“Tuesday,” pleaded Michael.

“Thursday,” murmured Edith.

“The deuce!—­if you can’t decide, I must decide for you,” growled Old Nick, storming down toward the extremity of the hall, and roaring—­“Old Hen!  Old Hen!  These fools are to be spliced on Sunday!  Now bring me my pipe;” and the commodore withdrew to his sanctum.

Good Henrietta came in, took the hand of the young ensign, and pressed it warmly, saying that he would have a good wife, and wishing them both much happiness in their union.  She drew Edith to her bosom, and kissed her fondly, but in silence.

As this was Friday evening, little preparations could be made for the solemnity to take place on Sunday.  Yet Mrs. Henrietta exerted herself to do all possible honor to the occasion.  That very evening she sent out a few invitations to the dinner and ball, that in those days invariably celebrated a country wedding.  She even invited a few particular friends to meet the bridal pair at dinner, on their return from church.

The little interval between this and Sunday morning was passed by Edith and Shields in making arrangements for their future course.

Sunday came.

A young lady of the neighborhood officiated as bridesmaid, and Cloudesley Mornington as groomsman.  The ceremony was to be performed at the Episcopal Church at Charlotte Hall.  The bridal party set forward in two carriages.  They were attended by the commodore and Mrs. Waugh.  They reached the church at an early hour, and the marriage was solemnized before the morning service.  When the entries had been made, and the usual congratulations passed, the party returned to the carriages.  Before entering his own, Commodore Waugh approached that in which the bride and bridegroom were already seated, and into which the groomsman was about to hand the bridesmaid.

“Stay, you two, you need not enter just yet,” said the old man, “I want to speak with Mr. Shields and his wife, Edith!”

Edith put her head forward, eagerly.

“I have nothing against you; but after what has occurred, I don’t want to see you at Luckenough again.  Good-by!” Then, turning to Shields, he said, “I will have your own and your wife’s goods forwarded to the hotel, here,” and nodding gruffly, he strode away.

Cloudesley stormed, Edith begged that the carriage might be delayed yet a little while.  Vain Edith’s hope, and vain Mrs. Waugh’s expostulations, Old Nick was not to be mollified.  He said that “those who pleased to remain with the new-married couple, might do so—­he should go home!  They did as they liked, and he should do as he liked.”  Mrs. Waugh, Cloudesley, and the bridesmaid determined to stay.

The commodore entered his carriage, and was driven toward home.

The party then adjourned to the hotel.  Mrs. Waugh comforting Edith, and declaring her intention to stay with her as long as she should remain in the neighborhood—­for Henrietta always did as she pleased, notwithstanding the opposition of her stormy husband.  The young bridesmaid and Cloudesley also expressed their determination to stand by their friends to the last.