“It was no affectation, Major Clifton. I have known her from childhood—it was truth. And I tell you, I scarcely believe my own eyes! I scarcely believe that I am awake when I see that letter! I am confounded!”
“Well, sir!” said Major Clifton, sternly, his whole manner changing, “I, at least am not so confounded as not to know that she never would have written such a letter to you, had you not been the confidant of her plans. And you are not so confounded as to be ignorant, that, after such a development, I am constrained to forbid you the house, and to interdict all communication between your sister and yourself.”
There was something of Catherine’s own nobility in the manner of Carl’s reply. He stood a moment with his forehead thrown back, as if in calm, unimpassioned thought, then he said—
“Major Clifton, my sister is now your wife, and you have, doubtless, the perfect right to control her actions—neither do I accuse you of undue severity in this affair, for, under like circumstances, I should, perhaps, be tempted to act in the same way. I cannot account for this letter. For the present, it must remain unexplained. Nor can I exculpate myself any more than my sister from the odium of a suspicion, which God knows I am willing to bear with her, since I cannot clear her of it. You do not know how dear to an only brother’s heart is his only sister. Yes! I am willing to share the odium with her, hoping, knowing that it will pass away in time. And then, Major Clifton, you will feel more pain at the recollection of the injustice you have done us, than I feel now in suffering it. You will be more angry with yourself than I could be with you. You will reproach yourself more bitterly than I could reproach you, were I never so indignant. And I am not indignant at all. I could not be so! All feelings are subdued to calmness in the sacred proximity of the unburied dead in the next room. One thing only remains to be said. It is this: I cannot continue to live upon this place, under the cloud of the master’s ill opinion. My engagement as manager of this farm terminates with this year, I shall be glad, if before the time expires, you will provide yourself with another overseer.”
“As you please, Mr. Kavanagh. Yet I should not have sent you away with your young family.”
“You are considerate, sir!” said Carl, bowing, then adding—“I presume you have no further commands for me, Major Clifton?”
“None, Mr. Kavanagh.”
“Good-night, sir.”
“Good-night.”
The next day was the day of the funeral. Before the people began to assemble, Catherine, impelled by an irresistible desire to gaze once more upon the face of her beloved friend, found herself at the door of the front parlor in which the corpse was laid out for burial. But here, with her hand upon the lock, she hesitated, and finally stifling her crying want turned away, saying within herself—“No, I will not intrude. I will be guided by the spirit as well as by the letter of his commands. He will not accept my love. To yield him perfect unquestioning obedience is all the earthly comfort I have left.” And she began to retrace her steps.