head, Bowles condescended to use
plain English in describing what had happened up stairs.

"Much good may the faint do the big, auld woman," said Bridget, with an
air of indifference. "The divel takes a mighty good care of his own."

"Quid--mortibus--portendibus," repeated Bowles, as Bridget ran to the
door with the tongs upraised, causing him to beat a hasty retreat.

"Bad luck to such a nager!" exclaimed Bridget, as Bowles shut the door.
"Shure he thinks more about his latin and his livery an he do about his
priest."

"Chapman, my dear Chapman, how crushing this all is," the lady
whispered, as she began to recover her consciousness. "I feel more dead
than alive--I do. Send Bowles out. Do what you can to soften the
disappointment. Tell those who come it was all owing to unforeseen
circumstances. Oh, my dear daughter," she put her arm around Mattie's
neck, drew her to her and kissed her, "how can we look Bowling Green in
the face after this? We never shall, and yet your father is a scholar
and a gentleman."

Chapman's excitement began to return with his wife's recovery; indeed it
soon became her turn to soothe his troubled mind.

"Gusher--the handsome young gentleman--is in prison, eh, and turns out
to be--"

"My dear wife," interrupted Chapman, again giving way to his feelings,
"he turns out to be Louis Pinto, an impostor. That's the whole of
it--except what there may be in this paper." He drew a newspaper from
his pocket, and pointing to an article headed: "A Notorious Impostor
caught at Last," said: "There, my dear, read that." It gave a very long
account, or rather history of the prisoner's exploits in Havana and New
Orleans, his operations in New York, financially as well as socially,
and indeed all the circumstances attending his career since he arrived
in the city, his connection with the great Kidd Discovery Company, and
not forgetting to mention that he was to have been married this day to a
lovely and interesting young lady--the daughter of a highly respectable
family.

"Have read enough, my dear," said Mrs. Chapman, putting the paper aside
quietly. "Smelling salts, the ammonia, my daughter," she whispered to
Mattie, and motioned her hand to bring them quickly. "I shall faint
again, I am sure I shall."

"Don't let it worry you so much, mother," replied Mattie, as she handed
her the phial. "We ought all to be thankful that we have escaped with no
worse disgrace. I at least am thankful."

Mrs. Chap