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Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure ere filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right end top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, plenches. tebleeux, etc.. peuvent Atre fiimis A des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est fiimA A partir de I'engle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bes, en prenant le nombre d'imegbs ntcessaira. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 32 X 1 2 3 4 5 6 i/ 1 1 Fo: fV'«Hf>MI and FiUSE B FORREST HOUSE iobtl. BT MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, ADTuoR or IV-Ml and Sufishin*—' Una Riven— Parkneu tnd Daylight— Marian «7/p One Year at the ForbpVt House.'.' 204 ■•••ariiiairru i/OB8 UAPPS:'* gj* Mi „p;> CONTENTS. XXIX. — Mrs. J. E. Fobbbst 217 XXX. — How RossiJB BoRR thb Nsws 224 XXXI. — Mrs. Forrest's Policy 223 XXXII.— What the Peoplb Said and Did 236 XXXIII. — EvBRARD Faces IT 238 XXXIV.— EVERARD AND RossiB 246 XXXV.— Mr. and Mrs. J. TE3. Forrest 247 XXXVI. — Rosamond's Decision 256 KXXVII.— Maiters are Adjusted 259 XXXVIII.— ' Waiting and Watching for Me' 265 XXXIX.— How TUB Tide Ebbud And Flowed in Rothsay 270 XL.— Dr. Matthewson's Game . ^ 274 XLI.— How the Game was Played 278 XLII. — Alas, I'oor Rossib ! 297 XLIII. — The Letters 303 XLIV. — The New Heir 30q XLV.— The New Reion at thb Forrest Housb 314 XLVI. — The Letter from Austria 321 XLVII. — Agnes Finds the Letter 326 XL VIII. — La Maison de Santb 333 XLIX. — The Escape , 34Q L. — Going Homb , 345 LI.— Breaking the News at the Forrest House... 348 WL — Breaking the News to Everard 353 LIII. — Thb Arrest 35g LI v.— Telling the Truth t« Rowie sej LV.— OosotusioN 2^ 217 224 223 236 238 246 247 25G , 259 205 ITIISAV 270 274 278 297 303 306 314 • • • • • nJ^X 326 333 340 346 ss... 348 353 368 361 S64 FOEEEST HOUSE. • CHAPTER I. TWO LETTERS. THE first, a small, half-sheet, enclosed in a larj^e, thick env>«- lope and addressed in ^ 'childish, unformed hand, to Mr. James Everard Forrest, Junic ^llicottville, Berkshire County, Massachusetts, with the request in the lower left-hand cornel for the post-master to forward immediately; the second, a dainty little perfumed missive, with a fanciful monogram, directeut your ig aljout >n, but T tps come ich good ao more INGS. n New of her ! She muse it b sell it FORREST HOUSE. 7 /or the world: would you ? Inclosed find ten dollars of mv very own money, which I send you to come home with. thiSc mg you might need it. Do not fail to come, will you ? 'Rosamond.' ^I7\r^^^f^ this letter twice, and smoothed out the crisp ten-dollar bi 1, which was carefully wrapped in a separate bit of paper. It was not the first time he had received money in I..S sore need from the girl, for in a blank-book wh^hhe al S TTolV^' pocket were several entries, as follows : Jan. 2 from Rosamond Hastings, five dollars March 4th two dollars ; June 8th, one dollar,' and so on untiftle whole amount was more than twenty dollars, but never bcforrhad she sent him so large a sum as now, and there was a moistur. pu'se! Td sTi^ Y' ''-'''' ^^'^^ ''^'''y '' ^^ i-^ ^^ --y ^'^ his Shl'^^T '''Tu-"'f '° T^^^'^ ^ «r«^*»^e as Rossie Hastings She IS ahyays thinking of somebody else. And I am a mefn contemptible dog to take her money as I do ; but ttll ho": estly intend to pay her back ten-fold when I have something of Thus re-assuring himself, he put his purse into his pocket and glancing again at Rossie's letter his eye fell upon Mss Belknap's name, and he laughed aloud as he said • i^eiKnap s Poor bald Bee Belknap. She must look comical I can imagine how it hurts her pride. Buy Rossie's S fndeed 11 should think not, when that is her only beauty^^l i "xcept heJ And that brought the young man back to Miss Fleming's letter, and its imperative request. Could he complv W^t"At levea nimseit to be, and with whom he was, perhans as mnr-h ?iTi^!/,"^:^-»g --' of twenty well' c'an bT' PerTa^^ whnl« L K V 7 1 ^^h*"'' "^^"^^ ^^"'^'-^ of course, and on the ri n anH ft '''^ 'u ''^"^''^ ^^ <^« Holbu^ton by the afternooB ram, and then, perhaps, go homa »ifc«rnooD i 8 FORREST HOUSE. And 80 the die was cast, and the young man walked to th-s telegraph office, and sent across the wires to Miss Josephine Fleming the three words : ' I will come.' CHAPTEE H. DR. MATTHEWSON. THE train from EUicottville was late that afternoon. In fact, its habit was to be late, but on this particular day It was more than usually behind time, and the one stage which Holburton boasted had waited more than half an hour at the little station of the out-of-the-way town, which lies nestled among the Berkshire hills, just on the boundary line between the Empire State and Massachusetts. The day was hot even tor midsummer, and the two fat, motherly matrons, who sat in the station, alternately inveighed against the heat, and wiped their glowing faces, while they watched and discussed the young lady who, on the platform outside, was walking up and down, seeming wholly unconscious of their espionage But It was only seeming, for she knew perfectly well that she was an object of curiosity and criticism, and more than once she paused in her walk and turning squarely round faced the two old ladies in order to give them a better view, and let them see just how many tucks, and ruffles and puffs th«re were m her new dress, worn that day for the first Cime. And a very pretty picture Josephine Fleming made standing there in the sunshine, looking so artless and innocent, as if no thought of herself had ever entered her mind. She was a pink-and-white Dlonde, with masses of golden hair rippling back from her fore head, and those dreamy blue eyes of which poets sing, and which have in them a marvellous power to sway the sterner sex by that pleading, confiding expression, which makes a D:an very tender — ^_ ^ . ,-|,.j^.,,_.iiit:i: ou iuuuKCUUlV 1>U QUU forprotection. The two old ladies did not like Josephine, though they ad- FORUEST HOUSE. 9 mitted that she was very beautiful anff stylish, in her blue mushn and white chip hat with the long feather drooping low behind, too pretty by far and too much of the fine lady, they said, for the daughter of the widow Roxie Fleming, who lived in the brown house on the Common, and sewed for a living when she had no boarders from the city. And then, as the best of women will sometimes do, they picked the girl to pieces, and talked of the scandalous way she had of flirting with every man in town, of her airs and indolence, which they called laziness and wondered if it were true that poor old Agnes, her half- sister made the young lady's bed, and mended her clothes, and waited upon her generally as if she were a princess, and toiled and worked, and M'ent without herself, that Josey might be dothed in dainty apparel, unbecoming to one in her rank of life. And then they wondered next if it were true, as had been rumoured, that she was engaged to that young Forrest from Amhert/t College, who had boarded at the brown house for a few weeks the previous summer, and been there so often since. ♦ A well-mannered chap as you would wish to see,' one of them said, ' with a civil word for high and low, and a face of which ahy mother might be proud ; only ' and here the speaker lowered her voice, as she continued ; 'Only he does look a little fast, for no decent-behaved boy of twenty ought to liave such a tired, fagged look as he has, and they do say there were some great carousin's at Wid-^r Fleming's last summer, which lasted up to midnight, and wine was carried in by Agnes Mud hot coffee made as late as eleven, and if you'll b'leve it ' --here tlie voice was a whisper—' they had a pack of cards, for iMiss Mnrdock saw thorn with her own eyes, and young Forrest Handled them as if used to the business.' ' Cards ! That settles it ! ' was repeated by the secono woman with a shake of the head, which indicated that she knew all she cared to know of Everard Forrest, but her friend who was evidently better posted in the gossip of the town, went on to add that 'people said young Forrest was an only son, and that his father was very rich, and lived in a fine old place some- where west or south, and had owned negroes in Kentucky before the war, and was a copperhead, and very close and uroud. and kept coloured help, and would not like it at all if he knew how his son was fluting with Josephine Fleming.' Then they talked of the expected entertainment at the Vil 10 f 1 I m FORREST HOUSE, .u„,ed she was now „ilf„g for so Je^IpC L on SrSlT stenned nnn„ ♦i./!oof> i i • ^"^'^ ^^^'^^ <^''ai» Came n he Josopldne for the gush1"g^ltVS S%,trltS''C and carried him oif toward hnmp ^" '''''-' -^ -^« ^ -^ ^^^^<^^ There was a pretty blush on Josie's cheek as she rcvl'ed •What nonsense you ar. talking, and you not veTthi-ouch college!' and then hurrie<^ him off to the hall, w We he S hearsal was to take place. ' ^® ^^ BonZT n!^%''T '^'"^'"'^^ ^^^'''''^''^ ^^««'^- Dr. Matthew- son was not forthcoming m i,is character as priest Ha had gone out of town, and had net yet returned -so another took his place in the marriage scene, wherr Everard wL tlie bridegroom and Josenhine thrt hrid.. Th/.^uJ!..!. _-n*! ;The Mock Marriage,' and would bo "vW eSie^mthZ fuU glamour of lights, and dr.ss, ai^a pe^^le SflL ending I ,1,1 FORREST HOUSE. 11 nlgnt; and Josephine df^clared herself satisfied with the r» hearsat and sanguine of success, especially as Dr. Matthewson appeared at the last moment apologizing for his tardiness, and assuring her of his intontion to be present the next evening m.n! r' u {^ P/>^«/"lly-b"ilt man of thirty or more, whom many would call handsome, though there wi a cruel crafty look m his eye and in the smile which habitually played about his mouth. Still, he was very gentlemanly inhis manner, and fascinating m his conversation, for he had travelled much and seen everything, and spoke both German and French as readily as his mother tongue. With Miss Fleming he seemed to be on the most intimate terms, though the intimacy only dated from he time when she pleaded with him so prettily and -.uccessfully to take the place of the priest in ' The Mock Marriage,' where John Murdock was to have officiated. At first the doctor had objected, saying gallantly that he preferred to be the bride- groom, and asking who that favoured individual was to be Mr. Everard Forrest, from Kothsay, Southern Ohio,' Jofe- phme replied, with a conscious blush which told much to the Bxpenenced man of the world. ♦Forrest! Everard Forrest!' the doctor repeated thought fully, and the smile about his mouth was more perceptible, beems to me I have heard that name before. Where did vou say he lived, and where is he now? ' ' Josephine replied again that Mr. Forrest's home was in Kothsay, Ohio, at a grand place called Forrest House ; that he ivas a student at Amherst, and was spending his summer vacar tion with a friend in Ellicottville. ,„«J^'' ^ "^^^"^,^5' ^^® ^*'^'«'* rejoined, adding after a mo- nent s pause ; ' I'll be the priest ; but suppose I hfd the power to marry you m earnest ; what then V ^ 'Oh, you wouldn't. You must not, Everard is not through the£i '"^. '' T^*? ^f '^ ""''y dreadful-and romantic to< Up to that time Dr. Matthewson had taken but little notice of hoT?i IT' ^f^^^l^? '■''°*'^ ^^^ exceeding beauty as a golden- een^h°^T V\'^ his knowledge of the%orld and refdv dTs- Rni'Crr "^ '^ aiscoverea that whatever position she held in W. be Dotwed. rather than to any blood, or money, or cultuwL ( 12 FORREST HOUSE. I She was not a lady, he knew, the Brst time he saw her in th« tie church, and attracted by her face watched her through the service, while she whispered, and laughed, and passed notes to the young men in front of her. Without any respect himself and formed a tolerably accurate estimate of Josephine and he^ companions. After her interview with him, however, he bt came greatly interested in everything pertaining to her and by a httle adroit questioning learned all there was to be known of her, and, as is usual m such caFos, more too. Her mother wm daughters future. That she took in sewing and kept boardew jyas nothing to her detriment in a village, where the 060^^^ lieved 1. honest labour, but that she tra.kd on her da3er^ charms and brought her up in utter uUcu.ss, while Agnes the child of her husband's first marriage, was mide a very dredge and slave to the young beauty, was urged against her H s^ nous wrong, and except as the keeper of a boarding-ho^sj t which capacity she excelled, the Widow Fleming was not^'eJy highly esteemed in Holburton. All this Dr. Matthewson learned and then he was told of young Forrest, a mere boy, two vears younger than Josey, who had stopped with Mrs. Fleming a few weeks the previous summer, and for whom both Josey and the •mother had, to use the landlady's words, ' made a de Js^J ' ^d succeeded too it would seem, for if 'they werenSrnga^d U^y ought to be though it was too bad for the boy, andS body ought to tell his father. ^ F^r^ "^n" in substance the story told by the hostess of the ^JnVA ,^*"!;r'<^°> who smiled serenely as he heard i^ and stroked his silken mustache thoughtfully, and then went down to call upon Miss Fleming, and judge for himsef how well she was fitted to be the mistriss of Forrest HouT WhenEverard came and was introduced to him after the rehearsal, there was a singular expression in the eyes which scanned the young man so curiously ; but the doctor's mannew were perfect, and never had Everard been treated with mor" deference and respect than by this handsome stranger Tho cal ed upon him at Mrs. Fleming's early in the' morn! ng, Ld In the course of an hour established himself on such teSis n| iusunacy witii the young man that he learned moreof hi« ••amily history than Josephine herself knew alter an aajMin? FORREST HOUSE. IS home in Rothsanhe ^ndnr f ^''\'^'l^ f° ''P^'^'^ *>^ '>" heir, as he -as fhe only^ ?h1d Ve ^M ^oT^'i^^ ^1 """^' ^« his father was worth he saiH «« k- r . ^"^ ^"'^'^ ''°^ ™"«h various sums but it HJ^^^'f J \- ^'"^ ^?'''""« ^^ estimated at was cU TndtslL fu^olr fewTn" Vo^': ^""^ ^^« ^^ ' Bpent Consequently Everard X 1- ? . !!"^ P'""^' ^^^ his habits, was as hi ITJir l, ^. 7*^ ^**,^ *"i° qmckly caght up by Dr. MatthewZ '"'"' ""*"" pledged them'^llr.^- J>,/- tK„;«^ ""^ come to pirf, «, Mr.. Haatings did/' " either ever PveSitl-d'r"^' ""''"P" • The doctor auggested, and herl"CSthaUhrieft h^'' '."T "•*«"■■ "ho .»«aed • f CSTfai^w *"? i",^*"' f^'^' r^ Eve»rd «plied : iu-d seimed S"hink ?t I S^. ° T^"!' J" '''."« "' «' '«'«'. 14 FORREST HOUSE. nothing,' the doctor said, and it never once occurred to Everard to wonder how that he knew that Mr. Hastings left all to hia daughter, and nothing to his son. He was wholly unsuspicious, and went on : \ Possibly ; at all events he worried his stepmother into hyg. tencs by coming there one day in winter, and demanding first tb.e deed or will, and second his sister, whom he said his father gave to his charge. But I settled him I ' ' Yes f ' the doctor said interrogatively, and Everard con- tinued : ' Father was gone, and this wretch, who must have been in hquor, was bullying my mother, and declaring he would so to the room where Mrs. Hastings was fainting for fear of him when I came m from riding, and just bade him begone : and when he said to me sneeringly, " Oh, little David, what do you thir^ you can do with the giant, you have no sling t" I hit him a cut with my riding-whip which made him whince with pam, and I followed up the blows till he left the house vowine vengeance on me for the insult offered him.' ' And since then t ' the doctor asked. 