hat he had supplied both the others with
quite as much supper as they needed, as he did not extend the invitation
to either. He certainly had done so: they were both "full," in one sense
of the word if not in the other. His daughter was "full" of trouble and
anxiety; and Aunt Martha was "full" of a more dangerous
feeling--outraged pride and indignation.

"Poor Frank!--he cannot come to the house any more!" said the young
girl, when they had left the parlor. "What shall I do? Aunt--Aunt--don't
scold me, but I _love him_. That is the truth; and don't _you_ scold me,
but help me if you can."

"Until this hour, Emily," said the aunt, gravely, and taking the hand of
her niece kindly in her own, "I had simply been determined that you
should not be forced into a marriage with Colonel Bancker, if I could
prevent it. Within this half hour I have made up my mind to go farther.
I know that you love Frank Wallace; I believe him to be a good man, and
I know him to be a brave one; and now you shall marry him, if any aid
_I_ can offer will help you to that end!"

"Aunt! Aunt! dear, good, kind Aunt!" cried the young girl, throwing
herself into the widow's arms and giving her such a hug and such a storm
of kisses as would have made Frank Wallace whistle "Hail Columbia" and
"Abraham's Daughter" for forty-eight hours in succession.

Such was the radical effect, towards carrying out his determination in
regard to each of the two rivals, produced by Judge Owen's ultimatum. He
was not the first man, and he probably will not be the last, to pour the
drop too much into the bucket of endurance and add that last feather to
the load which weighs down the camel of patience. Something more of the
"effect" will be seen in this immediate connection.

Judge Owen had occasion to attend a political caucus, at one of the
down-town hotels, early in the evening of the second day from that on
which the collision with his sister and daughter had occurred; and he
consequently did not go home to dinner when his court adjourned. He
dined at the hotel where the caucus took place, and afterwards strolled
up Broadway, airing his portly figure, and intending to take the
Third-Avenue cars at Astor Place or Fourteenth Street. When he came
opposite Wallack's Theatre, at about nine o'clock, the lights shone
brightly before the door, the placards announcing the "Returned
Volunteer" and "Mischievous Annie" looked tempting, and as Judge Owen
had an eye for the drama