CHAPTER XXX.BETROTHAL.
Twas thy high purity of soul,Thy thought revealing eye,That conquered all my pride of heart,Thou wanderer from the sky.—W. G. Clark.
Twas thy high purity of soul,Thy thought revealing eye,That conquered all my pride of heart,Thou wanderer from the sky.—W. G. Clark.
Twas thy high purity of soul,Thy thought revealing eye,That conquered all my pride of heart,Thou wanderer from the sky.—W. G. Clark.
Twas thy high purity of soul,
Thy thought revealing eye,
That conquered all my pride of heart,
Thou wanderer from the sky.—W. G. Clark.
Major Clifton held the note between his finger and thumb, in a fit of abstraction, while a pleasant, contemplative smile dwelt on his face.
“Well, are you not going to answer it?” asked Mrs. Clifton, adding, “The servant waits.”
“Oh! answer it! yes! what is it about?” he exclaimed, starting out of his reverie, and glancing at the note again. Then he arose, penned a hasty excuse, and delivering it to the messenger, dispatched him. Returning from this business, he said, “No, I cannot leave home this evening; since I have come to a decision, I wish to have a good, confidential talk with my little Kate. How much I have to say to her, how much to draw from her, if I can. What a prison delivery of thought and emotion it must be on both sides, if I can get her to talk! But she is so shy, except when under some strong, disinterested feeling for another. Move her sympathies, and she forgets herself and loses all reserve, otherwise—she is so shy.”
“Yes, very, very shy,to you. Kate’s heart and brain are sealed volumes to you. It will require the easy intimacy of long, domestic companionship, to find out all her excellencies. Her husband will love and esteem her far more dearly and highly than ever lover has done—but hush, here she comes.”
The door opened, and Catherine entered, from her morning’s household duties, with her little basket of keys hanging on her arm.
“Come hither, dear Kate,” said Major Clifton, holding out his hand. Catherine put her little basket in its place,and quietly went to his side. He encircled her waist with his arm, and holding both her hands captive in his own, looked fondly in her face till she dropped her eyes in confusion, and then he said, “Dear Kate, my mother here, who loves you almost as much as I do, if that were possible, wants to know when you will make us both happy, by becoming my wife and her daughter.”
He paused for an answer, never removing his eyes from their gaze upon her glowing cheek.
“Yes, I am very anxious to know what day you will give yourself to us entirely, dear child!” said Mrs. Clifton, and she also paused for a reply.
Catherine, in extreme confusion, glanced from one to the other, and finally dropped her eyes again.
“Come, dearest Kate, it is but a word—the name of some day in the week whispered very low,” said Major Clifton, in her ear.
“Yes, let it be soon; let it be within a week, dear child. My time is short, Kate, and I wish to bless your marriage before I go hence. You know I told you that I could calculate the progress of decay, and the length of life with some accuracy, and I tell you now that my days are numbered.”
“Come, Kate, if you cannot speak, give me one of your short, quick nods. Come, this is Saturday—shall we be married to-morrow?—next day?—Tuesday?—Wednesday?—Thursday?” Catherine, whose heart had been filling all this time, now burst into tears. He drew her head upon his shoulder, where she sobbed awhile, until he stooped and whispered, “Dear Catherine, try to calm yourself—do you not see how you excite our mother? there, lift up your head, and go to her; and both of you together arrange all these little matters as mother and daughter should, and she will let me know the result,” and tenderly withdrawing his arm, he passed her round before him, and stood her beside Mrs. Clifton’s easy-chair, and arose and took his hat and left the room, with the same happy, half-contemplative smile upon his lips. Kate sank down by the side of Mrs. Clifton, and dropping her head upon the lady’s lap, wept afresh. The gentle invalid put her hands upon the maiden’s shoulders caressingly, but did not seek to arrest the current of her emotion. It was plain that the girl herself sought to stay her tears, for, between her sobs, she exclaimed—
“Forgive—excuse—I know it’s weak, wrong—it is only because—I’m so grateful!”
The fit of emotion exhausted itself, and she lifted up her face, wiped her eyes, and said—
“Lady—”
“Call me mother, Kate.”
“Mother! heart’s dearest mother! do you think he mistook me?”
“How, Kate?”
