“CATHERINE.”
When she had completed her demon-work, Georgia carefully examined it. It satisfied her. She smiled, and muttered—“Any one who ever saw Catherine’s queer hand-writing, would feel safe in swearing this to be hers.” Then she folded it in the form of the other note, and placed it in the original envelope—and threw it, broken-sealed as it was, upon the table, exclaiming—“There!—
“‘I have set my life upon a cast,
And will abide the hazard of the die.’”
In the meanwhile, Catherine watched by the bedside of Mrs. Clifton, awaiting the return of Major Clifton, with the clergyman and the attorney.
About three o’clock in the afternoon the party arrived. The professional gentlemen remained in the parlor, while Major Clifton went up into the chamber of his mother. As he approached her bed, and perceived the fearful change a few hours had wrought in her appearance, and recognized the sure approach of death, he was so shocked, so overwhelmed with sorrow, that it was with the utmost difficulty he could sustain his self-command.
She held out to him her wasted hand, saying, quietly—
“My dear Archer, I wish to have the marriage ceremony between you and Kate performed this afternoon, if you please.”
“Certainly, my dear mother, it shall be as you desire,” he replied, repressing a great groan—but desirous, above all things, to gratify that dying parent. “Shall it be now, mother?”