never, even in her highest, holiest, most inspired moods, possessed. And a voice from her profound heart whispered, 'Oh, yes, and he could make me really beautiful and glorious as his ideal there; for he could make me good, and glad, and great beyond whatever I could make myself, if he chose!" She reproached her heart severely for its seductive whisper. She offered up a silent prayer to God to forgive her, and save her soul from secret sin. She called herself foolish, presumptuous, treacherous. But, oh! in spite of all these would sparkle up from the depths of her spirit sprays of gladness, as if there had suddenly sprung within an everlasting fountain of joy. Yet again she blamed herself most bitterly. She repeated that despairing complaint or confession of David, The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." She almost realised its truth. She silently cried to God to enter her heart, and expel its secret sin.

'Well, child, are you ready?" inquired Mrs. Clifton, withdrawing her hands from her temples, and looking towards the entranced girl. Kate did not hear or see; her soul and senses were absorbed in the subject before her. Yet she did not think or hope about the future. It was the present, the present that absorbed her heart, despite of will, resistance, and conscience.

"Kate, are you asleep or in a trance?" asked the lady, gazing at her.

The maiden started, and blushed deeply.

Catherine, what are you thinking of?" she repeated, fixing her dark eyes upon the girl, until they seemed to burn into her soul.

66

Kate looked guilty and bewildered, recovering herself by an effort, and answered, almost at random, This is not letter-paper, madam; it is Bristol-board."

"Oh, well! there is writing-paper in the other department of the desk, my child; get it out."

Kate examined the contents of the desk, and then replied, "There is no letter-paper here, whatever, Mrs. Clifton.'

What are those ?"

'Only cardboards and sketches, madam.'

"Sketches? That is just like Archer, to keep his sketches in his writing-desk. His writing-material will no doubt be found in his portfolio. But let me see those sketches, Catherine. I have not seen them yet, and they will be something

new to me -almost like a recent letter from Archer. I like to look over his drawings; they always mean something apart from their subject, as it seems to me. I often think his sketches form a running commentary, though an involuntary one, on his life and thoughts! Hand them to me, my child." These are only old historical subjects," said Kate, with visible reluctance to produce them.

Pass them over to me, my dear. If their subjects are as old as the Chinese History of the Creation,' they will nevertheless be eloquent to me of my son's present mood, of the state of his heart, and the progress or the retrogression of his mind. You cannot imagine, Catherine, the anxious curiosity of a mother to catch furtive glimpses of the interior of that heart she cannot always enter, and which is often hidden, too, from its possessor. We know not what manner of spirit we are of,' Catherine. For instance, do Vou know your own heart or mind? In all hearts lie depths below depths, never known to the owner until some earthquake of sorrow or of passion throw them open to view! There are in all minds powers beyond powers of achievement or of endurance, unsuspected by their possessor until some emergency calls them into action. But give me the drawings, Kate; they will refresh me like a talk with Archer."

Catherine lifted them, en masse, and handed them to Mrs. Clifton, who took and examined each separately and leisurely.

666

"Um-m," she said, smiling gently, as she recognised their subjects. Marguerite of France at the Siege of Damietta;' 'Joan of Arc at Rheims;' Margaret of Anjou at St. Alban's;' 'Last interview of Lord and Lady Russell;' and all these battle-axe heroines wearing the likeness of my serious, domestic Catherine! In truth, Archer has put you through as many characters and costumes as though he designed you for a tragic actress, in the heaviest line.”

Kate Kavanagh did not like that.

"But two of these characters bear any affinity to you, my dear. I cannot fancy any similitude between the tender and fiery Marguerite-that 'falcon-hearted dove'-or her haughty and remorseless namesake of Anjou, and my grave, gentle Catherine. But the high and holy enthusiasm irradiating Joan's face, and the noble resignation of Lady Russell's countenance, suit your striking features very well. But I

am talking like a mediocre stage-critic. Captain Clifton has a very high opinion of you, my Catherine. Pray try to merit it, my dear girl," concluded the lady, with a little pardonable motherly pride.

Kate Kavanagh looked down, and fingered the pens and wafers, for she felt the lady's eyes gazing through and through her reading her very soul.

By the way, Catherine, have you seen Captain Clifton's last work of art ?"

"No, madam." ("I wonder why she calls hian Captain Clifton' to me-she never did so before," thought Kate.)

It is a highly-finished miniature of Miss Clifton, painted on ivory. He had it set in a plain gold locket, and has taken it away with him. I saw him hang it round his neck, and lay it near his heart."

Catherine honestly believed that she was glad to hear this. for it seemed one more stay to keep her thoughts right.

"And that, Catherine, is one reason among many others I have for knowing his indestructible love for Carolyn : and that is why I feel no hesitation in having this letter written to end this foolish quarrel, and to restore peace to these two unhappy young people," said Mrs. Clifton, looking, Catherine thought, very strangely at her--so strangely that the maiden felt her cheeks burn with a vague sense of humiliation.

