the Widow Keswick!" he exclaimed,"
I've a great mind to throw it into the fire without reading it."

"Don't do that," cried Colonel Macon. "It is a New Year present she is
sending you. Read it, sir, read it by all means."

Mr Brandon had given his friend an account of his unexampled and
astounding persecutions by the Widow Keswick, and the old colonel had
been much interested thereby; and it would have greatly grieved his
soul not to become acquainted with this new feature of the affair.
"Read it, sir," he cried; "I would like to know what sort of New Year
congratulations she offers you."

"Congratulations indeed!" said Mr Brandon; "you needn't expect
anything of that kind." But he opened the note; and, turning, so that
he could get a good light upon it, began to read aloud, as follows:

"MY DEAREST ROBERT."

"Confound it, sir," exclaimed the reader, "did you ever hear of such a
piece of impertinence as that?"

Colonel Pinckney Macon leaned back in his chair, and laughed aloud.
"It is impertinent," he cried, "but it's confoundedly jolly! Go on,
sir. Go on, I beg of you."

Mr Brandon continued:

"It is not for me to suggest anything of the kind, but I write this
note simply to ask you what you would think of a triple wedding? There
would certainly be something very touching about it, and it would be
very satisfactory and comforting, I am sure, to our nieces and their
husbands to know that they were not leaving either of us to a lonely
life. Would we not make three happy pairs, dear Robert? Remember, I do
not propose this, I only lay it before your kindly and affectionate
heart.

"Your own

"Martha Ann Keswick."

Colonel Macon, who, with much difficulty and redness of face, had
restrained himself during the reading of this note, now burst into a
shout of laughter, while Mr Brandon sprang to his feet, and crumpling
the note in his hand, threw it into the fire; and then, turning
around, he exclaimed: "Did the world ever hear anything like that!
Triple wedding, indeed! Does the pestiferous old shrew imagine that
anything in this world would induce me to marry her?"

"Why, my dear sir," cried Colonel Macon, "of course she don't. I know
the Widow Keswick as well as you do. She wouldn't marry you to save
your soul, sir. All she wants to do is to worry and persecute you, and
to torment your senses out of you, in revenge for your having got the
better of her. Now, take my advice, sir, and don't let her do it.