“I couldn’t speak! Indeed, indeed I could not! But I want you to tell him,mother, how grateful I am, and how happy! Tell him,for I never can, how much and how long I have loved him. My heart has been single to him ever since I first knew him. I will try to make him a good wife—indeed, indeed I will. And where my weakness or my ignorance fails, I will pray to Heaven daily for more strength and light. Oh! I know what a sacrifice of pride and prejudice he has made for love of me—tell him so, mother, and tell him—”
“No, dear Kate, I will not tell him that. He has made no sacrifice. Nonsense. And if he had, you are worth it all, all—his wealth, rank, position, pride and all! Be true to yourself.”
“Oh, what am I, that he should indeed prefer me to all the ladies in the great city that he has left; and what can I bring him but my love and my duty—all my love and all my duty!”
“And do you undervalue these, Kate? Why, they are the treasures of treasures. And you would judge them so in another’s case. But here you are fond and blind. Now, dearest Kate, I am so anxious to see you the wife of Archer. And I wish to enjoy that pleasure as long as I can—when shall it be?”
“Mother, you and he have made me what I am, and given to my life all its worth and value—now what can I do but give back myself and life to you? Dearest mother, fix it as you will, I shall be happy, any way.”
“Thursday, Kate?”
“Yes, Thursday, dear mother.”
The lady then embraced and dismissed her, and settled herself back in her chair to take a necessary nap.
Catherine left the parlor in that half-blissful, half-fearful trance that falls upon one when the great life’s desire andhope is about to be realized—happy beyond measure, but somewhat incredulous that this could be really fact—really the “sober certainty of waking bliss,” and no dream, and foreboding some stroke of fate that should snatch the too great joy from her. Major Clifton was standing within the open front door, looking out upon the glorious autumn landscape and the changing foliage of the trees, some of the outer branches of the latter burning so red that they seemed a-fire in the rays of the afternoon sun. But he turned to Catherine, with a buoyant smile and step, and led her out upon the piazza. The habitually grave Archer Clifton was almost gay. He was in that happy state of mind that all will recognize who have ever had a severe, long standing moral conflict brought to end, in which the reason, conscience and heart are all satisfied. The struggle between the prejudices of rank and the passion of his soul was over, and the strongest had conquered, and now reigned alone, and a fine, vigorous, healthful joyousness had taken the place of all reserve and gloom and eccentricity; so great and happy was this change, that Catherine felt no more the strange, shy fear of him that had ever placed her at such disadvantage in his presence. He led her to a shaded seat at the end of a piazza, where there were no intruders but a glancing line of sunlight, and nothing to disturb them louder than the rustle of a falling leaf. And there he poured out the long hoarded mysteries of his heart, talking on and on as the hours passed, until successively the sun went down, and the stars came out, and clouds arose and hid them, and shrouded the piazza in darkness. And still he talked—“an’ he would talk his last,” not even heeding the approach of a servant, until Henny’s voice was heard, asking Miss Kate to come and give out tea and sugar for supper. Then he arose, and half unmindful of the presence of the maid, he said—
“This is very sweet, dear Kate, very, very sweet—to be able to say to you everything without reserve—to tell you all the long withheld secrets of my soul, and see you listen with such deep interest; but when will you be equally frank with me—when will you show me your heart?”
The next day Major Clifton rode over to White Cliffs to pay his respects to Georgia.
The beauty received him with unrestrained joy; but in the conversation that ensued, reverted to what she called “The intrigues of that low born manœuverer, Miss Kavanagh,”asking him if he had not observed a great change in Mrs. Clifton, ascribable entirely to her influence?
It gave Major Clifton great pain to hear Catherine traduced in this manner, but he believed Mrs. Georgia to be perfectly sincere in her opinion, and only the victim of a mistake. He told the lady so, adding—
“I am about to give Miss Kavanagh the highest proof of confidence that one being can give another. I am about to take her for my life’s bosom friend. We shall be married in five days.”
Had a bullet sped through her heart, she could not have given a more agonized bound. Then she struck both hands to her temples, started hastily half across the floor, paused again as if distracted, and suddenly cried out—
“You shall not do it! By my soul, you shall not do it! You never, never shall become the dupe of that woman! I have entered the lists with her. I mean, that to save you, I have done so, and before I leave them, I will prove her false and treacherous. God show the right!”
