commodore.

"And so it really is, beloved," whispered Michael.

"Let it be next week," abruptly broke in the commodore. "What's the use
of putting it off? Tuesdays and Thursdays are the marrying days, I
believe; let it then be Tuesday or Thursday."

"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