thence a letter in a grey envelope, and, handing it to General Conyers, asked, "Do you know that handwriting?"

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Certainly, I do."

"Whose is it ?"

"Pooh! Of course I am! I am familiar with the writing." "Could you swear to it ?"

"You are very emphatic in this matter! Let me see the letter again. Yes, I could swear to it."

"And now will you do me the favour to read it ?"

General Conyers, with some hesitation, began to read; but before getting half through, the blood rushed to his brow, and, crushing the letter in his hand, he hurled it beneath his feet, and, setting his heel upon it, ground it into the earth.

"What do you think of it now ?" asked Clifton bitterly.

"Think of it ?—it is an infernal forgery! If any man had brought me that letter, and said that Catherine wrote it, I should have treated it just as I have done now, to show my contempt for the forgery; and then I should have raised it with my sword's point, and thrust it down his throat, to express my loathing of the forger or the accomplice."

"And yet just now you could have sworn to the handwriting."

Death!

And for which presumption I earnestly

beg your pardon, Clifton."

"And now you are quite as much convinced that she did not write it. How can you explain this?"

"Why, simply thus: that the whole of Catherine's noble life is a refutation of the slander contained in that letter. Sir, it is a d―d forgery! Look at it! See how easy the hand is imitated! Give me a pen and ink; and though I have not much talent for imitation, I will produce you a fac-simile of Catherine's handwriting. I repeat, I beg your forgiveness for saying that it was Catherine's. I said so, because it strongly resembled hers, and I did not know the vile purport. Oh, I trust, Clifton, that you signally punished the conspirator who wrote it. I can well believe that you neither ate, slept, said your prayers, went to church or into her presence, until you had pursued the forger, and punished him or her to the utmost extent of the law!"

They had now arrived at Greenwood; and Major Clifton, without replying, conducted his companion into the house, and introduced him to the planter's family. On inquiry concerning the state of Catherine, he learned that she still lay without any sign of life, except the faint beating of her heart. Leaving General Conyers with his host, he went up into his wife's chamber. He wished to be alone with her. There is something in a sound faith that always makes a strong impression. The deep, thorough earnestness of confidence in Catherine's perfect integrity exhibited by Conyers had shaken Clifton's firm convictions of her guilt to their uprootings, as the whirlwind shakes the oak. Ay, and he was shaken-literally shaken, terribly shaken, by strong passion, as he exclaimed to himself, "Oh, would to Heaven I could think as he does! I am no longer a youth, credulous of happiness; but if I could only thoroughly believe in Kate as he does, or once see her innocence proved, it would fill my heart with joy." He entered the chamber, and went up to her bedside. There was a pallor spread like death over her brow. "But she was always so pale," he said, in a voice tremulous with tenderness. So still she lay, so profound was her repose, that her breathing could not be seen or heard, until, alarmed, he stooped and listened, and perceived that her respiration was deep, soft, slow, and regular. Her sleep was evidently necessary, healthful, and recuperative. He stood and gazed at her sculptured, marble-like face, as her head reposed upon the pillow. He had never seen that noble countenance in the deep repose of sleep before. No; and waking, it had always been disturbed by care, or grief, or anxiety, or bashfulness. Now the noble face was in perfect rest. The majesty of truth sat enthroned upon the fine, broad open forehead, with its eyebrows arched far apart, and more elevated, because the eyelids were shut down, with their dark lashes lying long and still upon the pale cheeks; and the beauty of goodness lay folded in every curve of the lightlyclosed and perfect lips. She looked a queen in repose" a queen of noble Nature's crowning," whom it were disloyalty to suspect, and treason to accuse. As he gazed, the earnest faith of Conyers came back with tenfold power to his soul. He more than half abjured his evil convictions, and a flood of tenderness came over his heart. There was no one to see his weakness-not even her-the sleeper. He went and closed

the door, and returned and kneeled by her side. He took her hand, and bowed his head over it. From that trance-sleep there was no fear, because there was no possibility of waking her yet. He kissed and pressed that hand with sorrowful passion, murmuring, For once, for this time, I will, I will believe you true, my own dear Catherine. My whole nature starves it starves, and withers, and dies for a perfect reconciliation, a perfect union with you. Oh, for once, let soul and heart be satisfed-let me steel my mind against the thought of evil, and fold you around with my love, and press you to this still denied, and hungering, perishing heart." And he raised her in his arms, and folded her to his bosom, pressing an ardent kiss upon her lips. That passionate kiss sent an electric shock through all her still life. A shuddering sigh shook her bosom; her lips parted in a light, rosy smile; colour dawned upon her cheeks, and light beamed upon her brow. Alarmed, and remembering the physician's warning that a premature awakening might be fatal, he cautiously laid her down again, and anxiously watched her countenance. She did not awake; nor did the light depart from her brow, nor the colour from her cheeks, nor the smile from her lips. "How she loves me! Her soul as well as her person is mine. How she loves me, even in sleep-even in this trance-sleep, with all her senses locked! How she loves me-my Kate! my own! my wife! How she loves me yet no more than I love her! Witness this worn frame of mine, that sorrow, like years, has aged! My own—'

