“You will think differently, dear lady, and I shall see you again, shortly.”
“Never!—as the husband of that traitress.”
He did not reply. He raised her hand to his lips, and left her.
Left to herself, mad impulses seized the disappointed woman. At one instant she was impelled to seize the forged letter, and rush to the death-bed of Mrs. Clifton, and there denounce her favorite as a hypocrite and a traitress. But a moment’s reflection convinced her that no art of hers could induce the dying woman to think evil of the excellent girl she herself had educated. That on the contrary, such a step might possibly result in her own signal defeat and exposure, and the everlasting anger and contempt of Archer Clifton. Her brain was beginning to reel, and her self-confidence to wane. In sudden fear she looked around for the forged letter, intending to burn it. It was nowhere to be seen. Then she recollected that Major Clifton had, on departing, picked it up, and put it in his pocket. And sick with disappointed love, jealousy, hatred, and fear, she tottered towards a lounge, but ere she reached it, fell upon the floor. In the meanwhile, Major Clifton, riding at full speed, reached the farm-house.
On reaching Hardbargain, Major Clifton went immediately to Mrs. Clifton’s chamber. He found her still sinking. She inquired, in a faint voice, whether he had brought Mrs. Georgia. He replied, with perhaps a pardonable ambiguity of speech, that Mrs. Georgia was too much indisposed to attend. Then she said that she supposed Mr. White (the clergyman) would consent to act in her stead. She informed him that the attorney had been with her, and had drawn up her will according to her instruction, and she requested that the parties might be assembled in her room to witness the signing. Major Clifton left the chamber to summon them, and soon returned, accompanied by the lawyer, the minister, Carl Kavanagh and Catherine. The will was then read, after which the lady was raised up in bed, and supported in the arms of her son; the document was placed upon a portfolio and laid before her, and a pen dipped in ink and presented to her. She signed her name, and immediately sank back exhausted. The two witnesses affixed their signatures, and the will was delivered into the custody of the attorney. A restorative was administered to the invalid, and she was arranged comfortably upon her pillows. Then she took the hand of her son, and whispered—
“Let the marriage ceremony be performed at once, dearest Archer.”
He pressed that wan hand, laid it tenderly down upon the coverlet, and spoke apart with the clergyman, who occupied the chair beside the head of the bed. The minister solemnly arose, drew a prayer-book from his pocket and opened it. Major Clifton went quietly and spoke a few words in explanation to the lawyer and Carl Kavanagh, who then approached the bedside. Lastly, he took the hand of Catherine, and led her up before the minister. The marriage ceremony commenced. It was performed according to the ritual of the Protestant Episcopal Church. But when the great question was put to the bridegroom—“Archer, ‘wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together, after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor her,’” etc.—instead of answering, according to the ritual, “I will,” he replied by a grave and formal bow, with silent lips, “that scarce their scorn forbore.” When the corresponding question was put to the bride, Kate too replied by a gentle inclination of the head, but her true heart responded sincerely, earnestly. When the last benediction was given, and when, according to the old formula, the bridegroom was to salute his bride, he merely touched her cheek with cold lips, and passed her on to his mother, who held out her arms to embrace her daughter. The singularity of Major Clifton’s manner was scarcely noticed, or it was ascribed to the solemnity of the attending circumstances. Mrs. Clifton now desired that all, with the exception of her son and daughter and the clergyman, should bid her adieu and leave the room. Her request was complied with, and when they had retired, she signified her wish to partake of the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper with her children. Major Clifton was constrained to decline, upon conscientious scruples; for how could he partake of the Sacrament of peace and brotherly love, with his heart consumed with indignation against his newly-married bride? Catherine, however, participated in the Holy Communion, while he looked on with surprise, mixed with a degree of horror. When the sacred rite was over, the minister of God took an affectionate leave, and departed. When the minister was gone, and they were left alone together, the dying mother beckoned her son and daughter to come and sit near her. They obeyed her, and she addressed them a few words of earnest, affectionate counsel, blessed them, and resigned herself to rest. Her eyelids closed calmly, and her breathing was gentle and regular; they had to mark attentively before they knew that it grew fainter and fainter. Once she opened her eyes, and, smiling her old, reflecting smile, said—
“Dear Archer, I have often tried to detect the exact moment of falling asleep. I watch now, to see if I can seize the precise instant of passing from mortal to immortal life.”
And she closed her eyes again. After a few minutes, she said—
“Sing to me, dear Kate! You know—Heber’s death hymn.”