him by asking: "If hell was so horrible to
hear of for a little while, what must it be to feel forever and ever?"

They had reached Charleston, on their way home. Mrs. L'Oiseau, too much
fatigued to persecute her uncle for his good, had gone to her chamber.

The commodore was put comfortably to bed.

And Mrs. Waugh took the day's paper, and sat down by the old man's side,
to read him the news until he should get sleepy. As she turned the paper
about, her eyes fell upon the same paragraph that had so agitated
Marian. Now, Henrietta was by no means excitable--on the contrary, she
was rather hard to be moved; but on seeing this announcement of the
arrest of Mr. Willcoxen, for the crime with which he was charged, an
exclamation of horror and amazement burst from her lips. In another
moment she had controlled herself, and would gladly have kept the
exciting news from the sick man until the morning.

But it was too late--the commodore had heard the unwonted cry, and now,
raised upon his elbow, lay staring at her with his great fat eyes, and
insisting upon knowing what the foul fiend she meant by screeching out
in that manner?

It was in vain to evade the question--the commodore would hear the news.
And Mrs. Waugh told him.

"And by the bones of Paul Jones, I always believed it!" falsely swore
the commodore; and thereupon he demanded to hear "all about it."

Mrs. Waugh commenced, and in a very unsteady voice read the long account
quite through. The commodore made no comment, except an occasional grunt
of satisfaction, until she had finished it, when he growled out:

"Knew it!--hope they'll hang him!--d----d rascal! If it hadn't been for
him, there'd been no trouble in the family! Now call Festus to help to
turn me over, and tuck me up, Henrietta; I want to go to sleep!"

That night Mrs. Waugh said nothing, but the next morning she proposed
hurrying homeward with all possible speed.

But the commodore would hear of no such thing. He swore roundly that he
would not stir to save the necks of all the scoundrels in the world,
much less that of Thurston, who, if he did not kill Marian, deserved
richly to be hanged for giving poor Nace so much trouble.

Mrs. Waugh coaxed and urged in vain. The commodore rather liked to hear
her do so, and so the longer she pleaded, the more obstinate and dogged
he grew, until at last Henrietta desisted--telling him, very
well!--justice and humanity alike required her presence near the unha