"Wedding! my dear," interrupted Chapman, wiping the tears from his eyes. "There can be no wedding in this house to-day, for Gusher has turned out an impostor, and is in prison--." Before he had time to say any more, the lady threw up her arms with an exclamation, shrieked and swooned. Chapman attempted to catch her in his arms as she was falling, but she carried him to the floor under her great weight, and indeed caused him to feel alarmed for his own safety. Fortunately, Bowles entered the parlor just as his mistress fell, and seeing the danger his master was in, ran to his relief, and after extracting him from his perilous position, assisted in getting his mistress safely on the sofa, where restoratives, such as are common where ladies are given to such ills, were applied. Chapman was indeed a man to be pitied. He had now more than his head and hands full of trouble. The care it was now necessary to bestow on his wife (for she was above all else in his mind) in a great measure relieved him of the excitement caused by his great financial misfortunes. When, then, Mattie entered the parlor and found him comparatively calm, she fancied her mother had swooned from over-exertion on her behalf. Taking a seat beside her mother, she kissed and kissed her cheek, and proceeded to bestow upon her those attentions her case demanded, and in so kind and gentle a manner as to show how deep and true was the love she bore her. Chapman soon relieved Mattie's mind, by telling her all that had happened. As he concluded she grasped his hand firmly and imprinted a kiss on his cheek. "Heaven be thanked, father," she said, "it is a kind Providence that directs all our destinies. I am free now. You are free--free in your intentions--free in your conscience. I am happy now--happy because I shall not have to interpose my oath against yours. You shall know what I mean by that hereafter." While this was going on up stairs Bowles, his eyes protruding, and in a state of great alarm, entered the kitchen, where Bridget, the cook, and Kitty, the chambermaid were at work, and stammered out: "Der don't be no weddin' in dis house to-day--peers to me--no how. Quid mortibus, portendibus--my missus am most dead." "To the pots wid yeer latin, ye nager," said Bridget, seizing the tongs and holding them threatingly over his head. "To the pots wid yeer latin, ye nager. Spake so a dacent woman can understand what ye mane." To appease Bridget's wrath and save his 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."