Purling keenly felt the embarrassment of his position. Pompilard came to his relief. “We have concluded, my dear fellow,” said he, “not to put off the wedding. Don’t concern yourself about money-matters. You can come and occupy Melissa’s room with her till I get on my legs once more. I shall go to work in earnest now this lawsuit is off my hands.” “My dear sir,” said Purling, “you are very generous,—very indulgent. The moment my books begin to pay, what is mine shall be yours; and if you can conveniently accommodate me for a few months, till the work I’m now writing is—” “Accommodate you? Of course we can! The more the merrier,” interrupted Pompilard. “So it’s settled. The wedding comes off next Wednesday.” And the wedding came off according to the programme. It took place in church. Pompilard was in his glory. Cards had been issued to all his friends of former days. Many had conveniently forgotten that such a person existed; but there were some noble exceptions, as there generally are in such cases. Presents of silver, of dresses, books, furniture, and pictures were sent in from friends both of the bride and bridegroom; so that the _trousseau_ presented a very respectable appearance; but the prettiest gift of the occasion was a little porte-monnaie, containing a check for two thousand dollars signed by Pat Maloney. As for Charlton, young in years, if not in heart, good-looking, a widower unencumbered with a child, what was there he might not aspire to with his twelve hundred thousand dollars? He was taken in charge by the J——s, and the M——s, and the P——s, and introduced into “society.” Yes, that is the proper name for “our set.” A competition, outwardly calm, but internally bitter and intense, was entered upon by fashionable mothers having daughters to provide for. Charlton became the sensation man of the season. “Will he marry?” That was now the agitating question that convulsed all the maternal councils within a mile’s radius of the new Fifth Avenue Hotel. CHAPTER XVIII. THE UNITIES DISREGARDED. “Blessed, are they who see, and yet believe not! Yea, blest are they who look on graves, and still Believe none dead; who see proud tyrants ruling, And yet believe not in the strength of Evil.” _Leopold Schefer._ The admirers of Aristotle must bear with us while we take a little liberty: that, namely, of violating all the unities. Fourteen years had slipped by since the great steamboat accident; fourteen years, pregnant with forces, and prolific of events, to the far-reaching influence of which no limit can be set.