'Since then J have never seen him. After Mrs. Hastings died he wrote an impertinent letter to father asking the guar- dianship of his sister, but we had promised her mother solemn- ly nevor to let her fall into his hands or under his influence and father wrote him such a h* r as settled him ; at least we have nover heard from him sine., and that is eight years 'ago Nor should I know him either, for it was dark, and he all m^f- fled up. " ^"J^. have you no fear of him, that he may yet be revenged t i^eoiAo like him do not take cowhidings quietly,' the doctor • No, I've have no fear of him, for what can he do to me 1 Be- sides, I should not wonder if he were dead. We have never heard of him since that letter to father,' was Everard's reply and after a moment his companion continued ; • And this girl— is she pretty and bright, and how old is she now V « ouo 'Bossie must be thirteen,' Everard said, « and the very nicest grlinthe world, but as to being pretty, she is too thin for tHawtiiOugn sue nas apieudid eyes, large and briilvMit. and bJMk ai midnight, and what is peculiar for auoh eyea, her hair FORREST HOUSE. 16 wMoh ripples all over her head, is a rich chestnut brown mtl, a tmge of gold upon it when seen in the aunli^l t. S Z To tff atdrnre^Joi"!^ ^ ^« ^P^^ i^^e gt «n.J I'.ve talked together «, freely that yoS donoTseTL 'What do you mean » that my father will adopt her reimlar. Llv t„ Z'f "''/?■• "" '"' "f'"'' >>'» "l"". hont'St eyes Sr Kitl, . f °°J "' '"' «="'P''"on, who, finding, thatii dea' plLTtpuIr"' °^™ ""'"" '■"» ^--''•' '- -»' "P^ -' 'I mean, perhaps you will marry her.' 1 marry Eossie ! Absurd ! Why, I would as «nnn ♦».{„t • -rryng my sister,' and Ey.riik'l^^L'' m'ZyTtii: 'Such a thing k possible,' returned the doctor, 'thoush voui 'Rossie's family is well enouch for anvthino r lrr.,v» . 4U coutrajy • said Everard. • Fatfe- «uTSot^bjec, I.'tht'' hongh he IS infernally proud. He is a South S nia^ born The doctor did not finish the sentence, but looked in.t«j down^nto the garien where Josephine w'a. toti^'':^^;^'^^ ' Miss Fleming is a v^rv K.:>on»:A.i ~:-i • ..u _ . . i«t, and Everard responded h;a;:^Uy: ^"^' "^^ """*' '*^' •< Ves, the handsomest I ever saw.* 16 FORREST HOUHK. I * And rUHMI wys you two are very fond of each other, iras the doctor^s next remark, which brought a blush like that of a young girl to Everard'a cheek, but elicited no reply, for there was beginning to dawn upon his mind a suspicion that his inmost secrets were being wrung from him by this smoot)^ torigued stranger, who, quick to detect every fluctuation •! thought and feeling in anoth«>r, saw he had gone far enoug . , and having learned all he cared to know, he arose to x* , and after a good-morning to Everard and a few soft 8> < .^to Jost^phine, wnlkcd away and left the pair alone. t ( CHAPTER III. THE MOCK MARRIAUB. I HE long hall, or rather ball-room, of the old Eagle tavern, was crowded to its utmost capacity, for the entertainment )een talked of for a long time, and as the proceeds were to help buy a fire-engine, the whole town was interested, and the whole town was there. First on the programme came tableaux and charades, interspersed with music from the glee club, and music from the Ellicott band, and then there was a great hush of expectation and eager anticipation, for the gem of the per- formance was reserved .for the It^st Behind the scenes, in the litt.'e aate-rooma where the dressing, aud powdering, and masking, an('. 'Sti'ig vere all ^oing on promiscuously; Josephine Fleming wr • • state of rrri^t ex- citement, but hers was a face nad '!Oiii;..yxion which never looked red or tired. She was, perhaps, a shade paler than her wont, and her eyes were brighter and bluer as she stood before the little two-foot glass, giving the last touches to her bridal toilet And never was real bride more transcendently loveiy thaa Josephine Fleming when she stood at last ready and waiting U> b& called, in hcf ucccy tuflataii, with ucr long veil swe«pii^ baeli xm her face, and showing like a silver oet upon her gaiS' FOIlIiKST HOUSE. 17 of each other, , blush like that bed no reply, for a suspicion that by this smootf' ^ fluctuation ' )ne far enoug . , ose to X* > and soft s* ' < .A to >ld Eagle tavern, le entertainment proceeds were to erested, and the te came tableaux 9 glee olub, and vas a great hush gem of the per- ere the dressing, re all ;;oiEig on Ate of rri .X ex- ion which never e paler than her she stood before lea to her bridal Qtly loveiythan ady and waiting iig yeii BWnU A1l''^..u :..^ telling her of me, and giving my love to her V This was after breakfeMt, wL^n they sCr >d tog^vtfcer c%A'Y tU fii m( foi an an d^ M we Fo a r fell ag« wh unr aak a r 1 ver aro ijH ano { m you ia» you I Evt the the Rot t mot riftn e that Josephine liting matters a unuBual. Still, disinclination to bed at once, rd said, handing : brought it with play, for fear it le nature '^>t the it came, t.^ 1 de r. It was from er IS very sick. E. Forrest.' ke the cry of a I before. There ^e taken it, and )t put into words fallen upon him could not define y knew that he )'s summons, in- le meant no dis- me to her ; and 1 which no sleep ast-table looking had not kept a ig of ownership defy the whole , then and there, st take the first Josephine's eyec her will recovec X^^.,1A — :.-^ - v/uiu j\^-u i^aa. g;t (be FOKREST HOUSE. 21 «rn d-wreatned porcri, each with a tnoughb of laat niglit , ctTb mony in their minds, and each loth to 'speak of it firefc. Stai- ford had gone to the hotel to settle his bill of the previous day and make some inquiries about the connections of tlie trains, and thus the family were alone when Dr. Matthewson appeared wearing his blandest smile, and addressing Josephine as Mrs' Forrest, and asking her how she found herself after the play. ' At the sound of that name given to Josephine as if she had a right to It, a scarlet flame spread over Everard's face, and lie felt the old horror and dread of the night creeping over him again. Now was the time to know the worst or the best — whichever way he chose to put it,— and as calmly as possible under the circumstances, he turned to Dr. Matthewson and aaked : ' \Vere you in earnest in what 70U said last night ? Had you a right to marry us, and is Josephine my wife t ' It was the first time he had put it into words, and as if the very name of wife made her dearer to him, he wound his arm around her and waited the doctor's answer, which came promptlv and decidedly. '^ *^ ^ • Most assureai/ she is your lawful wife ! Tou took her with your full consent, knowing I could marryyou,and I havebronaht you a certificate, which I suppose the lady will hold.' He handed a neatly folded paper to Josephine, who, witli t-verard looking over her shoulder, read tn the effect that on the evening of July 17th. in the Village Hall at Holburton, the Kev. John Matthewson married J. Everard Forrest. Jr., 01 Kothsay, Ohio, to Miss Josephine Fleming of Holburton. It 18 all right, I believe, and only needs the names of your mother and sister as witnesses to make it valid, in case the mar- riage is ever contested,' Matthewson said, and this time he looked pitilessly at Everard, who was staring blankly at the paper in Josephine's hands, and if it had been his death warrant he was reading he could scarcely have been paler bomething in his manner .must have communicated itself t<. Josephine, for m real or fefgned distress she burst into tear. ""rntfwl^fL "^ ^'^ ^^^ .*'"™' ^°^'^*^^ o"*^ • I ahall wish I was dead ! ' J '> n«! K^r: '^'^^7' r"^^ ^°"y y°" '^^ ™y W^V ^^ said, *I could Qot be that; only I am so young, and have two yearp more ir 1'^ fi ll: ! f 22 FORREST HOUSE. sollege, and if this thing were known I shonld be expelled, and father would never forgive me, or let me have a dollar again ; so, you see it is a deuced scrape after all.' He was as near crying as he well could be and not actually give way, and Matthewson was regarding him with a cool, exul- tant expression in his cruel eyes, when Mrs. Fleming appeareil, asking what it meant. Very briefly Dr. Matthewson explained the matter to her, and laying his hand on Everard's arm, said laughingly : * 1 have the honour of presenting to you your son, who, I believe, acknowledges your claim upon him.' There was a gleam of triumph in Mrs. Fleming's eyes, but she affected to be astonished and indignant that her daughter should have lent herself to an act which Mr. Forrest was per- haps already sorry for, • You are mistaken,' Everard said, and his young manhood asserted itself in Josephine's uefenca 'Your daughter was not more 'm blame than myself. We both knew what we were doing, and I am not sorry, except for the trouble in which it would involve me if it were known at once that I was married.' ' lb need not be known, except to ourselves,' Mrs. Fleming answered, quickly. * What is done cannot be undone, but we can make the best of it, and I promise that the secret shall be kept as long as you like. Josey will remain v.ith me as she is, and you will return to college and graduate as if last night had never been. Then, when you are in a position to claim your wife you can do so, and acknowledge it to your father.' She settled it rapidly and easily, and Everard felt his spirits rise thus to have some one to think and decide for him. It was not distasteful to know that Josey was his, and he smoothed caressingly the bowed head, still resting on his arm, where Josey had Ip.id it. It wouM be just like Irving a romance all the time, and the interviews they might occasionally have would be all the sweeter because of tlie secrecy. After all, it was pretty nice lark, and he felt a great deal better, and watched Mrs. Fleming and Agnes as thoy signed, their names to the certificate, and noticed how the latter trembled and how pale she was, as with what aHemed to him a look of nitw for hi>p. she left the room and went back to her dish-washing in the kitchen. Everard had spent some weeks in Mrs. Fleming's family- as FORREST HOUSE, liotild be expelled, ne have a dollar all' i and not actually with a cool, exul- j^leming appeareil, he matter to her, ughiugly : your son, who, 1 jtning's eyes, but that her daughter '. Forrest was per- 3 young manhood >ur daughter was lew what we were ouble in which it I at I was married.' es,' Mrs. Fleming e undone, but we >he secret shall be with Hue as she is, s if last night had ion to claim your )ur father.' ird felt his spirits ie for him. It was and he smoothed n his arm, where ring a romance all onally have would \f ter all, it was bter, and watched eir names to the )led and how pale k of '"'ity for hiisi. h-washing in the eming's family as A boArder, and had visited thera oooasionally, but he had nevei noticed or thought particmnrly of Agnes, except, indeed, as the household drudge, who was always busy from morning till night, washing, ironing, baking, dusting, with her sleeves rolled up and her broad check apron tied around her waist. She had a limp in her left foot, and a weakness in her left arm which gave her a helpless, peculiar appearance ; and the impression he had of her, if any, was that she was unfortunate in mind as well as body, fit only to minister to others as she always teemed to be doing. She had never addressed a word to him without being first spoken to, and he was greatly surprised when, after Dr. Matthewson was gone, and Mrs. Fleming and Josephine had for a moment left him alone in the room, she came to h!ai and putting her hand on his, said in a whisper, * Did you really mean ;t, or was it an accident t a joke ? and do you want to get out of it 1 because, if you do, now is the time. Say you didn't mean it ! Say you won't stand it, and there surely will be some way put I can help, — weak as I am. It is a pity, and you so young.' She was looking fixedly at him, and he saw that her eyes were soft, and dark, and sad in their expression, as if for them there was no brightness or sunshine in all the wide world, — nothing but the never-ending dish-washing in the kitchen, or serving in the parlour. But there was another expression in those sad eyes, a look of truth and honesty, which made him feel intuitively that she was a person to be trusted even to the death, and had he felt any misgivings then, he would have told her so unhesitatingly ; but he had none, and he answered her : ' I do not wish to get out of it, Agnes, I am s itisfied ; only it must be a secret for a long, long time. Remember that, and your promise not to tell.' ' Yes, I'll remember, and may God help you ! ' she answered, as she turned away, leaving him to wonder at her manner, which puzzled and troubled him a little. But it surely had nothing to do with Josephine, who came to him just before he left for the train, and said so charmingly and tearfully : * I am so mortified and ashamed when I remember how eager- Iv T seemed to resDond to Dr. Matthewson's ''^ro^Qsition that we be married in earnest You must have thought me so forward and bold ; but, believe me, I did not mean it, or con- sider what I was saying ; so when you are gone don't think ■(.,' 24 U FOJfCRI'.ST HOUSE. ot me as a brazea-laced creature who asked you to mftirv her will you ? ' -^ ' What answer could he give her except to assure her that he esteemed her as everything lovely and good, and he believed that ho did when at last he said good-bye, and left her kissing her hand to him as she stood in the doorway under the spread- ing hop vine, the summer sunshine falling in flecks upon her golden hair, and her blue eyes full of tears. So he saw her last, and this was the picture he took with him as he sped away to the westward toward his home, and which helped to stifle hie jud.