Major Clifton gazed upon her in wonder. The strong emotion that she had exhibited, imposed upon him, for there was no doubting itsreality; and far from suspecting itscause, an unhallowed passion for himself, he ascribed it solely to her strong conviction of Catherine’s unworthiness, and to her disinterested regard for his own welfare. And when she came and threw herself upon the sofa beside him, and besought, with all the eloquence that passion and the demon could lend her, that he would pause and not hurry on to his ruin, his confidence in Catherine’s integrity was shaken to the foundation. And when at the end of an hour he rode home, he reached Hardbargain as miserable as the doubt of one beloved can make a man. If love has the Divine power of transfiguring its object until faults are excellencies, suspicion possesses the demoniac faculty of deforming its victim until virtues seem vices, and under its influence the highest and best gifts of the maiden, her intellect, virtues, and graces were turned against her; her talent seemed intriguing art; her meekness and humility became meanness and sycophancy; her piety, hypocrisy; and her girlish shyness the sinister reserve of conscious guilt.
It was well that on his return he met Catherine only in his mother’s presence, where deep regard for the lady constrained him into something like forbearance; though even then hismoody manner excited some uneasiness in the bosoms of the two ladies. When Catherine left the room to order dinner, the conversation that ensued tended to strengthen his newly revived suspicions. Mrs. Clifton told him, that with his consent she would like to leave the farm of Hardbargain to Catherine, as a testimony of her esteem and affection.
“And for a more practical reason, too,” she said, “for you know, my dear Archer, that the estate of White Cliffs being entailed—if you should die before her, and without male children—Catherine and her daughters, if she should have any, would be left homeless. But if I leave her this farm of Hardbargain, it can make no difference to you during your life, and if Catherine happen to survive you, it will secure her a home. What do you think of this plan, Archer? You look grave and troubled. If you have the slightest objection, I will not carry it out, of course.”
“Surely I have not the least right to object, my dear mother; your property you have made by your own labor, and improved by your own admirable management.”
“You have the right of nature, my dear Archer; and I see by your gravity, that you dislike this arrangement; therefore it shall not be made.”
“You mistake my thoughtfulness, dear madam. If I am somewhat grave, it is upon another subject. Believe me, I have not the slightest fault to find with this plan;neither does it take me by surprise, I have been prepared for it months since. Mrs. Georgia Clifton informed me that such was your intention.”
“Is it possible? How could Georgia have known anything about it? But I suppose she has heard me drop words to that effect. May I hope then, that this purpose meets your approbation, Archer?”
“Certainly, madam, it can make no material difference, if Kate is to be my wife. And, if she were not to be so, I should be quite as well pleased.”
Unconscious of the double meaning of his words, the lady then inquired into the cause of his gloom.
“Merely a fit of moodiness, dear mother; the reaction, perhaps, of yesterday’s joy; a mere depression of spirits, which a brisk gallop over the hills will throw off.”
“If you are inclined for a ride, Archer, you can do me a service at the same time, if you will go to L—— and bring out Mr. White, the lawyer, to draw up my will.”
A spasm of pain passed over the handsome countenance of Major Clifton, and he said—
“I will do anything you please, dearest mother; but surely there is no necessity for haste in this matter.”
“Archer,there is. Besides, my mind will be easier when it is done. And Archer, lastly—bring with you a clergyman. I wish to receive the Holy Communion.”
Major Clifton made no farther objection, but left the room to order his horse; and in less than half an hour he found himself on his way to L——. Mrs. Clifton summoned Kate. When the girl entered, she found the lady on the verge of fainting from over-exertion and extreme weakness. Catherine grew pale with sudden fear, and her hands trembled as she poured out and administered a restorative. Somewhat revived by the cordial, Mrs. Clifton said—
“Kate, write two notes, one to Mrs. Georgia Clifton, and one to your brother Carl, asking each of them to come here this evening to witness a deed—or rathertwo of them, my dear Kate—the signing of my last will and testament, and the solemnization of your marriage—for both must be hastened, Kate. My dear child, take your pen and write at once.”
