“God! Oh, God! Infinite in power and love—do You see me? Do You see me, and withhold Your help? Oh, God! God!” But soon upon her fevered spirit fell the word of the Lord like dew—“All things work together for good, to them that love the Lord.” And full of penitence for her impatience, she knelt, and humbled herself “under the mighty hand of God.” And then, comforted with love and hope, strengthened with faith and courage, she arose, and went about her work.
Meeting Henny soon after, she told her to be consoled, for that she thought Jack would be let off.
In the afternoon she received a pencilled note from Major Clifton, announcing that he should leave home three days sooner than he had anticipated, namely, on the third day from that date. Leaning against the projecting chimney piece, she held the note, stupidly gazing at it. But two days were left before he should depart then—she thought—and he was going, really going upon a long and perilous military service, and parting with her in deep, unmitigated anger, under the seemingly ineffaceable impression of her utter unworthiness—believing her to be guilty of—what? ay! what? for up to this moment she had not the slightest idea of his reason for condemning her. And now she blamed herself for cowardice, in having hesitated to entreat him to inform her of what fault or crime she was suspected, and to give her the opportunity of exculpating herself. And she reproached herself for that failing of the heart, and falling of the eyes, and faltering of the voice, that made her so powerless, and placed her at such a disadvantage in his presence. “Oh, yes, indeed,” she said, “I know my manner is enough to convict me; I do not wonder at nor blame him for thinking ill of me, so long as my eyes sink beneath his look. But how can I help it. It must be so while he frowns or sneers. One encouraging word or glance from him, and I could look up and speak.” And next she remembered how much he must suffer in continuing to think her unworthy, and in departing under that impression—and at this thought, all that was most generous and benevolent in her nature arose to inspire her with courage, and she resolved to go to him, and, though heart and frame should tremble to meet that dread look of stern sorrow or piercing scorn—to persevere in imploring him to tell her with what crime she stood charged.
But though she had determined upon this act, it was extremely difficult to perform it. All the afternoon and evening he came and went in such hurry, and seemed so entrenched behind his own private thoughts and purposes that she feared to break in upon his reserve. Once indeed for the purpose of speaking to him upon the subject, she entered his study, and stood by the table; but he turned around, drew himself up, sat back in his chair, and looked upon her with such sarcastic arrogance, that, abashed and confounded, without opening her lips she turned and left the room.
And so the afternoon and evening passed, and the next day, the last of his stay, arrived. All day Catherine sought an opportunity of speaking with him alone. In vain! He was resolved to afford her none. He sedulously avoided her. As a last resort she wrote a note, requesting an interview, and sent it to him. She received an answer stating that his time for the day was all pre-engaged. And so this last day also passed. That night she completed her part in the preparations for his departure, and retired late to a sleepless bed. She heard him come in very late, and enter his room, which joined her own.
At early dawn she arose and looked at the time-piece on her chamber mantle-shelf. It was but five o’clock. He was not to leave till ten. There were five precious hours left yet. And oh! how inestimably precious, if in them she could effect a reconciliation with her husband. They were like the last hours of a dying one, with salvation staked upon them. She felt that the crisis had come, that she must not falter now. She knelt and prayed for strength and courage, as we only pray a few times in life—with that impassioned earnestness of supplication that ever brings an angel down “strengthening” us. Then, encouraged, she arose, completed her simple toilet, and went down stairs to her morning duties. The breakfast hour was seven. And oh, she watched the clock as she, unjustly condemned to death, might watch in the last fleeting hours preceding execution—hoping, still hoping for some saving revelation. A little while after seven he came down stairs, entered the breakfast-room, and bowing with his usual cold greeting of—
“Good-morning, madam,” sat down.
She rang for the coffee, and then took her place at the head of the table.
He went through with the morning meal, with his customary, reflective leisure. And Catherine watched the hand of the clock, as it traveled on towards eight. She was sick with apprehension. She could not speak to him there, for the servants were in attendance. At last he arose, left the table, and went out to give some final directions concerning his baggage, and the horses and servants he was to take with him. And then he went up stairs and entered his study. It was just eight o’clock, and she had two invaluable hours left yet. As if life and death hung upon their issue, she resolved come what might, to use them in a final effort for a reconciliation. Pale and trembling in every limb, she left the table, and went up stairs, slowly, holding by the balustrades from weakness. When she reached the study door she found it ajar, and through it she saw him sitting at his writing-table—not busy, as she had feared and expected to find him, but doing absolutely nothing—with his elbows resting on the table, and his face buried in the palms of his hands—in the attitude and expression of the deepest sorrow and despair. That one glimpse of his suffering face, sufficed to drive every fear but that of anxious affection from her heart—“It is because he thinks me unworthy. I must not leave him to think so longer. Be strong, coward heart,” she said, to herself, and then she went in and stood beside his chair, resting her hand, for support, upon the table, trembling with nervous weakness, and blushing with the bashfulness she could not but feel in making this advance, and altogether, in his suspicious eyes, looking very much like a conscious culprit. She stood, unable to utter one word, until he lifted up his head, and seeing her, demanded coldly—
“What is your pleasure, Mrs. Clifton?”