It was only at the foot of his own table, after ladling out and serving around the stewed oysters “hot and hot,” that the commodore, rubbing his hands, and smiling until his great face was as grotesque as a nutcracker’s, announced that Miss Nancy Skamp was turned out of office—­yea, discrowned, unsceptred, dethroned, and that Harry Barnwell reigned in her stead.  The news had come in that evening’s mail!  All present breathed more freely—­all felt an inexpressible relief in knowing that the post-office would henceforth be above suspicion, and their letters and papers safe from, desecration.  Only Marian said: 

“What will become of the poor old creature?”

“By St. Judas Iscariot, that’s her business.”

“No, indeed, I think it is ours; some provision should be made for her, Commodore Waugh.”

“I’ll recommend her to the trustees of the almshouse, Miss Mayfield.”

Marian thought it best not to pursue the subject then, but resolved to embrace the first opportunity of appealing to the commodore’s smothered chivalry in behalf of a woman, old, poor, feeble, and friendless.

During the supper Dr. Grimshaw sat up as stiff and solemn—­Jacquelina said—­“as if he’d swallowed the poker and couldn’t digest it.”  When they rose from the table, and were about leaving the dining-room, Dr. Grimshaw glided in a funereal manner to the side of the commodore, and demanded a private interview with him.

“Not to-night, Nace!  Not to-night!  I know by your looks what it is!  It is some new deviltry of Jacquelina’s.  That can wait!  I’m as sleepy as a whole cargo of opium!  I would not stop to talk now to Paul Jones, if he was to rise from the dead and visit me!”

And the professor had to be content with that, for almost immediately the family separated for the night.

Marian, attended by the maid Maria, sought the chamber assigned to herself.  When she had changed her tight-fitting day-dress for a wrapper, she dismissed the girl, locked the door behind her, and then drew her chair up before the little fire, and fell into deep thought.  Many causes of anxiety pressed heavily upon Marian.  That Thurston had repented his hasty marriage with herself she had every reason to believe.

She had confidently hoped that her explanation with Thurston would have resulted in good—­but, alas! it seemed to have had little effect.  His attentions to Miss Le Roy were still unremitted—­the young lady’s partiality was too evident to all—­and people already reported them to be engaged.

And now, as Marian sat by her little wood-fire in her chamber at Luckenough, bitter, sorrowful questions, arose in her mind.  Would he persist in his present course?  No, no, it could not be!  This was probably done only to pique herself; but then it was carried too far; it was ruining the peace of a good, confiding girl.  And Jacquelina—­she had evidently mistaken Dr. Grimshaw for Thurston,