Deeply troubled, extremely agitated, yet struggling to govern her feelings, Catherine found the writing materials and penned the two notes; but when she had finished them, in the abstraction of her great grief, she misdirected them—and sent the note intended for Mrs. Georgia to Carl Kavanagh, and that intended for Carl to Mrs. Georgia. When she had dispatched these notes by different messengers, and returned to the parlor, Mrs. Clifton said—
“Call Henny, my dear Kate, and let her assist you in getting me up stairs. It has come at last, Kate.”
Almost dismayed by sorrow, Catherine rung the bell that brought the servants into the room. And between them they raised the lady to her feet. Mrs. Clifton took a long look around the room, as though she were taking a last leave of every dear familiar object in it; and then suffered herself to be supported up to her chamber.
Mrs. Georgia Clifton was pacing her chamber floor, in all the distraction of excited evil passions, racking her brain foran expedient to ruin her rival and break off the impending marriage, when the “spirits that tend on mortal thoughts,” furnished her with one. A messenger entered and handed her a sealed envelope, directed in the hand-writing of Catherine Kavanagh. She opened it in surprise, curiosity, and even in some degree of vague, guilty fear, and found within the misdirected note of Kate to Carl. It read simply as follows:
“Dear Carl:—
“Dear Carl:—
“Dear Carl:—
“Dear Carl:—
“Mrs. Clifton is almost dying. She says you must come to the house this afternoon, at four o’clock, to meet a lawyer and a clergyman, and with Mrs. Georgia Clifton, to witness the signing of her last will, and also my marriage. Do not keep her waiting.
“CATHERINE.”
“CATHERINE.”
“CATHERINE.”
“CATHERINE.”
This note contained no expression of esteem or affection for the invalid, or regret at her approaching death. No! for Catherine’s veneration and sorrow were too earnest, too real, to be a matter of wordy formula. But in the evil heart of Georgia this simplicity was turned against the girl. And her first idea, revealed in her smile of satisfaction, was to show this mis-sent note to Archer Clifton, and bid him look and see with what perfect coolness and indifference the writer could announce the approaching demise of her benefactress. But while this thought was revolving in her mind, Satan suggested a surer plan—a deadly stratagem. And at this inspiration of the fiend, the dark face of the baleful woman lighted up with demoniac joy. She seized the note again, and rushed to the window, and scanned the hand-writing. Georgia inherited all the imitative talent of her father, the portrait painter. Catherine’s hand-writing was unique: small, square letters, with heavy strokes, a chirography peculiar to herself, yet easily imitated. Mrs. Georgia copied a few selected words—compared them with the originals, and was satisfied with her work. Next she wished to procure note paper, exactly like it. Catherine’s note was written upon neutral-tinted paper, that had been given her by Major Clifton. Mrs. Georgia recognized it as some that had belonged to him. She thought there might possibly be a few stray sheets in the writing-table of the library. She went thither, and after a diligent search, found a single sheet. This she took with her, and returned to her chamber, locked herself in, and sat down to her fiendish task. Perfectlyimitating the hand-writing of Catherine, she forged the following letter:
“Dearest Carl:—
“Dearest Carl:—
“Dearest Carl:—
“Dearest Carl:—
“My long slavery is almost over. The old woman is at her last gasp, and wants you to come over this afternoon at four o’clock, to witness her will and my marriage. You see I have succeeded in catching the aristocrat, and in wheedling his mother into giving me Hardbargain, in my sole right. Am I not a triumphant diplomatist? When she is dead, and I am married, and mistress of White Cliffs and of Hardbargain, as I shall probably reside at the principal seat, I intend to let you this farm, on the easiest terms. Never fear Major Clifton’s interference. You knowIknow how to manage him.
“CATHERINE.”
“CATHERINE.”
“CATHERINE.”
“CATHERINE.”
When she had completed her demon-work, Georgia carefully examined it. It satisfied her. She smiled, and muttered—“Any onewho ever saw Catherine’s queer hand-writing, would feel safe in swearing this to be hers.” Then she folded it in the form of the other note, and placed it in the original envelope—and threw it, broken-sealed as it was, upon the table, exclaiming—“There!—
“‘I have set my life upon a cast,And will abide the hazard of the die.’”
“‘I have set my life upon a cast,And will abide the hazard of the die.’”
