When Archer Clifton at length arose to take his leave, he pressed his mother to his heart with so much fondness and power, that the quiet, calm lady laughed, a little, low, jolly laugh, and jested about Carolyn’s jealousy—even of his mother.
Captain Clifton returned to White Cliffs, and gave himself up for the rest of the evening, to the charms of Carolyn’s conversation.
The next day was one of festivity. Mrs. Clifton, of Hardbargain, came over to dine at White Cliffs, and to meet a large party of the neighboring gentry. The day after that, the whole party dined and spent the evening at Hardbargain—and this was the commencement of a series of neighborhood entertainments in honor of the approaching marriage, which were kept up for several weeks. The wedding was to come off in the course of a month—the present delay being owing to this circumstance: old Mr. Clifton had sent to England, by the good ship Rockbridge, Captain Cater, an extensive order, including a splendid outfit for the bride; and they were now awaiting to hear of the arrival of the Rockbridge at Norfolk. In all the excitement of social enjoyment, Captain Clifton had found time to ride to the mountain hut, and arrange with Carl Kavanagh to come and take the situation of overseer at Hardbargain. He agreed to pay the latter a liberal salary, and to provide a comfortable house for his family. One thing surprised and annoyed him. Kate, who had written so freely, frankly, almost presumptuously to him—received him with the old cold shyness and reserve—not even expressing the least gratitude for the kindness he had shown in getting the situation for her brother, or the trouble he had condescended to take in coming personally to inform them of it. He agreed with Carl, that the latter, with his grandfather and sister, should remove to Hardbargain in the course of the week—and on his own part he promised to have the log-house prepared for their reception. He shook hands with the old man and Carl on parting, but when he offered the same civility to Kate, she turned pale and trembled, and when he took her hand he found it cold.
“I do not think you are well, my dear girl—your mountain air does not engender chills, does it?” he asked, pressing the cold fingers.
She raised her eyes one brief instant to his, and dropped them quickly again, while her pale check and brow became suffused with crimson, and her hand that he held in his own throbbed like a heart.
“When we get you to the plantation you will be better, my dear girl,” said Clifton, kindly, shaking her hand and letting it go.
Captain Clifton rode away full of thought—speculating more upon Catherine’s reserve than became a gentleman of his station and importance. What was it to him that a rustic girl was too shy to express in person, her thanks for a favor received, even though she had “screwed her courage to the sticking place” to write to him and solicit it? Many people, more conversant with the world than Catherine, can write that which they never can bring their lips to say. Besides it was no matter—what was that lowly maiden to him, the heir of Clifton, and the prospective husband of the highest and haughtiest lady in the land? Yes—what to him except an object of his high patronage could be that girl of—not only “humble parentage,” but indubitably low birth? He rode on dissatisfied, he knew not wherefore, with her and himself.
As for Catherine, she stood—lost—where he had left her—lost to the consciousness of her grandfather’s and of Carl’s presence—with her eyes fixed upon the ground, blaming herself for her awkwardness and seeming ingratitude; wondering if he blamed her too; wondering why it was that when she saw him enter she grew cold and trembled so; and when he spoke to her in that gentle tone, and looked at her with that gentle gaze—her whole nature shrank away in fear and trepidation—and though she would have given the world for the ability to express her gratitude and regard, all power of uttering a grateful word or of lifting a grateful glance to his face, deserted, and left her pale and trembling before the man whom she had no cause to fear, and every reason to trust. Catherine stood with her mind deep in this problem, until the harsh voice of Carl startled her, saying, in rasping tones—
“Well! are you going to stand there burrowing your eyes in the ground all day? A pretty way you have behaved! Please goodness, you’ve got no more manners than a dumb brute. I take my oath I am ashamed of you! Now there was Captain Clifton, a gentleman of so high rank, condescending to come here and tell us himself of the place he had got for us, even after your unmannerly refusal of that first place—and here were you with not one word of thanks to give—no! please Heaven, not so much as one civil look! I wonder what he’ll think of you?”