Marcia turned her back upon him, confounded between sorrow and resentment.

Crowding his hat over his eyes, Mr. Sandford left his house and walked with the officer towards Cambridge Street.

“Gone to jail!” exclaimed Charles, returning, “How doosid awkward!  What a jolly wow it will make when it gets about town!  By gwacious, if you aren’t cwying!  Go to bed, both of you; I’ll go to the club.”

He went accordingly; and the women, who could ill console each other, were about to go to their own rooms when the door-bell rang again.

“What next, I wonder?” asked Marcia, in despair.

“Please, Ma’am,” said the servant, “there’s a man at the door, who looks quare, and says, if he can’t see Mr. Sandford, he must see you.”

“Tell him I am ill,—­and besides, I don’t transact my brother’s business.”

“Yes’m.”

But she soon returned with a new message.  The man would not go.  Mrs. Sandford at once went to the hall to learn what was the matter, leaving Marcia trembling in every limb.  The conversation was not carried on in whispers; in fact, Marcia heard every word.

“Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am, especially as Mr. Sandford isn’t at home; but duty is duty, and must be ’tended to.  My orders is, to ’tach the furnitur’, and stay till I git a receipter.”

Mrs. Sandford’s reply was inaudible.  The voice proceeded:—­

“Can’t help it, Ma’am.  Won’t be back to-night, won’t he?  Bad, cert’in.  But duty is duty, as I said afore.  I’ll bunk here on the sofy, an’ to-morror we’ll see what’s to be done.”

Another pause.

“Oh, you won’t run off ‘ith anythin’?  I s’pose not.  But duty is duty, as I said afore, and I must mind orders.  ’Stick by till you git a receipter,’ sez he.  ‘I will,’ sez I,—­an’ I must.—­Never mind about bedclose.  I c’n sleep jest ez I be.  You jest go up-stairs.  I’ll make myself ’t home.”

Glad to be out of the society of the officer, Mrs. Sandford started to go upstairs, but was recalled by the voice.

“I say, Ma’am!  A long night afore a chap, all by himself.”

Mrs. Sandford trembled with mingled terror and rage.

“No ’bjection to light the gaas, I ’spose, so’s’t a feller can read a paper?  Thought o’ that, and brought the ‘York Herald’ and ‘Clipper.’  If you don’t like tobarker, you c’n shet your doors and the smell won’t git in.”

“Do what you like.  I can’t prevent you.”

“Oh, well, no ’fence, I hope?  Good-night, Ma’am.”

Mrs. Sandford found Marcia walking about the room in great excitement.

“The odious wretch!” exclaimed Marcia.  “If Henry were only here, or even Charles, he should be horsewhipped, pitched out of the house.  To sleep with his dirty clothes on my sofa!  I’m glad it’s to be sold.  I never could touch the filthy thing again.  Then his pipe!  Good heavens, what is to be done?  The abominable wretch!  I smell the tobacco now, worse than an Irishman’s.  The smoke will be all through the house.  Faugh! it suffocates, nauseates me!”