“‘I have set my life upon a cast,And will abide the hazard of the die.’”
“‘I have set my life upon a cast,
And will abide the hazard of the die.’”
In the meanwhile, Catherine watched by the bedside of Mrs. Clifton, awaiting the return of Major Clifton, with the clergyman and the attorney.
About three o’clock in the afternoon the party arrived. The professional gentlemen remained in the parlor, while Major Clifton went up into the chamber of his mother. As he approached her bed, and perceived the fearful change a few hours had wrought in her appearance, and recognized the sure approach of death, he was so shocked, so overwhelmed with sorrow, that it was with the utmost difficulty he could sustain his self-command.
She held out to him her wasted hand, saying, quietly—
“My dear Archer, I wish to have the marriage ceremony between you and Kate performed this afternoon, if you please.”
“Certainly, my dear mother, it shall be as you desire,” he replied, repressing a great groan—but desirous, above all things, to gratify that dying parent. “Shall it benow, mother?”
“No, dear Archer, not just yet—I want the holiest things left for thelast—I want the will drawn up, witnessed, signed and sealedfirst; then the marriage ceremony performed; and last, I wish to receive the Holy Communion—after which, I shall be ready to depart.”
“Mother—the minister and the lawyer are below stairs, awaiting your leisure—they will remain over to-night. Do not disturb yourself.”
“My good Archer, I made Catherine write to Carl Kavanagh and to Mrs. Georgia to come to see me this afternoon, they have not yet arrived. Please go and send again for them.”
Archer Clifton bent and kissed his mother’s forehead, and went down stairs. In the hall he saw Carl Kavanagh, hat in hand, waiting.
Carl immediately advanced, and said—
“Ah! Major Clifton, I am waiting here to see my sister to return to her this note, that she has sent me by mistake I think—perhaps you can explain it.” And he handed to Archer Clifton the mis-sent note of Catherine to Georgia.
Major Clifton understood the mistake at once, and retaining the note, replied—
“Catherine wrote two notes, summoning yourself and Mrs. Georgia Clifton to Hardbargain, this afternoon, to witness the signature of a certain document. She placed them in envelopes, and in her haste misdirected them—that is all. Pray remain here, while I ride over home, and bring Mrs. Georgia.”
Carl Kavanagh sat down in the hall, and Major Clifton mounted a fresh horse, and galloped over to White Cliffs. Dismounting at the gate, he threw the reins to a servant and entering the house, sent a message to Mrs. Georgia.
The servant returned, and requesting Major Clifton to follow, led the way up to Mrs. Georgia’s own room, opened the door, announced the visitor, and retired.
Archer entered the room, and found the lady seated at her work-table, but looking pale and anxious. By her work-box lay the envelope of Kate’s true note with the forged note in it.
“Ah!” said Major Clifton, after greeting her, “I see that you have received Kate’s note.”
“Yes—one that was never intended formyeyes, but of those of a fellow conspirator.”
“Conspirator, madam!”
“Yes, sir. Do you surmise all the consequences of these mis-sent letters? Look at this!” she said, throwing it to him, “written by Miss Kavanagh, but directed by mistake to me. Yes, look at it! Examine the envelope! and then read the contents of the note!”
Major Clifton glanced at the superscription, opened the note, and read it through with a cheek growing pale and paler—until he finished it—then tossed it from him, and burying his face in his hands groaned aloud. He had not the slightest suspicion that the infamous letter was a forgery—no!—he had not a single merciful doubt that it was the work of Catherine—nay, he would have sworn to the hand-writing, if called upon to do so in a court of justice—he would have sworn to it though Kate’s life hung upon his oath! Any one else who had ever seen her peculiar chirography would have felt constrained to do so, if requested—save two—she who lay dying at Hardbargain—and she was to know nothing about it—and he, the rejected lover, now far away, who would have cast that note aside in high disdain, and staked his honor on her truth. Clifton groaned aloud, in the bitterness of disappointed esteem. Resentment itself was swallowed up in sorrow, and he exclaimed—
“Oh! would to God she had died, orIhad, before I knew this!”
“Rejoice, rather, that you are saved!”
“Saved, madam!”
“Yes—saved. You will never marry her, now. You are perfectly justifiable in breaking with the unmasked traitress!”