^ment and reason whenever they protested against what he had done, but it could not quite smother the fear and dread at his heart when he reflected what the consequences of thia rash marriage would be should his father find it out CHAPTER IV. !1P,[ THE FORREST HOUSE. JUST where it was located is not my purpose to tell, except that it was in the southern part of Ohio, in one of those - pretty little towns which skirt the river, and that from the bluff on which it stood you could look across the water into the green fields and fertile plains of the fair State of Kentucky. ^ It was a large, rambling house of dark grey stone, with double pinzza on the front and river side, and huge chimneys, with old time fire-places, where cheery wood fires burned always when the wind was chill. There was the usual wide hall of the South, with doors opening, front and rear, and on one sids tlie broad oak staircase and square landing two-thirds of the way up, where stood the tali, old-fashioned clock, which had ticked there for fifty years, and struck the hour when the first Forrest, the father of the jjiesent proprietor, brought iiome his bride, afair Southern girl, who drooped and pined in her Northern h'^nic "•uifcil her husband took her back to her native city, Charles- ton, wheie she died when her boy was born. This boy, the father of our hero, was christened James Everard, in the grim old FORREST HOUSE, 25 u to mftiry her, mre her that he tnd he believed left her kissing ider the spread- flecks upon her he saw her last» le sped away to )ed to stifle his 1 against what I fear and dread quences of this t O'it. 3 to teU, except in one of those It from the bluflF r into the green ucky. ey stone, with luge chimneys, burned always al wide hall of .nd on one sid) o-thirds of the ick, which had when the first •light home his n her Northern "ecily, Charles' boy, the father the grim old fimrch, St. Michael's, and the years of his boyhood were passed in Charleston, except on the few occasions when he visited his father, who lived at Forrest House without other compan- ionship than his horses and dogs, and the bevy of black servants he had brought from the South. When James was nearly twentv-one his father died and then the house was closed until the heir was married, and came to it with a sweet, pale-facel Bostonian, of rare culture and -p- finement, who introduced into her new home many of the fash- ions and comforts of New England, and made the house very attractive to the educated families in the neighbourhood Between the lady and her husband, however, there was this point of difference ;— while she would, if possible, have changed and improved, and modernized the house, he clung to every- thmg savouring of the past, and though liberal in his expendi- tures where his table, and wines, and horses, and servants were concerned, he held a tight purse-string when it came to what ho called luxuries of any kind. What had been good enough for his father was good enough for him, he said, when his wife proposed new furniture for the rooms which looked so bare and cheerless. Mattmg and oil-cloth were better than carpets for bis muddy boots and muddier dogs, while curtains and shades were nuisances and only served to keep out the light of heaven Ihere were blinds at all the windows, and if his wife wished tor anything more she could hang up her shawl or apron when she was dressing and afraid of being seen. He did, however, give her five hundred dollars to do with a* she pleased, and with that and her exquisite taste and Yankee mgenmty, she transformed a few of the dark, musty old roon:- into the coziest, pretti»t apartments imaginable, and, with the exception of absolutely necessary repairs and supplies, that was tHe last, so far as expenditures for furniture were concerned. As the house had been when James Everard, Jr.. was born 80 It was now when he was twenty years old. But what it acked m its interior adornments was more than made up in the grounds which covered a space of three or four acres, and were beautiful in the extreme. • Here the judge lavished his money without stint, and nAnnl*. came nom miles around to see the place, which was atlta b^st onLr''? «»"ly morning when, tired and worn with his rapid journey, Everard entered the highway gate, and walked up the itrr- S6 FORREST HOUSE. road to the house, uudor the tali maples which formed an arch over his head. It was very still about the house, and two or three dogs lay in the sunshine asleep on the piazza. At the sound of foot- steps they a\yoke, and recognizing their young master, ran to- ward him, with a bark of welcome. The windows of his mother's room were open, and at the bark of the dogs a girlish face was visible for f.u instant, then disappeared from view, and Eosamoud Hastings came out to meet him, looking very fresh and sweet in her short gingham dress and white apron, with her rippling hair tied with a blue ribbon, and falling down her back. * Oh, Mr. Everard,' she cried, as she gave him her hand, ' I am so glad you have come. Your mother has wanted you so much. She is a little better this morning, and asleep just now ; so come in here and rest. You are tired and worn, and pale. Are you sick ? ' and she looked anxiously into the hand- some face where even she saw a change, for the shadow of hi« secret was there haunting every moment of his life. *No j I'm just used up, and so hungry,' he said, as he fol- lowed her into the cool family room, looking out upon the river, which she had made bright with flowers in expectation of his oommg. ' Hungry, are you ? ' she said. ' I'm so glad, for there's the fattest little chicken waiting to be broiled for you, and we have such splendid black and white raspberries. I'm going to pick them now, while you wash and brush yourself. You will find everything ready in your room, with some curt-^uis and tidies on the chairs. I did it myself, hoping you'd Lhd it pleasant, and stay home all the vaci^lon, even if your mother gets better, she is so happy to have you here. Will you go up now ] ' He went to the room wliich had always been his, — a large, airy chamber, which, with nothing modern or expensive in it, looked cool and pretty, with its clean matting, snowy bed, fresh muslin curtains, and new blue and white tidies on the high- baflced chairs, all showing Bossie's handiwork. Rossie had been in Miss Beatrice Belknap's lovely room furnished with Diiiu, ana Lnougno it a iitcie iieaveii, and ineu iier best to make Mr. Everard's a blue room too. though she had nothing to do it with except the tidies, and toilet set, and lambrequiiiamad* ;■ a n ii 1 r( 1 w 1 h ■m c H c '1 e 1 b M a M k( ^1 w V fi V^H fm a ''M a fl n fl h 'M B la h H ii 1 l( i Forrest house. 27 ch formed ao arch or three dogs lay the sound of foot ng master, ran to open, and at tho V en instant, then Lings came out to ler shurt ginghaiu r tied with a blue e him her hand, r has wanted you g, and asleep just 3d and worn, and sly into the hand- bhe shadow of hi« is life. lie said, as he fol- lut upon the river, expectation of his ad, for there's the for you, and we ries. I'm going ih yourself. You th some curt'^tna loping you'd lihd en if your mother WUl you go up )en his, — a large, •r expensive in it, snowy bed, fresh dies on the high- rk. Rossie had a furnished with her best to make tad nothing to do unbrequiiui'iiuul* of plain white muslin bordered with strips of blue cambric. The material for this she had bought with her own allowance, at the cost of some personal sacrifice ; and when it was all done, ai»d the two large blue vases were tilled with flowers and placed upon the mantel, elie felt that it was almost equal to Misu Belk- nap's, and that Mr. Everard, as she always called him, was sure to like it. And he did like it, and breathed more freely, as if he were in a purer, more wholesome atmosphere than that of the brown house in far-off Holburton, where he had left his se- cret and his wife. It came to him with a sudden wrench of pain in his quiet room, — the difference between Josephine and all his early associates and surroundings. She was not likf anything at the Forrest House, though she was marvellously beautiful and fair, — so much fairer than little Rossie, whose white cape bonnet he could see flitting among the buslies in the garden, where in the hot sunshine she soiled and pricked her nngers gathering berries for him. He had a photograph ol' Josephine, and he took it out and lookedji^t the great blue eyes and fair, blonde face, which seemed to smile on him, and say- ing to himself, ' She is very lovely,* went down to the sitting- room, where Rossie brought him his breakfast. It was so hot in the dining-room, she said, and Aunt Axie was so out of sorts this morning, that she was going to serve his breakfast there in the bay window, where the breeze came cool from the river. So she brought in the tray of dishes, and creamed his coffee, and sugared his berries, and carved his chicken, as if he had been a prince, and she his lawful slave. At Mrs. Fleming's he had also been treated like a prince, but there it was lame Agnes who served, with her sleeves rolled up, and Josephine had acted the part of the fine lady, and never to his recollection had she soiled her hands with household work of any kind. How soft and white they were, — while Rossie's hands were thin and tanned from exposure to the sun, and stained and scratched, with a rag around one thumb which a cruel thorn had torn ; but what deft, nimble hands they were, nevertheless, and how gladly they waited upon this tired, indo- lent young man, who took it as a matter of course, for had not Rossie Hastings ministered to him since she was old enough to hunt up his missing cap, and bring him the book he was read- ing. Now, as she flitted about, urging him to eat, she talked lo him incessantly, asking if he had received her letter and its ii! i !|28 FORREST HOUSE. i>erW black eyes, cfea a, crvrl Si """'"I"'""' '>"' aod he kne«r what ,b, meant ' ' '' ""'""'ly «t him, an;K«5;^r^ a do,.., .„ crept to the rooti Jhirhair" Tf„ T' ■""^•' ""J" fl^'»h time and she had not Iwr^v!^ t"' J '" ""^ ''»"» »» """ly « young, was sometimes hard anTLV^ • ? ^ • ' ^^ °"^'«= vvas Yes, he would tell Sst and f.T ""V^^ ^'' ^'^^^^^^ son. and fast horses' and fin "010 he, 3 y?°, «)>;ander on cigara ''inrElL-;rdiX1ifc5™r-" "»^-s°' l^^posterons^dea J.tt^'»C::^^iVk^^^^^^^^^^^^ There are ever so manv L«v • 1 -'"J,',^ "'" "»' '" »y "ino ton, and one of t^^em s^rveTySttf.f ^'■^"'r"'' H""""-- to run away with and rarr7hL W, at 1 S that, Eossie f ' """''^ y" think of on.!;,^^,d°'reo reptd?"""""' ^"'"« '""''""i «' «- -ri: , 'I should think you ciazv. and ,,on m^^ -»-- • •• -Ueve your ,„h.r Vonld a.kLhe^t^tVnd^e^^u^H.' ii FORREST HOUSE. 29 licottville with hi« ■hat question, but anxiously at him, owe a dollar to at I mean to pay n a sinefie scrape, ^ck Z and a flush what Rosamond 'J ^««* dn't he tel! iiei-, ;ing him so sore- done so many a bravely between at he oncfc wa^ 8 wayward son. 1 for Josephine ond said : 5re she hesitaU? i a the governor ora ? ' dful when you mder od cigars, e actually saiti you were not 3ung; absurd!' were a perfect- hinking of the , and replied, ^st in my line, le and Holbur- i half tempted 1 you think of a at him curi- ih college. I ve you right. • And you, Rossie ; wouldn't you stand by rae and help me if I got into such a muss 1 ' ' Never I ' and Rossie spoke with all the decision and digni- ty of thirty. 'It would kill your mother, too. I sometimes think she means you for Mks Belknap; she is so handsome this summer I 'Without her hairr Everard asked, and Rossie replied. Yes without her hair. She has a wig, but does not quits like It. fcshe means to get another.' ' And she oflfered fifty dollars for your hair t ' Everard con- tinued, stroking with his hand the chestnut brown tresses flow- rng down Rossie s back. 'Yes, she did ; but I could not part with my hair even to oblige her. Of course I should give it to her, not sell it. but I can t spare it. » • What an unselfish child she was, Everard thought, and vet she WHO %o unlike the golden-haired Josephine, who would make lun of such a plain, simple, unformed girl as Rosamond and call her green and awkward and countrified ; and perhaps she was al Ifiese, but she was so good, and pure, and truthful, .hat he felt abashed before her and shrank from the earnest truthful eyes that rested so proudly on him, lest they should read more than he cared to have them. Outside, in the hall, there was the sound of a heavy step and the next moment there appeared in the door a tall, heavily-built man ot hfty, with iron-gray hair, and keen, restless eyes, which always seemed on the alert to discover something hidden and drag It to the light. Judge Forrest meant to be a just man, but like many just men, when the justice is not tempered with mercy, he was harsh and hard with those who did not come up to his standard of integrity, and seldom made allowances for ones youth or experience, or the peculiar temptations which might have assailed them. Though looked up to as the great man of the town, he was far less popular with the people of Roth- say than his scamp of a son, with whom they thought him un- necessarily strict and close. It was well known that there was generally trouble between them and always on the money aues- rlavl; iL 1 T^'^u'^*' * spendthrift, and scattered his dollars right and left with a reckless eenerositv and t.hnntrhf.l«aannoa absolutely needed with an unwilUngnesa which amounted to 30 FORREST HOUSF. fi I Actual stinginess. And now he stood at the door, tall, grand- looking, and cold as an icicle, and his first greeting was : * I thought I should track you by the tobacco smoke j they told me you were here. How do you do, sir f ' It was strange the effect that voice had upon Everard, who, from an indolent, carefor-nothing, easy-going youth was trans'- formed into a circumspect, dignified young man, who rose at once, and, taking his father's hand, said that he was very well, had come on the morning train from Cleveland, and had started as soon as he could after receiving the telegram. ' It must have been delayed, then. You ought to have had It Wednesday morning,' Judge Forrest replied ; and, blushing like a girl, Everard said that it did reach Ellicottville Wednes- day, but he was in Holburton, just over the line in New York. ' And what were you doing at Holburton 1 ' the father asked, always suspicious of some new trick or escapade for which he would have to pay. ' I was invited there to an entertainment,' Everard said, grow- ing still redder and more confused, • You know I boarded there a few weeks last summer, and have acquaintances, so I went down the night before, and Stafford came the next day and brought the telegram, but did not tell me until the play was over and we were in our room ; then it was too late, but I took the first train in the morning. I hope my delay has not made mother worse. I pm very sorry sir.' lie had made his explanation, which his father accepted with out :v sijspicion of the chasm bridged over In silence. 'You have seen your mother, of course,' was his next remark, and, stdl apologetically, nay, almost abjectly, for Everard wan terribly afraid of his father, he replied, * She was sleeping when I came, and Rossie thought I'd bettor not disturb her, but have my breakfast first. I have finished now, and will go to her at once if she is awake.* He had put Rossie in the gap, knowing that she was a tower of strength between himself and his father During the years she had been in the family Rossie had become very dear to the cold, stern juflge, who was kinder and gentler to her than to any hvmg being, except indeed, his dying wife, to whom he was, m his way, sincerely attached. ' * es, very right aim proper limb you should have your break- fast first, and not disturb her. Rossie. see if she is now Rwak«.' '"^ FORREST HOUSE. 31 I door, tall, grand- •eeting waa : icco smoke: they r on Everard, who, ; youth was trans- nan, who rose at he was very well, d, and had started m. ught to have had (d ; and, blushing cottville Wednes- ine in New York, the father asked, •ade for which he verard said, grow- w I boarded there itances, so I went lie next day and itil the play was oo late, but I took lay has not made ler accepted with ilence. his next remark, for Everard was ras sleeping when urb her, bub have will go to her at t she was a tower During the years very dear to the )r to her than to to whom he was, have your break- he isnowHwakn.' he said, and m his voice there was a kindliness which Everard was quick to note, and which made his pulse beat more natur- ally while fere suddenly woke within him an intense desir. to stand well with his father, between whom and himself there had been so much variance. For Josephine's sake he must have his father's good opinion ZdnZVr"^' and though it cost him a tremendous effort' to do so the moment Rosamond left tlm room, he said : ' Father I want to tell you now, because I think you will bo glad to know, hat I ve come home and left no debt, however small, for you to ,m.y. And I mean to do bettar. I really do, father, and quit my fast associates, and study so hard that when T am ira.!