The

A light step upon the stairs, and a rap at the door, and he hastened to open it. It was the farmer's little niece, Susannah, who came to say that Captain Fairfax was in the parlour, waiting to see Major Clifton. He turned back an instant to arrange the coverlet, gave a last glance at the beloved face, and then followed the child down stairs. staircase led directly down into the parlour; and as soon as he had reached it, he saw Frank Fairfax, who immediately hastened to meet him, and-" My dear Frank !" "My dearest Clifton!" were the words of affectionate greeting interchanged, as they shook hands.

Well, and so you have been married these two years nearly, and I have never had the opportunity of congratu lating you till now! Well, better late than never, though it

is always a mere form to wish a man joy who has an excess of it already! But, indeed, you have the jewel of the world! If you had only waited two years longer, until I had somewhat recovered the despair of my own awful bereavement, I should have tried to dispute the prize with you. Not that I was in love with noble Catherine-I never was but once in love, and I never shall be again; but that I think her just the most precious woman in the world. Nor am I alone in that opinion. I have been in her neighbourhood, looking for her, before I came down here to find you; and there I found that she was deeply venerated by her people, and honoured, sincerely honoured, by all the proud county aristocrats. And the gallant General Ross-we had to see Admiral Cockburn about this exchange of prisoners, and met General Ross in his company-I wish had heard the brave and generous you Ross speak of your wife.

As soon as he knew what we had come for, and recognised your name and hers, he took Admiral Cockburn aside, and talked with him in the most emphatic manner, seeming to insist upon something (and be it known that General Ross exercises a considerable influence over Cockburn)—and then they came back to where we stood, and the arrangement was effected. And to General Ross's admiration of Catherine's character, and to his generosity, I attribute the ease with which the business was completed. Sir,' he said, at parting, had your army at Bladensburg been composed of men with spirits equal to that of this heroic woman, your city of Washington had not been taken.' But where is noble Catherine, now ?"

6

6

"In a deep sleep, or rather a trance-sleep, superinduced by the excessive toil and fatigue she has lately gone through—”

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'Like a warrior taking his rest!' "'

"No; I wish you would not apply that line, great as it is, to her. She is not heroic, which is masculine-my Kateshe is strong only through her affections, and a very child in timidity at other times. But, my dear Frank, glad as I am to see you, I wish to know-you have not told me the "business of vital importance' which Conyers says made you his companion in seeking me."

He

The face of Captain Fairfax suddenly clouded over. put his hand in his bosom, and, then hesitating, said, "You

have seen in the papers the obituary notice of a dear friend ?"

"No! Who is it? I have no very dear friend out of this house, now-whom do you mean ?”

"Mrs. Georgia Clifton is no more.”

Major Clifton started back, and gazed at the speaker with an expression of deep concern, exclaiming, "No! Impossible! How could that be? A woman in such fine health!" "Death is always possible; at all times, and to all persons." When, and where, and under what circumstances did she die? I am very sorry."

"She died a week since, at her house in Richmond." "I am very sorry. The cause of her death ?”

She

"One of those virulent summer fevers prevalent in the city just at this season. Her physicians think that hers was fatally aggravated by the life of excitement she had led, and by the friction of something that preyed upon her mind.” Frank paused, and Major Clifton kept his eyes fixed with interest upon his countenance. Frank sighed, and resumed "A few days before her death she sent for me. I went, and found her labouring under great mental distress. seemed half disposed to make me a confidant; but after much painful hesitation, she reserved her secret, whatever it may have been, and drew from beneath her pillow this letter, which she gave me, exacting an oath that after her death, and not before, I would hand it to you with the seal unbroken. She said that the whole future happiness of yourself and your wife was concerned in your receiving it; and then, with many sighs and groans for her eyes seemed too dry for tears-she let me depart. I never saw her again. A few days after that, I heard she was dead."

"The letter ?"

"Here it is. You seem very much agitated, Clifton !" "With reason! Give it me!"

And, receiving the letter, Major Clifton hastened to the opposite end of the room, and began to read it. It was the confession of a guilty and dying woman. She wrote that on the borders of eternity there was no false seeming, and no false shame—that all human feelings were lost in remorse, in terror, and in awe. Then she confessed her mad and guilty passion for himself, and all the crimes into which it had tempted her: the slanders that had separated him and