“And in shaking the last few sands in my mother’s glass of life. The discovery of that girl’s treachery has driven me to despair—it would kill my mother! No, lady! I must marry her, that my beloved mother may depart in peace.”
“Marry her!” screamed Georgia, with the cry of a wounded hyena—“marry her, and sacrifice all your hopes of happiness, for the sake of keeping quiet the last few hours of a dying woman! You will not do such a thing.”
“My hopes of happiness, did you say, Mrs. Clifton? Ah, lady, can you not comprehend, then, that when one at my agehas discovered—beyond all possibility of doubt—the total unworthiness of one the most beloved on earth—the heart’s most cherished darling—the life’s dearest hope—” down broke his voice, and down dropped his head upon his hands—then rising, impatiently, he exclaimed—“I say, can you not comprehend that I havenohopes of happiness left? I loved her so! I trusted her so! I sacrificed such strong prejudices for her! And I was as happy as a converted sinner, when the struggle was over and the sacrifice made. I could have shaken hands with her freckled-handed brother, and claimed kindred with all his rugged race! And now!—I am unmanned! I am a fool!”
“No, you are not, unless you marry her. You are not the first noble-minded man that has been duped by a bad woman! You feel it as every generous hearted man would. But it will pass. Life has many chances, and you will be happy yet.Myfriendship is not much, perhaps, but is it not something?”
“Yes—yes—yes—yes—sweet friend, it is much,” said Archer Clifton, slowly—half soliloquizing, as he took and held her hand. Then suddenly starting, as out of a reverie, he exclaimed—“Mrs. Clifton, you know my errand here—it is to bring you over to Hardbargain, for the purpose of which you have already been advised by the note.”
“To be present at your mad marriage, among other things?”
“Yes.”
“I will not go! I cannot! I cannot witness such a sacrifice.”
“As you please, dear Georgia. I suppose there is no imperative necessity of your doing so—good-bye!” and he arose, and lifted his hat from the table.
“Yes! good-bye, indeed!” replied Georgia, bitterly—“good-bye, indeed! if you persist in your insane purpose!—I shall remain here, and hope to the last. But when I hear that this marriage has really taken place, I leave White Cliffs within the hour!”
“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 muchindisposedto 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 solemnlyarose, 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.”
Catherine bent and kissed the pallid lips of the dying woman, and then her voice arose, sweet, clear and spiritual as angels’ songs, in that immortal requiem—
“Vital spark of heavenly flame,Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame;Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying—Hark! they whisper, angels say—Sister spirit, come away—
“Vital spark of heavenly flame,Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame;Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying—Hark! they whisper, angels say—Sister spirit, come away—
“Vital spark of heavenly flame,Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame;Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying—Hark! they whisper, angels say—Sister spirit, come away—
“Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame;
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying—
Hark! they whisper, angels say—
Sister spirit, come away—
At the end of the first stanza, she murmured, faintly—
“Your voice, too, dear Archer.”
His voice arose now in unison with Catherine’s, and they sang the remainder—
“The world recedes—it disappears:Heaven opens on my eyes; my earsWith sounds seraphic ring.Lend, lend your wings; I mount, I fly!Oh, grave, where is thy victory?Oh, death, where is thy sting?”
“The world recedes—it disappears:Heaven opens on my eyes; my earsWith sounds seraphic ring.Lend, lend your wings; I mount, I fly!Oh, grave, where is thy victory?Oh, death, where is thy sting?”
“The world recedes—it disappears:Heaven opens on my eyes; my earsWith sounds seraphic ring.Lend, lend your wings; I mount, I fly!Oh, grave, where is thy victory?Oh, death, where is thy sting?”
“The world recedes—it disappears:
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring.
Lend, lend your wings; I mount, I fly!
Oh, grave, where is thy victory?
Oh, death, where is thy sting?”
They ceased, and looked upon the marble face before them. It was still in death, but there remained upon the countenance the impress of the ecstatic smile with which the spirit had taken its flight—
“Her deathWas like the setting of a planet mild.”
“Her deathWas like the setting of a planet mild.”
“Her deathWas like the setting of a planet mild.”
“Her death
Was like the setting of a planet mild.”