- uatcd you and mother will be proud of me.' ^ The fliiBhed eager face, on which, young as it was, there were r. af/*rt T^ ^•««*P''^<>i«°> was'ver? handsome ami win ning and the dark eyes were moist with tears as the boy fin- ished his confession, which told visibly upon the father thJ^'il^"; u^ f"- ^> ^^^ ' ^'"^ S^^^: ^^^ y«"r poor mcv us fasT' " ' ^""^ graduate. She is going from And under cover of the dying mother's name, the judge veiled wLTh^^'Tu ^^.^^'^^^"•"g t^^-rds Everard. ihoih art «^ lighter and happier than it had been sin.e the night when Ani heTnn 7k''' ^'^ '''^' ' J pronounce you man fnd w fe ' should liv!. ^' f ""'7 '''''^^^ °^ *^« ^if«. ^n'i his mother fdau2lr C ' '"^ IV '^°''?^^"^' *°^' ^"^1 J°^« her as leZflA 1 A r' "°*^ ^y.'"g' «ho must not die, when he needed and loved her so much, he thought, as, at a word from Rosamond, he went to the sick room th^re his mother a^ What a sweet, dainty little woman she was, with such a lovefy oft brorn "" '^' «f.?"i«itely chiselled features, aud how tl e soft brown <,yes so like the son's, brightened ^t the si'^ht of her boy, who did not shrink from her aJ he did from his fa her ^a^lvTtu Z f "h^ '"^. ^^ '^"^^^ *'^«- ^^-« -- - noS^- » Au w ' * ^ho loved him so much. fearS'onclTIh ' 'u" ''''^' ' ^ *"^ «^ g^*^ y«" ^ave come. I leared once I should never see you again.' which for il^T ^'T\ ^""'/"^ ""^ '^'^""g her white fac, wftich, for the moment, glowed with what B««mo^ ». k. .'l ^ oijieaith. and so misled him into thinking" h^r " be uiertha^ 32 FORREST HOUSE. "I i I! I •Now that I have come, mother, you will be well again,' h» said, hanging fondly over her, and looking into the dear face which had never worn a frown for him. ' No, Everard,* she said, as her wasted fingers threaded his luxuriant hair, ' I shall never be well again. It's only now a matter of time; a few days or weeks at the most, and I shall be gone from here forever, to that better home, where I pray Heaven you will one day meet me. Hush, hush, my child ; don't cry like that,' she added, soothingly, for, struck with th u-ifine. It was the uindov i -) FORREST HOUSE. 37 who flashed and , like a diamond, '^o pouies, Spitfire ; caress bade them 1 even if the flies s streaming from teps and into the strong friendship 1 queened it over a year's seniority cli at the Forrest Dmped with him, rowed with him —hot, fierce quar- b of it, iniwmuch m with lightning id then they had more than one of L union some day Mrhen such a pos- from a hot skir- er old, and made Q to be revenged, king for the heir 1 sincti the Feejee jol-mistress, who uld have forgiven d she pitied the DUst contrast her , with that abom- of his name with ad sometimes led lot feel, but noW; u table barrier, h« ; for the gay. butr cordiality which aother change in t looked in ILy&h t was the aii*dov of his secret, and she could not interpret it. She only felt that he was no longer a boy, but a man, old oven as his years and that he was very glad to see her, and-koked his gladness to the full. Bee Belknap was a born coquette, and would have flirted m her coffin had the thing been possible, and now, during the moment she stood in the hall with her hand in Everard's, she managed to let him know how greatly improved she found'him, how delighted she was to see him, and how inexpressibly dull and poky Rothsay was without hitn. She did not say all this m words, but she conveyed it to him with graceful gestures of her pretty hands, and sundry expressive shrugs of her shoulders, and Everard felt flattered and pleased, and for a few moments forgot Josephine, while he watched this brilliant creature as she flitted into the sick room, where her manner suddenly changed, and she became quiet, and gentle, and womanly, as she sat down by bis mother's side, and asked how she was, and stroked and fondled the thin, pale face, and patted the wasted hands which sought hers so gladly. Bee Belknap always did sick people good, and there was not a sick bed in all Eothsav, from the loftiest dwelling to the lowest tenant house, which'she did not VMit, making the rich ones more hopeful and cheerful from the effect of her strong, sympathetic nature, and dazzling, and be- wildering, and gratifying the poor, with whom she often left some tangible proof of her presence. ' You do me so much good ; I am always better after one of your calls,' Mrs. Forrest said to her ; and then, when Bee arose to go, and said, 'May I take Everard with me for a short drive V she answered readily : ' Yes, do. I shall be glad for him to get the air.' And so Everard found himself seated at Beatrice's side, and whirling along the road toward the village, for he wished to post his letter, and asked her to take him first to the post-office. What would she say if she knew!' he thought, and it seemed to him as if the letter in his pocket must burn itself through and show her name upon it. And then he fell to comparing the two girls with each other, and, wondering tf by he should feel so much more natural, as if in. his own atnjost)here and on his good behaviour, with Beatrice titan ha nin wifh J/^':»^ v^^t-i. - i i;i-._i i lo, piquant and bright, and still there was a difference. Beatrice uever tor a raom»nt allowed him to forget that she was a lady 38 FORBEST HOUSE. iii ft 1 1 »Ba ne a gentleman ; never apprwkjhed to anything like eoarM- ness and he would as boou have thought of insultinz hia mother as to have taken the slightest famUiarity either ^word or act with Bee. Josephine, on the contrary, allowed great .atitude of word and action, and by her free-and^y nnuiner often led him into doing and saying things for which he would have blushed with shame had Beatnce, or even Kossie Hastinin. been there to see and hear. Had Josephine lived in New York or any other city, she would have added one mora to that lariM class of people who laugh at our time-honoured notions of pro- ^Vfl r ^'''le, pure womanhood, and on the broad pktform of hberality and freedom sacrifice all that ia sweetest and best in their sex. As a matter of course her influence over Everaid was not good and he had imbibed > much of the subtle poison that some of his sensibilities were blunted, and he was begbninc to think that his early ideas were prudish and nonsensioj Jiut there was somethmg about Rosamond and Beatrice both which worked as an antidote to tho poison, and as he rode along with the latter, and lintened to her light, gnoeful badin- age, in which ihere was nothing approaching to vuliraritv h« was conscious of feeling more respect for himself th«i he had felt in many a day. They had left the village now, and were out upon the smooth river road, where they came upon a young M.D. of Bothsav who was jogging leisurely along in his high sulky, behind l£ old sorrel mare. Beatrice knew the doctor well, and more tC once they had driven side by side amid a shower of dust alone that fine, broad road, and now, when she saw him and his sorrv looking nag the spirit of mischief and froUc awoke within her and she could no more refrain from some saucy remark ooncei^ mg his beast and challenging him to a trial of speed than she could keep from breathing. Another moment aSdthey were off like the wind, and to Bee's great surprise old Jenny, the k7.? ;^f «take» at cmcmnati, and who now at the sound <5 hn ! ! t ^f °^^ i'^^?^ ,^^f ' ^"P' "'^'^ ^ ""^^ ''ith the fleet horses, ijpitfire and Starlight. At last old Jenny ah«t dm! them, and in her eTnitfunAnf. Roofm/.^ ~w.-. j _x' ^ i- *^ them, and in her exciteroeat Beatrice roserandTin'Sig^ ler ppniea'on ancil Jennv's wind ^~ an- -Jj right, urged her , ^ __„ „__ „. ._ StarUcht and Spitfire were far ahead^and nisluni'dbwn A^ turnpike at a break-neok apeed, which roaked ftha l^ht phatoa FORREST HOUSE. 39 thing like eoane- of insnltiag big yeifcherbTword Yt allowed great aod-easy manner which he would Rossie Hastings, edinNewYoric, ora to that large i notions of pro- ) broad platform ireetest and best ice over Evenud he subtle poison le was beginning md nonsensical. 1 Beatrice both and as he rode graoefttl badin- to vulgaiity, he lelf thiw he had ipon the smooth I>. of Bothsay, Jky, behind his I and more than r of dust, along n and his sorry- oke within her, remark ooneer- speed than she and they were old Jenny, the Ben a racer and it the sound of t with the fleet enny ahotpaak 1 standing vp- lunji down th^ • l«ht phatoi (torn side to side and seemed almost to lift it from the grouna. It was a decided runaway now, and people stopped to look af- ter the mad horses and the excited but not in the least fright, ened girl, who, still standing upright, with her hat hanging down her back and her wig a little awry, kept them with a firm hand straight in the i-oad, and said to the white-faced man beside her, when he, too, sprang up to take the reins : ♦ Sit down and keep quiet. I'll see you safely througk We can surely ride as fast as they can run. I rather enjoy it* And so she did until they came to a point where the road turned with the river, and where in the bend a little school- house stood. It was just recess, and a troop of boys came crowding out, whooping and yelling as only boys can whoop and yell, when they saw the ponies, who, really frightened now, shied suddenly, and reared high in the air. After that came chaos and darknes to Everard, and the next he knew he was lying on the grass, with his head in Bee's lap, and the blood flowmg from a deep gash in his forehead, just above the left eye. This she was stanching with her handkerchief, and bath- ing his face with the water the boys brought in a tin dipper from the school-house. Far off in the distance the ponies were still running, and scattered at intervals along the road were fragments of the broken phaeton, together with Bee's bonnet, and, worse than all, her wig. But Bee did not know that she had lost it, or care for her ruined phaeton. She did not kao r or care for anything, except that Everard Forrest was lying on the grass as white and still as if he were really dead. But Everard was not dead, and the doctor, who soon came up with the panting, mortified Jennie, said it was only a flesh wound, from which nothing serious would result. Then Bee thought of her hair, which a boy had rescued from a playful puppy who was doing his best to tear it in pieces. The sight of her wig made Bee hereelf again, and with many a merry joke at her own expense, she mounted into a farmer's waggon with Everard, and bade the driver take them back to the Forrest House. It was Rossie who met thom first, her black eyes growing troubled and anxious when she saw the bandage on Everard's head. But he assured her it was nothing, while Bee laughed "-— -jti^ o«rciiauic, aau wiiuii tne juage wouia aave censureU his son, took ail the blame upon herself, atid then, promising to oail again iq the evening, went in search of her truant horses. 40 FORREST house' CHAPTER VI Iff It MOTHEK AND SON. THAT afternoon Mrs. Forrest seemed so much better thai even her husband began to hopo, when he sawihe colour on her cheek, and the increased brightness of her eyes. But she was not deceived. She knew the nature of her disease, and that she laad not long to live. So what she would say to her son must be said without delay. Accordingly, after lunch, she bade Kossie send him to her, and then leave them alone together. Everard obeyed the summons at once, though there was a shrinking fear it his heart as he thought, 'Now I must tell her of Josey,' and wondered what she would say. Since his drive with Beatrice it did not seem half so easy to talk of Josephine, and that marriage ceremony was very far away, and very unreal, too. His mother was propped up on her pillows, and smiled pleasantly upon him as he took his seat beside her. ' Everard,' she began, * there are so many things I must say to you about the past and the future, and I must say them now while I have the strength. Another day may be too late.' He knew to what she referred, and with a protest against it, told her she was not going to die ; she must not ; she must live for him, who would be nothing without her. Very gently she soothed him into quiet, and he listened while she talked of all he had been, and all she wished him to be in the future. Faithfully, but gently, she went over with hiB faults, one by one, beseeching him to forsake them, and with a l)ursting heart he promised everything that she required, and told her again of the reform already commenced. 'God bless you, my boy, and prosper you as you keep this pledge to your dying mother, and whether you are great or not, may you be good and Christlike, and come one day to naeet me where sorrow is unknown,' she said to him finally ; then, after a pause, she continued : ' There is one subject more 01 wmca, as a wuuian and your mother, 1 must spettk to you. Some day you will marrv, of course ' FORREST HOUSE. 41 mch better thM [6 saw'the colour her eyes. But of her disease, tie would say to gly, after lunch, tave them alone le, though there t, * Now I must uld say. Since I easy to talk of y far away, and on her pillows, seat beside her. ings I must say t say them now e too late.' itest against it, I ; she must live e listened while shed him to be t over with his em, and with a ) required, and 3 you keep thi« )u are great or ne one day to to him finally ; le subject more t speiik to yon. ' Yes, mother,' and Everard started violently, while the cold swoat stood in drops about his lips, but he could say no more then, and his mother continued : ' I have thought many times wlio and what your wife would be, and have pictured her often to myself, and loved her for your sake ; but I shall never see her, when she comes here I shall be gone, and so I will speak of her now, and say it is not my wish that you should wait many years before marrying. I believe in early marriages, wher#there is mutual love and esteem. Then you make'' al- lowances more readily for each other's habits and peculiarities. I mean no disrespect to your father, he has been kind to me, but I think he waited too long ; there were too many years between us ; my feelings and ideas were young, his middle- aged J better begin alike for perfect unity. And, my bot, be sure you marry a lady.' 