The Sedleys had not been long at Cacouna when one morning the old gentleman walking out, as was his wont, before breakfast, saw through the fog (which in this district usually hangs about for some time after sunrise) a man descend from his daughter’s bedroom window and walk hastily in the direction of the hotel. Both the distance and the fog prevented him from positively recognizing the man’s features, but the form and carriage were unmistakably those of Alfred Grandison. Mr. Sedley was, so to speak, “struck all of a heap,” he could not believe the evidence of his own senses, and for a few moments he stood rooted to the spot as if thunderstruck; then he rushed into the house, and going straight to his daughter’s room upbraided her with her shameful conduct, but was met by a bold and unqualified denial, the young lady stating that she had been till that moment asleep, and that possibly some burglar had been in the premises, whom her father had mistaken for a gay Lothario. She burst into tears and wondered that her father could have such an opinion of her, and suggested that immediate search should be made, to see if any articles of value were missing. Her father was by no means convinced of his mistake, however; he thought it possible that his daughter might not have been aware of Grandison’s presence, or that he might only have been _about to enter_ the house when he was frightened away; but that Grandison was there he felt certain, so, going immediately over to the hotel, he charged him directly with his crime, at the same time, presenting a loaded revolver at his head, he threatened to blow his brains out. This, as may be supposed, did not prove a ready means of eliciting a confession from the cowardly Grandison. The poor wretch cowered before the righteous indignation of the broken-hearted father, and swore by every saint in the Calendar that the latter must have been mistaken, and that nothing criminal had ever taken place between the young lady and himself. Mr. Sedley only half believed these asseverations, but, as may be seen, he was a poor diplomatist, and took the very worst way to arrive at anything like the truth. So saying “Not guilty, but _don’t do it again_,” or words to that effect, he left the hotel and returned to his own house. Here he disclosed his fears to his wife, but she scouted the idea as preposterous, and urged him to have Mary’s marriage with Hazelton celebrated as soon as convenient, and so put an end to all possible contingencies. Shortly after the return of the family to Montreal Mr. Hazelton led to the altar with pride the “blushing” Mary Sedley. Good cause, indeed, had she to blush, for never was man more egregiously “sold” than was “Mr. Samuel Hazelton, of the city of Montreal, merchant.” The _happy couple_ left by the evening train for Boston, the “Wedding March,” which was admirably performed by Mr. Grandison, still ringing in their ears.