seen and loved Mrs. Tretherick at the theater and church, his professional habits debarring him from ordinary social intercourse, and indeed any other than the most formal public contact with the sex.  As this gentleman had made a snug fortune during the felicitous prevalence of a severe epidemic, the colonel regarded him as a dangerous rival.  Fortunately, however, the undertaker was called in professionally to lay out a brother senator, who had unhappily fallen by the colonel’s pistol in an affair of honor; and either deterred by physical consideration from rivalry, or wisely concluding that the colonel was professionally valuable, he withdrew from the field.

The honeymoon was brief, and brought to a close by an untoward incident.  During their bridal trip, Carry had been placed in the charge of Colonel Starbottle’s sister.  On their return to the city, immediately on reaching their lodgings, Mrs. Starbottle announced her intention of at once proceeding to Mrs. Culpepper’s to bring the child home.  Colonel Starbottle, who had been exhibiting for some time a certain uneasiness which he had endeavored to overcome by repeated stimulation, finally buttoned his coat tightly across his breast, and after walking unsteadily once or twice up and down the room, suddenly faced his wife with his most imposing manner.

“I have deferred,” said the colonel with an exaggeration of port that increased with his inward fear, and a growing thickness of speech—­“I have deferr—­I may say poshponed statement o’ fack thash my duty ter dishclose ter ye.  I did no wish to mar sushine mushal happ’ness, to bligh bud o’ promise, to darken conjuglar sky by unpleasht revelashun.  Musht be done—­by God, m’m, musht do it now.  The chile is gone!”

“Gone!” echoed Mrs. Starbottle.

There was something in the tone of her voice, in the sudden drawing-together of the pupils of her eyes, that for a moment nearly sobered the colonel, and partly collapsed his chest.

“I’ll splain all in a minit,” he said with a deprecating wave of the hand.  “Everything shall be splained.  The-the-the-melencholly event wish preshipitate our happ’ness—­the myster’us prov’nice wish releash you—­releash chile! hunerstan?—­releash chile.  The mom’t Tretherick die—­all claim you have in chile through him—­die too.  Thash law.  Who’s chile b’long to?  Tretherick?  Tretherick dead.  Chile can’t b’long dead man.  Damn nonshense b’long dead man.  I’sh your chile? no! whose chile then?  Chile b’long to ’ts mother.  Unnerstan?”

“Where is she?” said Mrs. Starbottle, with a very white face and a very low voice.

“I’ll splain all.  Chile b’long to ’ts mother.  Thash law.  I’m lawyer, leshlator, and American sis’n.  Ish my duty as lawyer, as leshlator, and ’merikan sis’n to reshtore chile to suff’rin mother at any coss—­any coss.”

“Where is she?” repeated Mrs. Starbottle, with her eyes still fixed on the colonel’s face.