'A lady, mother?' Everard said, wondering if his mothei would call Josephine a lady. • Yes, Everard,' she replied, « a lady in the true sense of the word, a person of education and refinement, and somewhat near your own rank in life. I never believed' in the Maud Muller poem, never was sorry that the judge did not take the maiden for his wife. He might, perhaps, never have blushed for A«r, but he would have blushed for her family, and their likeness in his children's faces would have been a secret annoy- ance, I do not say that every mesalliance proves unhappy, but it is better to marry your equal, if you can, for a low-born per- son, with low-born tastes, will, of necessity, drag you down to her level.' She stopped a moment to rest, but Everard did not speak for the fierce struggle in his heart. He must tell her of Joseph- ine, and could he say that she had no low-born taotes I A t'i«;, he could not, when he remembered things that had drLtpad from her pretty lips so easily and naturally, and at which he had laughed as at something spicy and daring. His mother would call them coarse, with all her innate refinement and delicacy, and a shiver ran through him as he seemed to hear again the words * I pronounce you man and wife.' They were always ringing in his ears, louder sometimes than at others, and » -i' — '■'•»■ ■^~-- •■'s.vTTu siicrujT TUlUC ■niSlKli Mter a little went on : ' I do not believe in parents selectinic compaoions for theii 42 FORREST HOUSE. children, but surely I may suggest. You are not obliged to follow my suggestion. I would have your choice perfectly free,* she added, quickly, as she saw a look of consternation on hii face, and mistook its meaning. ' I have thought, and think still, that were I to choose for you, it would be Beatrice.' ' Beatrice! Bee Belknap! mother,' and E«rerard fairly gasped. ' Bee Belknap is a great deal older than I am.' ' Just a year, which is not much in this case, She wUl not grow old fast, while you will mature early ; the disparity would never be thought of,' Mrs. Forrest said. ' Beatrice is a little wild, and full of fun and frolic, but under all that is a deep- seated principle of propriety and right, which m^es her a noble and lovely character. I should be willing to trust you with her, and your father's heart is quite set on this match.' I may tell you now that it has he«a. in his mind for years, and I ^'ish you to please him, both for his sake and yours. I hope you will think of it, Everard, and try to love Beatrice ; surely It cannot be hard to do that t ' ' No, mother,' Everard said, ' but you seem to put her out of the question entirely. Is she to have no choice m the matter, and do you think that, belle and flirt as she is, she would for a moment consider me, Ned Forrest, whom she calls a boy, and ridicules unmercifully 1 She would not have me, were I to ask her a thousand times.' ' I think you may be wrong,' Mrs. Forrest said. ' It surely can't be that you love some one else t ' and she looked at him searchingly. Now was the time to speak of Josephine, if ever, and while his heart beat eo loudly that he could hear it, he said, * Yes, mother, I do like some one else ; — it is a young gixl in Holbur- ton, where I stayed last summer. She is very beautiful. This Is her picture,' and he passed Josephine's photograph to his mother, who studied it carefully for two or tLree minutes ; then turning her eyes to her son she said : ' She is beautiful, so far as features and complexion are eoncerned, but I am greatly mistaken in you if the original of this face can satisfy you long.' * Why, mother, what fault have you to find with her ! Isn't m& a born lady i ' jdiverard aoKcd a little scomiiuly, foF ho wm warming up in Josephine's defence, ' Don t misunderstand what I ma«p bj t Illdy,* Mn. ForrMf FORREST HOUSE. 43 not obliged to J perfectly free/ ernation on Uii ight, and think Beatrice.' d fairly gasped. She w^l not disparity would atrice is a little bhat is a deep- ti makes her a ng to trust you this match. I for years, and I yours. I hope leatrice; surely > put her out of I m the matter, she would for tails a boy, and , were I to ask id. * It surely looked at him iver, and while he said, *Yes, girl in Holbur- eautiful. This >tograph to his Lree minutes; le is beautiful, ted, but I am «e can satisfy ith her ! Isn't ily, fof he wan • Mw. Forrwf laid. • Birth has nui all to do witn it Persons may be borh of the lowliest parentage, and m the humblost shed, but still have that within them which will refine, and soften, and ele- vate till the nobility within asserts itself, and lifts them above their surroundings. In this case,' and she glanced again at the picture, ' the inborn nobility, if there were any, has had time to assert itself and stamp its impress upon the face, and it has not done that' ' For pity's sake, mother, tell me what you see to dislike so much in Josephine 1 ' Everard burst out, indignantly. His mother knew he was angry, but she would not spare him list a great misfortune should befall him. She saw the face she looked upon was very fair, but there was that about it from which she shrank intuitively, her quick womanly instinct telling her it was false as fair, and not at all the face she would have in ler boy's home ; so she answered him unhesitatingly : ' Shall I tell you the kind of person I fancy this girl to be, judging from her picture ? Her face is one to attract young men hke you, and she would try to attract you, too, and the very manner with which she would do it would be the perfec- tion of art There is a treacherous, designing look in these eyes, so blue and dreamy, and about the mouth there is a cruel, selfish expression which I do not lika I do not believe she can be trusted. And then, it may be a minor matter, I do not like her style of dress. A really modest girl would not have sat for her picture with so much exposure of neck and arms, and so much jewellery. Surely you must have noticed the im- mense chain and cross, and all the show of bracelets, and pins, and ornaments in her hair.' Everard had thought of it, but he would not acknowledge it, and his mother continued : * The whole effect is tawdry, and excuse me for putting it so strongly, but it reminds me of the dollar store, and the jewel- lery bought there. She cannot have the true instincts of a lady. Who is she, Everard, and where does she live ? ' Everard was terribly hurt and intensely mertified, while something told him that his mother was not altogether wrong m her estimation of the girl, whose picture did resemble more modest yoang gixl ; but h<» answered his mother's question and said: 44 FORREST HOUSE. 1 I ' Slie lires in Hoiburtou, H"ew York, and her name is Jose- phine Fleming. I boarded for three weeks last summer with her mother, widow Roxie Fleming, as the people call her.' He spit the last out a little defiantly, feeling; resolved that his mother should know all he k«ew about the Flemings, be it good or bad, but he was not prepared for the next remark. ' Roxie 1 Roxie Fleming 1 Is she a second wife, and is theie a stepdaughter much older than Josephine?' ' Yes ; but how did you know it, and where have you seen them 1 ' Everard asked, eagerly, his anger giving way to his nervous dread of some deveh)pment worse even than the dol- lar jewellery, which had hurt him cruelly. ♦ Years ago, when I was a young girl, we had m our fan ily a cook, Uoxie Burrows by name, competent, tidy, and faithhil in the discharge of her duties, but crafty, designing and ambitious. Our butcher was a Mr. Fleming, a native of Ireland: and a very respectable man, whose little daughter used sometimes to bring us the steak for breakfast in the morning, and through whom Roxie captured the father, after the mother died. She was so sorry for the child, and mended her frocks, made much of her till the father was won, when, it was said, the tables were turned, and little Agnes mended the frocks and darne at summer with le call her.' g reaolved that Flemings, be it ext remark, ife, and is theie I have you seen ing way to his !U than the dol* in our fattiily a , and fuithhil in f and aoibitious. and: and a very letimes to bring through whom d. She was so made much of the tables were Lnd darnet guft ^ and traced her origin back to a butcher and a coon. i Well, what then t Was Josey the worse tor that! Was it not America's boast that the children of butchers, and bakers, and candlestick-makers should stand in high places aud give rule 1 Certainly it was, and his mother herself had said it was neither birth nor blood which made the lady. It ivas a nobleness from within asserting itself without, and stamping its impress upon its possessor. And had Joseph- ine this inborn refinement and nobility, or had sho nott That was the point which troubled the young min as he went out from his mother's presence, and sought a \\u\e arbour in a retired part of the grounds where he would be free to think it out. With his head, which was aching terribly, bowed upon his hands, he went over all the past as counec ed with Joseph- ine, detecting here ?nd there many a word and act, which, alas, went far toward proving that his mother's estimate of her was not rery wrong. But how did his mother divine iti Had women some secret method of reading each other uuicuowu to liie uliieji' seju iJouid iicatriOw reau n6r. zoo, iroui ihat photograph, and what would Bee's verdict bel He wished he knew ; wished he could show it to her incidentally as the i ii 46 FORREST HOUSE. pnotograph of a mere acquaintauc And while he was thus thinking he heard in the distance iJee's voire, and hfting up his head he saw her coming down the long walk gayly and airily, in her pretty white muslin dress, with a bit of pink coral in her ears and in the lace bow at her throat. One could see that she was a saucy, fun-loving, frolicsome girl with opinions of her own, which sometimes startled the staid ones who walked year by year in the same rut, but she was every whit a lady, and looked it, too, as she came rapidly toward Everard, who found himself studying and criticising her as he had never cri- ticised a woman before. She was not like Josephine, thor 9;h wherein the diflference consisted he could not telL He only knew that the load at his heart was heavier than ever, and that he almost felt that in some way he was aggrieved by this young girl, who, when she saw him, hastened her step and was soon at his side. *0h, here you are,' she said, 'Eossie told me I should find you in the garden. I came to enquire after that broken head, for which I feel responsible. Why Ned,' she continued, calling him by the old familiar name of his boyhood, ' how white you are I I am afraid it was more serious than I supposed;' «nd she looked anxiously into his pale, wo:.n face. His head was aching terribly, but be would not acknowledge it. He only said he was a little tired, that the cut on his fore- head was nothing, and would soon be well ; then, making Bear trice sit down beside him, he began to ask her numberless questions about the people of Rothsay, especially the young ladies. Where was Sylvia Blackmer, and where was Annie Doane, and, by the way, where was Allie Beadle, that pretty little blonde, with the great blue eyes, who used to sing in the choir. • By Jove, she was pretty,' he said, • except that her hair was a little too yellow. She looks so much like a girl east that some of the college boys rave about, only this girl, Miss Flem- ing, is the prettier of the two. I shouldn't wonder if I had her photograph somewhere. She had a lot taken and gave me one. Yes, here ic is,' he continued, after a feint of rummaging his pocket-book. « What do you think of her I ' he asked, pas- Buijj buu |;xcuuiv *>o jjBStXiiiOOf ftQQ leeiiuit uiuUieii a iuuuiiMii' oj duplicity and deception. Bee took the eani, and k>okiuii at it a monMrt» said : FORREST HOUSE. 47 le he was tlius and lifting up ralk gajlj and it of pink coral One could see i with opinions les who walked py whit a lady, Everard, who had never cri- jphine, thov9;h tell He only ever, and that 1 by this young > and was soon I should find b broken head, tinned, calling low white you ipposed;' and )t acknowledge ut on his fore- 1, making Bea- er numberless lly the young re was Annie le, that pretty to sing m the Ett her hair was girl east that rl, Miss Flem- >nder if I had I and gave nie of rummaging he asked, pas- r a IbuuSbef oj » Mid: • Ifes, she is very pretty , but you don't want auytbing lo do with that girl She is not Uke you.' .., , , It was the old story repeated, and Everard felt nettled and annoyed, but managed not to show it, as, he replied: • Who said I did ^ant anything to do with her ? But hon- estly, though what do you see in her to dislike 1 ' • Nothing to dislike,* Bee said, * I do not fancy her makeup, that's all She looks as if she would wear cotton lace ! ' and having said what in her estimation was the worst thing she could say of a woman, Baatrice handed him back the picture, which he put up silently, feeling that he could not tell Beatrice of Josey. . T. . J u j-^ He oould not tell anybody unless it was Rossie, and he did not believe he cared to do that now, though he would like to show her the picture, and hear what she had to say. Would she see dollar jewellery and cotton lace in the face he thought so divine t He meant to try her, and after Beatrice had gone he strolled oflF to a shaded part of the ground, where he came upon Rossie watering a bed of fuchsias. She was not sylph- like and graceful, or clad in airy muslin, like Beatrice. She w&a unformed and angular, and her dress was a dark chinta, jhort enough to show her slender ankles, which he had once ieasingly called pipe-stems, and Wr thick boots, which were much too lari?e, for she would not have her feet pinched, and always wore shoes a size and a-half too big. A clean, white Apron, ruffled and fluted, and a white sun-bonnet, completed her costume. Josephine would have called her ' homely,' if she had noticed her at all, and some such idea was in Everard 8 mind as he approached her ; but when, at the sound of his footsteps, she turned and flashed upon him» from beneath the cape-bonnet, those great, brilliant eyes, he changed his mind, and thought : ' Won't those eyes do mischief yet, when Rossie gets a little older.' She was glad to see him, and stopped watering her flower? while she inquired after his head, and if Miss Belknap found him. ' Yes, she did,' he said, adding, as he sat down in a rustic «hair: ' Bee is handsome and no mistake.' ' That's so,' Rossie replied promptly, for Bee Belknap s beauty was nei novnj. - aux is wic ijau-a=-jsiic=- b-- • feu thiuk S3V . . Hertt «ras his opportunity and he hastened to seiae it ^rw FOBREST HOUSE. ill i' kf.*i'i ' Why, no,' he said, ' not the very handsomegt I ever saw. 1 have a photograph of a girl I think prettier. Here she is.' And he passed Josephine's picture towards Rossie, who set down the watering-pot, and wiping her soiled hands, took it tu carefully as if it had been the picture of a goddess. *0h Mr. Everardl' she cried, « she is beautiful; more so than Miss Beatrice, I do believe. Such dreamy eyes, which ook at you so kind of— kind of coaxingly, somehow : and such lovely hair I Who is she, Mr. Everard ? ' ' Oh, she is one of the girls,' Everard answered laughingly, and experiencing a sudden revulsion of feeling in Josey's fa- vour at Rossie's opinion of her. Here was one who could give an unprejudiced opinion : here was a champion for Josey ; and in his delight, Everard thought how, with his first spare money, he would buy Rossie a gold ring, aa a reward of merit for what she had said of Josey. Her next renmilfs, however, dampened his ardour a little 'She's very rich, isn't she?' Rossie asked ; and he repUed: ' No, not rich at all. Why do you think that » ' • Because she has such a big chain and cross, and such heavy bracelets and ear-rings, and is dressed more than Miss Belknap dresses at a grand party,' Rossie said ; and Everard answered her quickly : . ' Rossie, yon are a little thing, not much bigger Ihrm my thumb, but you have more sense than many older girls. Tell me, then, if you know, is it bad taste to be overdressed in » picture, and is it a crime, a sin, to wear bogus jewellery 1 ' She did not at all know at what he was aiming, and, pleased with the compliment to her wisdom, answered, with ffreat gravity : ® * Not a crime to wear flash jewellery,— no, I wore a brass ring once till It blackened my finger. I wore a glass breast-piu, too, which cost me twenty-five cents, till your mother said it was foolish and not like a lady. But I do not think it's a crime : It s only sec&nd-dassy. A great many do it, and I shouldn't wonder a bit if,'— here the little lady looked very wise, and hfted her fore-finger by way of emphasis—' I shouldn't wondei K bit if this chain and cross were both shams, for now that ] look at her more closely, she looks like a sham toaJ Kosamond's prospect for a ring was gone forever, and Ever ard 8 voice trembled as he took back his piotUT«. and said : '**«'„, % FORREST HOUSE. 