Bob Betts was the only male witness of the marriage between Mark Woolston and Bridget Yardley, with the exception of the officiating clergyman; as Mary Bromley was the only female.  Duplicate certificates, however, were given to the young couple, Mark placing his in his writing-desk, and Bridget hers in the bosom of her dress.  Five minutes after the ceremony was ended, the whole party separated, the girls returning to their respective residences, and the clergyman going his way, leaving the mate and the ship-keeper together on the vessel’s deck.  The latter did not speak, so long as he saw the bridegroom’s eyes fastened on the light form of the bride, as the latter went swiftly up the retired wharf where the ship was lying, on her way to Front street, accompanied by her young friend.  But, no sooner had Bridget turned a corner, and Bob saw that the attraction was no longer in view, than he thought it becoming to put in a word.

“A trim-built and light-sailing craft, Mr. Woolston,” he said, turning over the quid in his mouth; “one of these days she’ll make a noble vessel to command.”

“She is my captain, and ever will be, Bob,” returned Mark.  “But you’ll be silent concerning what has passed.”

“Ay, ay, sir.  It is not my business to keep a log for all the women in the country to chatter about, like so many monkeys that have found a bag of nuts.  But what was the meaning of the parson’s saying, ’with all my worldly goods I thee endow’—­does that make you any richer, or any poorer, sir?”

“Neither,” answered Mark, smiling.  “It leaves me just where I was, Bob, and where I am likely to be for some time to come, I fear.”

“And has the young woman nothing herself, sir?  Sometimes a body picks up a comfortable chest-full with these sort of things, as they tell me, sir.”

“I believe Bridget is as poor as I am myself, Bob, and that is saying all that can be said on such a point.  However, I’ve secured her now, and two years hence I’ll claim her, if she has not a second gown to wear.  I dare say the old man will be for turning her adrift with as little as possible.”

All this was a proof of Mark’s entire disinterestedness.  He did not know that his young bride had quite thirty thousand dollars in reversion, or in one sense in possession, although she could derive no benefit from it until she was of age, or married, and past her eighteenth year.  This fact her husband did not learn for several days after his marriage, when his bride communicated it to him, with a proposal that he should quit the sea and remain with her for life.  Mark was very much in love, but this scheme scarce afforded him the satisfaction that one might have expected.  He was attached to his profession, and scarce relished the thought of being dependent altogether on his wife for the means of subsistence.  The struggle between love and pride was great, but Mark, at length, yielded to Bridget’s blandishments,