there were three state-rooms for these four persons.  I was, just at that epoch, in one of those moody frames of mind which make a man abnormally inquisitive about trifles:  and I confess, with shame, that I busied myself in a variety of ill-bred and preposterous conjectures about this matter of the supernumerary state-room.  It was no business of mine, to be sure, but with none the less pertinacity did I occupy myself in attempts to resolve the enigma.  At last I reached a conclusion which wrought in me great wonder why I had not arrived at it before.  “It is a servant of course,” I said; “what a fool I am, not sooner to have thought of so obvious a solution!” And then I again repaired to the list —­ but here I saw distinctly that no servant was to come with the party, although, in fact, it had been the original design to bring one —­ for the words “and servant” had been first written and then overscored.  “Oh, extra baggage, to be sure,” I now said to myself —­ “something he wishes not to be put in the hold —­ something to be kept under his own eye —­ ah, I have it —­ a painting or so —­ and this is what he has been bargaining about with Nicolino, the Italian Jew.”  This idea satisfied me, and I dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.

Wyatt’s two sisters I knew very well, and most amiable and clever girls they were.  His wife he had newly married, and I had never yet seen her.  He had often talked about her in my presence, however, and in his usual style of enthusiasm.  He described her as of surpassing beauty, wit, and accomplishment.  I was, therefore, quite anxious to make her acquaintance.

On the day in which I visited the ship (the fourteenth), Wyatt and party were also to visit it —­ so the captain informed me —­ and I waited on board an hour longer than I had designed, in hope of being presented to the bride, but then an apology came.  “Mrs. W. was a little indisposed, and would decline coming on board until to-morrow, at the hour of sailing.”

The morrow having arrived, I was going from my hotel to the wharf, when Captain Hardy met me and said that, “owing to circumstances” (a stupid but convenient phrase), “he rather thought the ‘Independence’ would not sail for a day or two, and that when all was ready, he would send up and let me know.”  This I thought strange, for there was a stiff southerly breeze; but as “the circumstances” were not forthcoming, although I pumped for them with much perseverance, I had nothing to do but to return home and digest my impatience at leisure.

I did not receive the expected message from the captain for nearly a week.  It came at length, however, and I immediately went on board.  The ship was crowded with passengers, and every thing was in the bustle attendant upon making sail.  Wyatt’s party arrived in about ten minutes after myself.  There were the two sisters, the bride, and the artist —­ the latter in one of his customary fits of moody misanthropy.  I was too well used to these, however, to pay them any special attention.  He did not even introduce me to his wife —­ this courtesy devolving, per force, upon his sister Marian —­ a very sweet and intelligent girl, who, in a few hurried words, made us acquainted.