49 3ver saw. 1 iere she is.' lie, who set s, took it ad 1; more so yes, which r ; and snoh laughingly, Josey's fa- inion ; here trd thought ossie a gold i of Josey. . little, he replied : such heavy iss Belknap I answered (r thun my ;irl8. Tell ressed in « lery 1 ' [id, pleasftd with great i brass riiig at-pin, too, taid it waE s a crime ; [ shouldn't wise, and n't wondei aw that 1 and £ver iMid: 'Thank you, Rossie, foi telling me what joa thougn. Mayb* ghe is a sham. Most tilings are :;n this world, I find.' Then he walked rapidly away, while Rossie stood looking after him and wondering if he was angry with her, and who the young girl wao, and if he really liked her. 'I hope not,' she thought, 'for though she is very handsome, there is something about her which does not seem like Mr. Everard and Miss Beatrice. They ought to go together j they must ; it is so suitable ;' and having settled the future of Bea- trice and Everard to her own satisfaction, the little girl resumed her work among the flowers, and did not see Everard again until supper-time, when he looked so pale and tired that even his father noticed it and asked if he were sick. The en* r^vc r his eye was paining him, he said, and if they would ' him he would retire to his room early, and should pioba all right on the morrow. The night was hot and sultry, and even the light breeze from the river seemed op- pressive and laden with thunder, and for hours E^^erard lay awake thinking of the future, which stretched before him so drearily with that burder on his mind. How he wished that It might prove a dream, from which he should awake to find himself free once more, -free to many Josephine if he chose, and he presumed he shoald, but not till his college days were over, and he could take her openly and publicly as a true man takes the woman he loves and honours. How he hated to be a sneak and a coward, and he called himself by these names many times, and loathed himself for the undefinable something creep- ing over him, and which made him shrink even from Josephine herself as Josephine. He said he did not care a picayune for tin butcher and tie cook, and he did not care for the dollar jewellery and cotton lace, though he would rather his mother and Bee had not used the opprobrious terms, but he did care tor the s/utm of whicii his mother had spoken, and which even Rossie had detected. Was Josey a sham, and if so, what wa« his life with her to be 1 Alas for Everard ! he was only just entering the cloud which was to overshadow him for so many wretched years. At last he fell into a troubled sleep, from which he was aroused by the noise of the storm of rain which had awent down th« riv«r ai\A wna Kr.ofUw. « :«-». iU- I t-.-A above the storm there was another sound. Rossie calling to hiir 50 FORREST HOUSE. In tones of affright, and bidding him hasten to his mother, Who was dying. Of all which followed next Everard retained in after life but a vague consciousness. There was a confused dressing in the dark, a hurrying to his mother, whose '^/hite face turned so eagerly toward him, and whose pallid lips were pressed upon his brow as they prayed God to keep him from evil, and bring him ft last to the woild she was going to. There were words of love and tender parting to the stricken husband and heart- broken Eossie, who had been to her like a daughter, and whom she committed to the care of both Everard and his father, as a precious legaey left in their charge. Then, drawing Everard Close to her, she whispered so low that no one else could hear : * Forgive me if I seemed harsh in what I said of Josephine. T only meant it for your good. I may have been mistaken ; I hopel was. I hope she is good, and true, and womanly, and if she is, and you love her, her bitth is of no consequence, none whatever. God bless you, my child, and her, too ! ' She never spoke again, aad .when the early summer morning looked into the room, there was only a still, motionless figure on the bed, with pale hands folded upon the bosom, and the pillow strewn with flowers, which Rosamond had put there, Rosamond thought of everything ; first of the dead, then of the stern judge, who broke down entirely by the side of his lost Mary, and then of Everard, who seemed like one stunned by a heavy hJow. With the constantly increasing pain in his head, blinding him even more than the tears he shed, he wrote to Josephine : ' Oh, Josey, you will be sorry for me when I tell you mother is dead. She died this morning at three o'clock, and I am heart-broken. She was all the world to me. What shall I do without my mother? ' He posted the letter himself, and then kept his room, and for the mopt part his bed, until the day of the funeral, when, hardly kp^*wing what he was doing, or realizing what was pass- ing ann»-^ d him, he stood by his mother's grave, saw the coflBn 'iOwere/ nto it, heard the earth rattling down upop ^*^. and had A stra.;.^ i sensation of wonder as to whom they were burying, •jid wi' he was himself. That puzzled him the w;«jL, except, ideed, the question as to where the son was, the young man torn Amherst CoUege, who drove such fasthoraes. and smokjo ' .*■*„ FORREST HOUSE. 51 xioiher, Wbo kfber life but ssing in the e turned so ressed upon 1, and bring were words i and heart- , and whom father, a» a ,ng Everard ould hear : Josephine. nistaken ; I imanly, and uence, none » aer morning )nless figure m, and the [ put there, 1, then of the of his lost stunned by in his head, he wrote to you mother i;, and I am at shall I do s room, and aeral, when, it was pass- w the coffin ' *'' and had ere burying, >;;,>jL, except, young man and smokjG »o many cigars, and sometimes bet at cards. * He ought Uy kv:: •iere seeing to this,' he thought ; and then, as a twiryze of pain 'hot through his temple, he moaned f:;intly, and wep*. back to 1;he carriage, in \i'hich he was driven rapidly home. There was a letter from Josephine in his room, xs-hich had ;ome while he was at his mother's grave. He recognised the handwriting at once, and with a feeling as if something was clutching his thioat and iiupeding his breath, he t-)ok it up, Kud opening it r< ad his fi;st letter from his wife. ^ OHAPTKR YIL JOSEPHmfti. IMMEDIATELY after Everard'* departure she wrote to the postmaster at Clarence, imaking inquiries for Dr. Matthewson, and in due time rs3ceived an answer addressed to *,he fictitious name which she had given. There had been a clergyman in town by that name, the postmaster wrote, but he had been dismissed for various misdemeanors. Howsver, a marriage performed by him, with the knowledge and consent of the parties, would undoubtedly be binding on such parties. Latterly he had taken to the study of medicine, and assumed the title of 'Doctor.' There could be no mistake, and the harrowing doubt which had so weighed on Josephine's spirits gave way as she read this answer to her letter. She was Mrs. James Everard Forrest, and she wrote the name many times on slips of paper which she tore up and threw on the floor. Then, summoning Agnes from the kitchen, she bade her arrange her hair, for there was a concert in the Hall that night, and she was going. Always meek and submissive, Agnes obeyed, and brushed and curled the beautiful golden hair, and helped array her sister in the pretty blue mnslin, and clasned about her neck and arms thp. h^avy bracelets and chain which had been so criticised and condemned at the Forrest House. They were not quite m bright now as when the young lady first bought them at Pitta 52 FORREST HOUSE. 1 1; j i leld. llieir lustre was somewhat Urniehed, and Jasephlne knew it, and felt a qualm of disgust every time she leokefl at lh6m. She knew the difference between the real and the sham luite as well as Beatrice herself, and by and by, when she was sfitablished in her rightful position as Mrs. Everard Forrest, she meant to indulge to the full her fondness for dress, and make Karr,ida for the straits to which she had all her life been sub- ject&'d. • She 'vould make old Forrest's money fly, only let her have % chance,' she said to Agnes, to whom she was repeating the contents of the letter just received from Clarence. • ' Tbeu it's true, and you are his wire 1 ' Agnes said, her voice indicative of anyUiing but pleasur'). This, Josephine war qu'ck to detect, and she answered sharply : * His wife t yes. Have you any obiection % Oue would sup- pone by your manner that you were surry for Everard.' ' And 60 I am,' Agnes answered, boldly. * 1 don't believe he knew what he was doing. It's a pity for him, he is so young, and we so different. ' So different, Agnes 1 I wish you wouldn't forever harp on ihab string. As if I were not quite as good as a Forrest or any other anstocrat. Can't you ever forget your Irish blood 1 It does not 'ollow because the poor people in Ireland and England lie down and let the nobility walk over theni, that we do it in ilmerica, where it does sometimes happen that the daughter of a butcher and a cook may marry into a family above her level.' ' Yes, I know all thfit/ Agnes said. ' Praised be Heaven for America, where everybody who has it in him can rise if he will ; and yet, there's a difference here, just as much and rnore, I lometimes think, for to be somebody you mubt have it in you. [ can't explain, but I know what I mean, and so do you.' ' Yes, I do,* Josephine replied, angrily. • You mean that 1 have not the requi ite qualifications to make me acceptable at the Forrest House ; that my fine lady from Boston would be greatly shocked to know that the mother of her danght«r-in-law once cooked her dinner and washed her clothes.' • No, not for that, — not for birth or poverty,' i^gnes said, nagerly, ' but because you are, — you ate ' ' VVell what V Josephine demanded, impatiently, «(,(d Agnsa replied : FORREST HOUSE. 53 asephinft eokecl at bhe sham she was rrest, she id make >een suIh her have Eiting the her voice answered \^ ouW sup- L' )elieve he 50 young, r harp on St or any »lood] It [ England 8 do it in lughtei of her level.' eaven for if he will ; I more, I it in you. fon.* mn that I ■?ptable at would be t«ria-law rnes said. V,\d AgDM • Mom ars wnat you are.' 'Ai.ci pray what am I]' Josephine retorted. *1 vxu Miss Josephine Fleming, daughter of Mrs. Roxie Fletaing, who^ied to woik for the Bigelows of Boston, till she married an A.ish butcher, who was shabby enough to die and leave her to bhift tor herself, which she did by taking boarders. That's whig, for he does not ; nor are you to think that he has spoken ill of you in his delirium. On the concrary, I imagiaa that he likes you rery much indeed, and so I am led to hope that there is much good in you, and that you will not only re- lease him, but quit gambling yourself.' She sealed the letter, and directing it to * Mr. Joe Fleming, Esq., Holburton, Mass.,* posted it herself, and then anxiously waited tho answer. Three days later, and the clerk in the post-office at Holburton said, in reply to Josoy's inquiry for letters : ' There is one hero for Mr. Joe Fleming ; that can't be you.' 'Let me see it,' Josey said ; and when she saw that it wa« from Rothsay, Ohio, she continued : 'It 's for me, and it it done for a joke. I will take it' Then, hurrying home slie broke the seal and read tho curi oiis letter, amid screams of convulsive laughter, which brought both her mother and Agnes to her side. 'Look here; just listen will youl' she said, 'somebody ihinks I'm a taan and a gambler, and jverything bad.' And she read the letter aloud, while the tears ran down her face, and she grew almost hysterical in her glee. * Did you ever know a richer joke 1 What a stupid thing that girl must be,' she said. But Agnes made no reply, and went quietly back to her work, while Josephine read the letter a third time, feeling a little sorry for and a little anxious about Eveiard. Rossie's poRt- cript that he seemed to like her very much touched her and brOughii something like moisture to her eyes ; but she never for a moment thought of giving up the debt. She must have the fifty dollars, for the brown silk was nearly finished, and the merchant expected his money, so ^.i^e wrote *tO Rossie as fol- .«»V8 : 64 FORREST HOUSE. : ,; 1 - >f 1 1 ^ i(5- HOLBURTON, August 7tb, 18—. • Miss Rosamond Hawings : — « Your letter is received, and though I am very sorry for Mr. Forrest's illness, and agree with you that it is wrong to gamble, I must still insist upon the money, as I am in great want of it, and Mr. Forrest will tell you tha.t my claim is a jus*, one. I may s^ well add that twenty-five dollars more are du# me, which I shall be glad to have you send. I have written Mr. Forrest about it, but I presume he has not been able tc at- tend to it. 'Hoping he is bettei-, 1 am * Yours truly, •JoK Fleming.' Josephine's handwriting was large and plain, and she took great pains to make it still plainer and more masculine, and Kossir, when she received the letter, had no suspicion that it was not written by a man. Hastily breaking the seal she read, with sinking heart, that the money must be paid, and worse than all, that it was seventy-five instead of fifty dollars, as sh*? had supposed. And she must raise it, and save Mr. Everard from all further trouble and anxiety. He was better now, and very quiet, and had allowed her to remove the satchel of clothes from his bed. Occasionally he spoke to her of Joe, and asked her if she was sure she coui 1 help him out of the scrape. ' Yes, sure was always the reply of the brave little girl ; and she must keep her word at the sacrifice of what she held most dear, her abundant and beautiful hair. Rossie's mind was made up, and after lunch was over, she started for Elm Park, where Miss Belknap lived. Bee was ai home, and glad to see her little friend. She was very fond ol Rossie, whose quaint, old-fa«hioned ways amused and rested her ; and she took her at once to the pretty blue chamber, which Rossie admired so much, and which seemfed so in keeping with its lovely mistress. All Bee's tastes were of the most luxurious kind, and as she had no lack of means, she gratified them to the full. The fever which had deprived her of her hair, had hurt hei ^ ide sorely ; { v the wig which she was wearing until her own hair grew asain, wa.H not a suGceBs. and slift r.hafed tgainst it, and hated heriK^if every time ahe looked in the glass ; ■ FOllREST HOUSE. 