She asked herself, Could Mrs. Clifton have read what had been passing in her mind? Well, if so, that was another band to bind her thoughts to the right.

"Now, then, to your task, my child.

You will find paper in Captain Clifton's portfolio." She spoke gently as ever to Kate, but still called her son widen the distance between them.

66

Captain Clifton,'

as if to

Kate felt troubled at this, and then took herself to task for a state of mind so morbidly acute to impressions that she noticed everything, even that trifle. She searched and found the writing-materials in the portfolio, and went to work and wrote, from Mrs. Clifton's dictation, a letter, full of gentl rebuke, and kind, motherly counsel, to Archer Clifton; and all to the end that he should write immediately and reconcile himself to Carolyn, who was extremely ill, and whom his mother felt assured, she said, that he must be most anxious to propitiate. The letter was sealed and

espatched; and the lady, thoroughly worn out, and leaning pon the arm of Catherine, sought her own bedchamber.

The next morning Mrs. Clifton was so weary that she ould only leave her bedchamber to lie upon the sofa in the hady parlour, where she could be at hand to direct the perations of her house-servants-now engaged in cutting ut and making up the fall-clothing for the negroes. Catheine came early to assist in this onerous task. It was in he afternoon, while the lady was still reclining on the sofa, nd Catherine standing at a work-table basting a linseyvolsey frock-body, when a horse was heard to gallop up to the yard, a man to jump off and hasten up the steps of he piazza, and, the instant after, old Mr. Clifton entered e parlour, looking very much flurried and alarmed.

What is the matter? I hope Carolyn is no worse?" sked the lady, anxious, yet calm.

"No! Yes! A great deal better, of course, since the un last night! Most malignant form of the disease, and rowing rapidly worse every hour. I tell you it is! The

octor affirms it!"

Mrs. Clifton gazed at him in a sort of self-possessed erplexity.

She has got the small-pox, madam.”

"The small-pox?"

Yes, madam, the confluent small-pox, in its worst form." You astonish me! I trust, I believe you are mistaken!" No, I wish to Heaven I was! No, madam! doctor's pinion!"

"Why, how on earth? Sit down, Mr. Clifton. Kate, my dear, wheel that arm-chair around."

Catherine obeyed, and the old gentleman sank among its oft cushions, and took out his pocket-handkerchief and viped his face.

66

How on earth could she have got it ?" asked Mrs. Clifton. "Ah! Lord Almighty knows! Came spontaneously, I do uppose. You noticed those two pimples that appeared pon her forehead after the crisis of the fever passed ?" Yes; but I thought nothing of them."

Nor did we at the time. But, at any rate, that was the rst appearance of the eruption, little as we guessed it at he time. You see, she naturally began to grow better when this other disease began to break out, I suppose;

indeed, I have no doubt it was the coming of the small-pox that arrested the fatal termination of the brain-fever. Well, you see, last night, after you had left her so much better, we intrusted her to the care of Zuleime, who did not seem to be so much worn out with watching as the rest of us. So Zuleime sat up with her; and she tells me that before midnight her face was sprinkled all over with those pimples. And this morning, when I first saw her-" the old man's voice broke down for a moment-" oh, it was dreadful! Her beautiful fair face, neck, bosom, arms, all covered over with that horrible eruption! It had all run together in one mass. We sent off to hasten the arrival of the doctor, who, when he came, pronounced the disease to be confluent smallpox. Oh, it is horrible, horrible! even if her life be spared. Disfigured for life! What a fate for a woman! I drove Zuleime out of the room against her will; for she, dear, generous girl, wished to stay and tend her sister. Georgia told me at breakfast that she had just got a letter from her father, who was ill, and that she must have the carriage to go to Richmond. She did not show me the letter, for she made haste and started almost immediately. Everything falls out disastrously at once. Now, what am I to do? I cannot procure a nurse to that disease, for love or money, in this neighbourhood. Advise me what to do. The necessity is so urgent."

Mrs. Clifton was now sitting up, supporting her head upon her hand, and essaying her strength.

I must go back and nurse Carolyn myself."

"You? Now, never suppose, my dear sister, that I have been hinting for you to return and finish killing yourself for us. I would not permit it, if you wished it ever so much. I'll lock and bar the doors and windows to keep you out, first. But think, and counsel me as to the best thing to be done. There is no one at home but Zuleime; and even if I were willing she should risk taking the dreadful disease, she is so very young and inexperienced that I should be afraid to trust her sister's safety in her hands. But I am not willing that she should run any risk to herself that's flat.. But what's to be done ?"

There is not a servant on your plantation, or on this farm, fit to be trusted in such a case. I must go and take care of my daughter myself."