resigned with the rejected lover.
And soon Catherine had other thoughts and occupations than those connected with courtship and marriage. The situation of her grandfather demanded all her care. For many months before this, the long and persevering efforts of the patient girl had been blessed with success, and the old man had abandoned the use of intoxicating spirits. But within the last few weeks the total disuse of the stimulant to which he was morbidly accustomed, had began to produce the most dangerous effects upon his aged and infirm frame. He grew weaker and still weaker, until at length he was confined to his bed. And so he slowly sank and failed as weeks—weary weeks—dragged on to months. And through all this dreary time, day and night, Catherine faithfully nursed him. Many a night she sat the only watcher by his bedside, hourly expecting his death; and many a morning he revived again, so deep a hold had life upon that old, worn body. Scarcely for necessary food or rest would Catherine leave him, always watching, waiting on and cheering him, sometimes—whenever he desired it—reading the Bible to him, singing or praying with him. In vain Mrs. Clifton noticing the care-worn, toil-worn, emaciated countenance of the girl, besought her to take care of her own health. Catherine cared for nothing on earth so much as the aged man daily fading away from her sight. And so passed the winter. And so opened the spring. And then his old disease, if it could be called a disease, took a most alarming turn. After a paroxysm more violent than ever had come on him before, he fell into a state of greater prostration. And the physician hastily summoned, declared that another such attack would be fatal, and that only the use of brandy could ward the fit off, and save his life. Carl Wetzel replied that he felt if he should taste the intoxicating liquid again, the fatal appetite for alcohol would return upon him with tenfold violence for the temporary abstinence, and that it would totally subject him to its dominion. The doctor called him a fool and a fanatic, without self-control or self-reliance, and left him to his fate. When the physician had left the hut, the old man called his grand-daughter to his bedside.
“Kate, you heard what the doctor said?”
Kate nodded—her heart was too full for speech.
“My dear child—my dear, good Kate!—he says that unless I drink brandy I shall die. But, Kate, if I taste brandy again, I feel I shall live—a drunkard! Kate, I know you are wise and good beyond your years. Kate, I have full faith in you! My child, I will do as you decide for me. Darling, shall I drink or die?”
Kate sank upon her knees by his bedside, took both his venerable hands and kissed and pressed them to her bosom, bowed her face over them, and wept in silence. At last, raising her head, she gazed earnestly, reverently, lovingly in the old man’s face, and answered—
“Dearest grandfather, do not ask me, a poor, weak, erring girl! Dearest grandfather, ask God!”
The old man feebly raised his hand, and placed it on her head and blessed her, adding—