65 A'^A »nd when Rosamond, who could tot wait lest her ihoruld fail her, said, ' Miss Beatrice, are you in earnest about uiy hair l Wi^^ yoii ^^Y it "O^ ^ ' she answered. * Buy it 1 Yes, in a moment.' * And give me seventy-five dollars t ' Eossie faltered, ashamed i)f' herself for asking this enormous sum. But it did not at all appal Miss Belknap. Seventy-five dol- lars was nothing if she wished for anything, and she did want Rog:ie*s hair. It was just the colour and texture of her own and she could have such a natural-looking wig made of it. ' Yes, give you seventy-five dollars willingly ; ' she said * But it seems very mean and selfish in me to take it,' she con tinned ; and Rossie, fearful lest the bargain should fall through answered eagerly : ' Oh, no, it don't. I want the money very much indeed. I am anxious to sell it, and if you do not buy it, I shall go t€ Bome one else. But you must not ask me why, — I can't tell that J only it is not for my&elf, — it s for a friend ; I don't think the hair is worth seventy-five dollars, but that is what I must have,, and so I \Aed it. Maybe if you can give me fifty, and loan me twenty-five, I can pay it when my allowance is due. ' You conscientious little chit,' Bee said, laughingly, * you have not yet learned the world's creed, — take all y-u can get. i am willing to give you seventy-five dollars, and, even at that price, think it cheap. But you are a little girl, and will not look badly with short hair.' With her natural shrewdness and her knowledge of some ol Ever-,rd's shortcomings. Bee guessed that it was for him the sacrifice was made, and when the barber's scissors gleamed among the shining tresses, she saw that they did not cul too close and make the girl a fright. But the loss of hei' 'air fchanged Rossie very much, and when she went back to the Forrest House she shrank from the eyes of the servants, p.vd ttole up to her own room, where ahe could inspect herself free' j', Uid see just how she looked. * Oh, how ugly 1 am, and how big my eyes are ! ' she said red two hot tears rolled down her cheeks ; but s" ' jsolutely dashed tham away, and thought, ' His mother would oe so glad if she knew I was doing it for him.' And the memory of the dead woman, who had been bg kind to htt, helped her. For her sake she could bear almost any GCy fokhest house. Jh?ngv and, putting on her hat, she left the house again, gotnt! Jhis time to the uifice of the ftiraiiy lawyer, ¥.\ Rus<^ il, fokisvci, jlderly man, who was vei y fond of Kossm, and at once )mt asid*' his papers when she came in. 'Can I do anything for you to day ?' he asked, a),d Jie repUed : ' I vo come io ask you to !'. rite me juai such a receipt a'^ vou would write if somebody ovred you seventy-five dollars and paid i6 you in full Don't ask too arything, only v, rite u, and make It read as if the debtor didn't owe the crediior t penny after f.he-Jate.' *' Mr. Casfvell Jorktd cunously at ihe flushed face raised so eagerly u> Um, .\nd in pbffc guesseo her secret. Like Bee, he snew ot fivcra- is expenave habits, and suspected that thi» money had ^.r v^.thmg ti, do with him. But he --ierely said • 'What iianK; shall 1 use 1 The receipt will read like thisi • ;,eeen'od of,--Dlatk, -seventy-five dollars," aiid so fortk Now, how shall I fill thu blank 1 ' Eossie thought a moment, hnd then replied : 'Will it make an} diflTereni^e who writes the receiotr : Not at all ; the signature is what gives it its value,' ♦ Then will you please give me a form, a true one, you know —which I can copy and ^nd, and ought I not to register thff letter to make it safe 1 ' She was quite a littl« business woman, and the old lawyer looked at her admiringly as he gave her the necessary direc tions, suggesting that a dvaft or post-office, order would be better than to send the monoy. But Rossie did not care for so much publicity as she fancied drafts and post-office orders would in- volve. She preferred to send the bills a fifty, a twenty, and a five, directly to Joe, and she did so that very afternoon for a^ good luck would hdve it, Beatrice asked her to drive to' an adjoining town, where she registered and posted her letter and felt as if a weight were lifted from her mind. She had no sus- picion of Joe'* playing her false. He would, of course, return the receipt, abd Mr. E> rard would be free, and her heart was almost as light as her hebd when she returned home and went to Everard s room. That poor shorn head, how it sta-e. i at hex 'n the glass, and how she tried to brush up the e' wav "wr, and make ihe mosf of it. But do the best abr * ak,' she said at last, ' I thought you would like it, I did not want you to sell your clothes, — did not want your father to know. I meant to do right. I am sorry you are angry.' ' Angry I ' and in the eyes which looked at Rossie il.cre was anything but anger. * I am not angry except with myself; only I an' o mortified, so ashamed. I think vou the dearest, most VLvy .sh persoo in the world. Who else would have doQ« what ytr i iiave.' J 70 OHi-fliST HOUSE, *0h, aver , > uiaiiy,' Rossie said, ' if they were oonpy for y ftad loved you ; for, Mr, Everard, I am so sorry, and 1 lov« yoa ft heap, and ther, — and then, I did it some because I thonghk your mother would like it if she knew.' Eosamonds lip quivered a8sl"> ~i'(! *',' ' and there was such a pitiful look in her soft eyes .uut Jiiveraid ruined himself in bed, and drawing her toward him, took the thin little face be- tween his hands and kissed it tenderly, while his tears flowed afi f ah at the mention of his dead mother, who had been so lar.h to him. * liossie,' he said, * what can I ever do to show you how much I appreciate all you have done for me, and all you are to me»' The girl hesitated a moment, and then said : • If you will promise never to have anything to do with Joe Fleming, t ^jhall be so happy, for I am sure he is a bad man, and leads you into mischief. Wil' you promise not to go near Joo Fleming again 9 ' Everard groa '^d as he answered her : 'You do not know what you ask. I cannot break with Joe Fleming. J , — oh, Eossie, I am a coward, a fool, and I wish I were dead, — I '^o, upon my word 1 But there is one thing I can promise you, and I will. 1 pledge myself solemnly, from this day forth, never to touch a card of any kind in the way of gambling, never to touch •» drv>p of spirits, or a cigar, or a fast horse, or to bet, or do anything of which you would not ap- prove.* ' I am so glad, Rossit ^aid, 'a 1 to mak« it quite sure, sup- pose you rign something just as they do the pledge to keep ^om drinking.' He did not quil Liow what sbo mcai^t, b v be answered, unhesitauingly : ' I'll sign anything you choose to bring me.' ' I'm going to write it now,' Rot _' said, and the next, mo- ment she left the room, and ^' ^rard was free to finish his let- (- '> aioud. Taklug che second one fro' J08( ine, he read that she was sorry to hear of his atSiction, md wislied she coul ■ comfort him, and that it must be a consolation for him to . ow that his mother was in heav«n^ where he would one day meet ^r if be WM a good man. '■ j FORREST HOUSE. n t Thifl attempt at piety disgusted Everard, who knew how littl Josephine cared for anything sacred, and how prone nhe was fr ridicule what she called pious people. Immediately following this mention of his mother, she said ■fhe was missing aud longing for him so much, and hoped he would write at once, and send her the money for which she was obliged to ask him. Then she added the following: ' 1 find myself in a rather peculiar position. So long as «. am known as Miss Fleming, I shall of course be subject to the attentions of gentlemen, and what am I to do 1 Shall I go on as usual,— discreetly, of course, — and receive whatever attentions are paid to me, never allo\ . .' any one to get so far as an oflFer? r ask you this because I wish to please you, and because, since my marriage, it seems as if so many men are inclined to be polite to me. Even old 'Japtain Sparks, the millionaire, has asked me to ride after his ffist horses j and as there va? no reason which I could give him why I should not, I went, and he acted as silly as an old fool well can act. Tell me your wishes in the matter, and they shall be to me commands.' For an instant Everard felt indignant at Captain Sparks for presuming to ride with and say silly things of Josephine, but when he reflected a moment he knew that to the captain there 'as no reason why he should not do so. Josephine was to him a yonng, marriageable maiden, and rumour said that the old mar \s looking for a fourth wife, and as he would of course look ouly nt the young girls, it was natural for him to single out Josephine as an object of favour. ' Josey must, of course, hold her place as an unmarried person,' he thought, ' but oh I the horror of this deception. I'd give worlds to undo the work of that night.' He thought so more than ever when he read *' i third and last letter, in which, after expressing her sorrow and c. ?i 5rn for his sickness, she told him of her correspondence v > :, ivosa- monu, and which, -y^ it giv es a still clearer insight into tae young lady's «har voter, w» give, in part, to the reader : ' Dear Everard : — What do you suppose has happened ! Why, I laughed until I nearly split my sides, and I almost scream every time I think of the funny letter I got from Rosa- mond Hastings, the little girl who Uvea with you, and who actually thinks I am a ntan, a bad, good for-nothiug, gambling, 1' 111 'it um 72 FORREST HOUSE* •wearing man, who leads you into all sorts of scrapes, and lo whom you owe mr.ney. It seems she gathered this Vrhen you were crazy, and i ,ok it upon hersolf to write to Mr. JoeFlemivg, — that's what she called me, — and lecture him soundly on his hadness. You ought to iujar her once ; but I'll keep the letter and show you. She wished mo to give up the debt, which she took for granted was a g;iml)ling one, bub said if I would not 1 must write to her and not trouble you. Now, 1 suppose it would have been generous and nice in me to say I did not care for the money, but you see I did ; I must have it to pay my bills ; so 1 wrote to her and said you would tell her my claim was a just one, if she asked you about it In due time she sent me seventy- five dollars, though how she raised it J am sure I cannot guess unless she coaxed it from your father, and I hardly think she did that, as she seemed in great fear lest he should know that you owed Joe Fleming/ She is a good business woman, — for, accompanying the money was a receipt, correctly drawn up, and declaring you discharged in full from all indebtedness to me. I wonder what tho child would have done if I had not returned it, and just for the mischief of it I thought once I wouldn't, for a while at least, and see what she would do. But Agnes made such a fuss that I thought better of it, and shall send the receipt in the same mail which takes this to you. By the way, you've no idea how much Agnes has you and your interests at heart. I believe, upon my word, she thinks you did a dreadful thing to marry me as you did, and she says her prayers in your behalf, to my certain knowledge, three or four time a day. Verily, it ought to make your calling and election sure. •Dr. Matthewson was in town yesterday, and inquired particu- larly for you. I told him of your mother's death, and that I had written to Clarence as he bade me do, and made inquiries about him, and had not received a very good report of his character as a clergyman. He took it good-humouredly, and said that the Gospel didn't agree with him very well. I like the doctor immensely, he is so amusing and friendly. I hope you will not care because I told him of Rosamond's mistake, and showed him her letter. How he did roar ! Why, he actually laid down on the grass, and rolled and kicked, and would not believe ma iie ieic tovvii this moruuig, say* \ sill I showed him tho lottos. I FORREST HOUSE. 73 ing he would be here again in the fall, and irould lilce to board with mother. ' How I hate this life, — planning how to get your bread and butter, — and how glad I shall be when I am out of it ; but I mean to bo patient and bear it, knowing what happiness there ii in future for me. When shall 1 see you I wonder 1 Will you not come as soon as you are able to travel, and spend the re- maiader of your vacation with me 1 You will, at least, atop here on thb way to Amherst, f\ud for that time I live.' * Lovingly yours, Joe.' It would be impossible to describe the nature of Everard'a feelings as he read this letter, which seemed to him coarse, and selfish, and heartless in the extreme. Couldn't Josephine un- derstand such a character as Kossie's, or appreciate the noble thing she had done 1 Could she only see in it a pretext for laughing till ' she split her sides,' and was it a nice thing in her to tell Dr. Matthewson of the letter, and even show it to him, making him roll on the grass, and roar and kick in her presence 1 Had she no delicacy or refinement, to allow such a thing 1 Would any man dare to do that with Beo or even Rossie, child though she was 1 Was Josey devoid of that womanly dignity which puts a man always on his best behaviour 1 He feared she was, he said sadly to himself, as he recalled the free and easy manner he had always assumed with her. How many times had he sat with his feet higher than his head, and smoked directly in her face, or stretching himself full length upon the grass while she sat beside him, laid his head in her lap and talked such slang as he would blush to have Rossie hear ; and she had laughed, and jested, and allowed it all, or at the most reproved him by asking if he were not ashamed of himself, Josey was noi modest and womanly, Uke his mother, and Bee, and Rosamond. She was not like them at all, and for a mo* raent there swept over the young man such a feeling of revul- sion and disgust, that hio whole being rose up against the posi- tion in which he was placed, and from his inmost soul he cried out, * I cannot have it so ! * He had sown the wind, and he was beginning to reap the whirlwind . it was a very nervous, feverish patient which Rossifl found when she came back to him, bringing the paper he was 74 FORREST HOUSE. ,^ ! ! Hit to Sign, and which was to keep him straiirht pledge, and it read : " ' She called it a ' I hereby solemnly promise never to drink a drop of liauor never to play cards or any other game for money, never to bei and to have just as little to do with Joe Flemin^^ ^ I p^^ssiSy ^g^igned by me, at the Forrest House, this day of August, * There I'Eossie said, as she read it to him, and offered him the pen ; « You'll sign that and then be very safe ' Kossie, he said, vehemently, 'I wish to Heaven I could honourably subscribe to the whole of it, but I cannot I must :r; W r' '.^r' '^'^ ^^^^^"g- ^ cannot expTl to you m?8e not toTn^fl'P '"J ^'^T''T' ^^^^ ^''^^^' I'll P Sat do S ' '°^"«"««d ^° that direction any more. Will r ir^cZ'h^l^^'^ '"^ It® y^" ^^"I'l l^^eak with him entirely. 1 know he makes you bad. You told me when you came home S slXfiv Vl?' ' '!iT' y'^"' ^"^ yet'you ow^d tS Rossie/s eyes were full of tears as she said this, for losing lure her *^ ^"'* ^"^ '"^'^^y' "^"^ 1^« l^^«t««^d to reas^ • Roasie • he said, ' I did not know of this debt then It has come ,.p «ince. What I told you was told in good fSh Bad as^l am, I would not tell a deliberate lie, and ^ou must believe She did believe him, and watched him as he put his pen tT.tl^ «®"^?