A low, earnest choking “Yes sir,” was her answer.
“Kiss me, then! for I may never return,” said Archer Clifton, folding her for one moment to his bosom, and pressing a kiss upon her full lips.
But her lips grew cold at the touch—her face paled and fell away from his bosom—her form drooped and sank back over his arm, where she lay like one dead, in a swoon.
Surprised, alarmed, Clifton raised her in both arms, and hastened to the lounge, where he laid her, calling to his mother. The lady came forward without any trepidation, and bringing a bottle of Hungary water, began to chafe her temples and face, and finally gave that task to Clifton, while she herself loosened Kate’s dress.
“What could have been the cause of this, mother? Is she subject to these attacks?”
“I never knew her to faint before, though I have seen her under very trying circumstances with that old man, her grandfather.”
“What could have occasioned it?”
“Why, the sudden news of your going away on dangerous service, of course,” said Mrs. Clifton, as she resumed the bottle, and continued to chafe the girl’s face and hands. “The child loves you, Archer; she has a very grateful, affectionate heart, and very strong feelings. She loves us both. And when you bade her good-bye, for a long and perilous absence, is it strange she should have been overcome? When soldiers talk of danger, children may be forgiven for being frightened. Do go and tell Kavanagh that Kate must remain here to-night, and dismiss him.”
He went, and before he came back again, Kate, with a long drawn sigh, had opened her eyes and recovered.
“You must raise her, and take her up stairs, my dear Archer. She must suffer no more agitation to-night,” said Mrs. Clifton.