^«';ha^« J"«t as little to do with Jo FlenJng I Po«8'Wy can,' and then signed his name to the paper. ^ to m r KJr:"l\'' ^' ^'f ^^ i' '"^ ^'' -i^l^ - slcHy effort to smile. Keep it, Rossie, and if I break that pledge mav I -over succeed m anything I undertake so lon^r as I live Ind 7 I'^^^'J^y l^^ad with the cc/Idest ice-water in the bouse for !f. feels as if there was a bass drum in it ' ' Cof ^ "".T "T^ ^^""H^'^ ^''"^ nervous, and did not improve •• ••ast as th« doctor had said he would, if once ts^^JnZ {S. ) FORREST HOUSE. 76 tnrued. Indeed, fjr a few days he dm not seem to improve at all, and Beatrice and Eosamoud both nursed him tenderly, and pitied him so much when they saw him lying so weak and still, with his eyes shut and the great tears rolling down his '/ace. * It's for his mother,' Eossie whispered to her companion, and her own tears gathered as she remembered the sweet woman whose grave was so fresh in the church-yard. But it was not altogether for the dead mother that Ever- ard's tears were shed. It was rather from remorse and sorrow for the deed he would have given so much to undo ; for he was conscious of an intense desire to be free from the chain which bound him. Not free from Josephine, he tried to make him- self believe, for if that were so he would indeed be the most wretched of men, but free from his marriage vow, made so rashly. How was it that he was tempted to do it 1 he asked himself, as he went over in his mind with the events of that night. He was always more or less intoxicated with Joseph- ine's beauty when he was with her, and he remembered how bhe had bewitched and bewildered him with the touch of her soft hands, and sight of her bare arms and neck. She had ohallenged him to the act and Dr. Matthewson had -^iven him the wine, which he knew now must have clouded Sis reason md judgment, and so he was left to his fate. And a terrible one it seemed, as, in his weakness and langour, he looked at it in all its aspects, and sav.- no b? ightness in it. Even Josephine's beauty seemed fading into notliing, though he tried so hard to keep his hold on that, for he must hold to something, — must »-3tain his love for her or go mad. But she was so unlike Beatrice, so unlike Eosamond, so unlike what his mother had been, and they weie his standards for all that was noble, and pure, and sweet in womankind. Josey was selfish and unre- ~ fined ; be could not put it in any milder form v-'hen he remem- bered the past as connected with her, and remembered how she had ridiculed little Eossie Hastings, whose letter she had shown to Dr. Matthewson. How plainly he could see that scene, when the doctor rolled upon the grass and roared and kicked, and Josephine laughed with him at the generous, un- selfish child who, to save him, had sacrificed her only beauty. And Josephine was his wife, and he muet: not ceass to v^k-rtf^t her one iota, for that was his only chanco for happiness, and he itruggled 80 hard to keep her in his J aart and love ibat it is 76 FORREST HOUSE. ki. aot fltrange the great drops of sweat stood Ihickly on his brow or that the hot tears at intervals rolled down his cheeks It was Eossie who brushed them away, Rossie who wiped the sweat from his face and whispered to him once : ' Don't cry, Mr. Everard. Your mother is so happy where she has gone, and I don't believe she has lost all care for you either, she loved you so much when she was here.' Then Everard broke down entirely and holdng kossie's little brown, tanned hands in his, said to her : ' ' It isn't that, though heaven knows how much I loved my mother and how sorry I am she is dead ; but there are troubles v/orse than death, and I am in one now, and the future looks so dark, and the burden so heavy to carry.' ' Can I help you to bear; it 1 ' Rossie asked, softly, with a great pity m her heart for this young man who had given wav like a child. ° " 'No, Rossie, nobody can help me,— nobody,' he said; and after a moment Rossie asked timidly : ' Is it Joe Fleming ag»in 1 s ' Yes, Rossie, Joe Fleming again ; ' and Everard could scarce- Rossf's^^" ^ ^ ^^^^ '° ^^ ^"^^' ^^ ^'"^ ^^^^^ mistake of In her mind Joe Fleming was a dreadful man, through whom Mr Everard had come to grief, and she ventured at last to speak of him to Beatrice as somebody of whom Everard had talked when he was crazy, and who had led him into a great trouble of some kind. * • And that's what ails him now, and keeps him so weak and low, and maKes him cry like a girl,' she said. A.nd then Beatrice resolved to help the sick youth if possi- ble, and that afternoon when she sat alone with him for a few moments, she said to him : 'Everard, I am quite sure that something is troubling vou something which retards your recovery. I do not ask to l-.dw what It IS, but if money can lighten it let me help you, pieasa 3 have so much more than I know what to do with. Ui me lend you some, do.' 'Oh, Bee,' Everard cried, 'Don't talk to me that way ; you will kill me, you and Rossie together ; and you can't help me. She did not at all know what he meant, but with her know FORREST HOUSE. 77 ledge of what money could do, she felt sure it could help, and so she said : * Not so bad as that, I am sure. You have been probably led astray by some designing person, but there is always a backward path, you know, and you will take it sure ; and if you should want any money, as you may, will you ask me for it, Everard 1 Will you let me give it to you as if I were your Bister ? ' He did not know ; he could not tell what he might do in sore need, for he felt intuitively that the call on him for money, commenced so soon, would increase with every year ; so he thanked her for her kind offer, which, he said, he would consi- der, should the time ever come when he wanted help. For ten days more Everard kept his room, and then arose suddenly one morning and said that he was able to go back to college, where he ought to have been two weeks ago, for he was getting far behind his class, ^nd would have to study hard to overtake and keep up with it as he meant to do. Nothing could restrain him ; go he must, and go he did, early one morn- ing in September, before the people of Rothsay were a",tir. He htid held a short conference with Rosamond, and bidden her tell the post-master to forward to Amherst any letters which might come to him, and on no account to let them go to the Forrest House. And Rossie had promised to comply with all his wishes, and pressed upon him a twenty-dollar bill, which she made him take, because, ac she said, she did not need it a bit, and should just squander it for peanuts, and worsteds, and things which would do her no good. It was a part of her quarterly interest, and she could do what *>he liked with it, and so Everard took it, and felt humiliated, and hated himself, especially as she knew just where the money would go. A .. tei from Josephine had come to him, asking for more funds, with which to replenish her wardrobe for the autumn. They had no boarders now except Dr. Matthewson, who was occasionally ill town for a day or two and stopped with them, and Mra Fleming did not get as much sewing as usual, and so Josey WBs com|»lled to come to her husband for money, though Borely against her will, for she feared sh*- must seem mercenary to him, and she hoped h« would forgive her and love her iusfc the ■*»««. It was this letter ricken out. There was no one at the little station except the ticket agent, who, being new to the place, scarcely noticed him as b» crossed the platform and passed down thn street toward th$ I FORREST HOUSE. 79 brown house on the common. There had been a storm of wina and rain the previous day, and the hop vine which in the sum- mer grew over the door, was torn down and lay upon the ground. A part of the fence, too, was nearly down, and a shutter hung by one hinge and swayed too and fro in the autumn wind. Taken as a whole the house presented rather a forlorn appearance, and he found himself wondering how he had ever tliought it so attractive, and still he JTelfc his blood stir quickly at the thought of meeting Josephine again, and he half looked to see her come flying out to meet him as she had some- times done. But only the cat, who was chasing a grasshopper, through the uncut grass, came to welcome him by purring and rubbing herself against his legs as he went up the walk. Agnes let him in, — the same sun-bonnet on her head he had seen so many times, her sleeves rolled up, and her wide apron smelling of the suds she had come from. At sight of him she uttered an exclamation of surpnse, and for a moment her tired face lighted up with something like pleasure ; then that expression faded and was succeeded by an anxious, startled look, as she glanced nervousl} down the road as if expecting some one to whom she Avoul'd give warning. Mrs. Fleming was in Boston, seeing to some mortgage on the house, and Josey had gone to ride, she said, as she led the way to the little parlour, which, even to Everard's not very critical eye, presented an appearance of neglect unusual in Mrs. Flem- ing's household. Evidently it had not been cared for that day, for the chairs were removed from their places, two standing close together, just where their last occupants had left them! There were crumbs of cake on the carpet, and two empty wine glasses on the table, with a fly or two crawling lazily on the mside and sipping the few red drops left there. As Agnes opened the window and brushed up the crumbs, she said she was intending to right up the room before Jose- phme came home, then bidding Everard make himself as com- fortable as possible, she left him alone, and went back to her work in the kitchen. Taking a Jiair near the window, where he cculd command • view of the street, the young man sat waiting for Josephine, until he heard at last a loud, lone laush. whiVh wis n.!mo.at. a shriek, and, looking through the shuttera of the open window, he saw first a cloud of dust, aud then a low buggy coming 80 FORRES'i HOUSE. rapidly across tne common, in the direction of the house In the buggy sat Captain Sparks, the millionaire, whose penchant for young and pretty girls was well known throughout the en- tire county. Short, fat and grizzly, he sat with folded arms, smiling complacently upon the fair blonde, who in her brown silk dress of two shades, with a long white lace scarf twisted round her hat and flying far behind, held the reins of the high- mettled horse, and was driving furiously. In his surprise and indignation, Everard failed to note how beautiful she was, with the flush of excitement on her cheeks and Die sparkle in her eye ; he only thought she was his wife, and that Captain Sparks lifted her very tenderly to the ground, and held her by the shoulders a moment, while he said something which jnade her turn her head coquettishly on one side, as she drew back from him, and said : ' Yon mean old thing I You ought to be ashamed ! ' Everard had heard this form of expression many times. In- deed, it was her favourite method of reproof for liberties of speech or manner, and meant nothing at all. Everard knew it did not, and Captain Sparks knew it did not, and held her hand the tighter ; but she draw it away at last, and ran gayly up the walk, throwing him a kiss from the tips of her daintily- gloved hand. Then she entered the side door, and Everard heard her say to Agnes, who was hurrying to meet her and an- nounce his arrival : * Upon my word, if you are not in that old wash-dud yet ! I'll bet you haven't touched the parlour, and the Captain is coming at eight o'clock. Whaort t ' and her voice fell sud- denly, as Agnes said something to her in a tone too low for Everard to hear. That ic concerned him and his presence there he was sure, and he was not greatly surprised when thenextinstantthedooropened swiftly, and Josephine rushed headlong into his arms. He opened them involuntary to withstand the shock, rather than to receive her ; but the result was the same, — shelaid her golden headonhia bosom and sobbed like a child. Josey could feign a cry admir- ably when she chose to do so, and now she trembled and shook, and made it seem so real that Everard forgot everything ex- cept that she was very fair, and undeniably glad to see him. Verv gently he soothed her. and nisde htr Hfh hfts* hts-il ►Kat lie might look mto her face, and haled himself for thinking FORREST HOUSE. 81 louse In e penchant »ut the ejn- ded arms, her brown rf twisted P the high- rprise and was, with •kle in her lin Sparks ler by the made her back from I!' iimes. In- berties of rard knew i held her rangayly r daintily- l Everard it and an- -dud yet ! Daptain is ) fell Slid- o low for sure, and •or opened le opened to receive leadonhia ry admir- id shook, thing ex- see him. thinking that for such a thunder-guat as she had treatefl him to, nw eyes were n.jt very led, nor her cheeks very wet. But she was «o happy, and so glad he had come, and so sorry she was not there to receive him. ' That old fool, Captain Sparks, had recently taken to haunt- ing her with attentions, and as the easiest way to be rid of him she had consented for once to ride with him, and had taken the' occasion to tell him it could not be repeated. But then it was rare fun to drive his fast horse,— she was so fond of driving and Blucher was so fleet and spirited, and had brought them up to the house m such style. Did Everard see them.— and what did he think V Yes I saw you, and thought you were enjoying it hugely ' Lvefard sad ; and Josey detected something in his tone which made her suspect that he did not quite like the captain's manner of lifting her from the carriage. But jhe was equal to the emergency, and made fun of the old man, and called him a love- sick muff, and took him off to the life, and then, in a grieved martyred kind of way, said, ' it was rather hard for her to know just what to do, situated as she was, married and yet not mar- ried, m fact. She would not for the world do anything to dis- please Everard, but must she decline all attention and make a nun of herself, and how soon could she l.t her marriage be known V ^' 'Not yet, Josey,' Everard said, explaining to her rapidly how much worse the matter was for them now his mother was dead. She might, and would, have helped them when the crisis lame, but now there was no one to stand between him and his father, who was sure to take some desperate step if he knew of the rash marriage before his son was through college. * We must wait, Josey, two years, sure,' he said : and be- cause she could not help herself, Josephine assented, very sweetly, though with something of an injured a' r, and managed next to speak of money, and asked if he hated her for beina such a leech. ^ ♦ Jou mustn't, for I couldn't h»lp it,' she said, and she leaned on his arm, aud buttoned and unbuttoned his coaf^ and caressed him genera' ;, , as she continued : ' Maybe you clidn't know how ^"'"' it '"""'^ "**^» "*" J^'^ ""«'»"* iiot Imvw taken her. Mothei w in BMton now about some m»rtg««e on the house, and ii 82 FOBREST HOUSE. s ■ 'l I I takes 80 much to live decently, and my lessons cost frightfully , but you are glad to have me improve, dearest V Of course he was glad, he said, but he had no means of get- ting money except from his father, and if she knew to what humiliation he was subjected when he asked for funds, she would spare him all she could. By and by, when he had money of his own, there should be no stint, but now she must be economical, he told her ; and then she spoke of Rosamond, and asked who and what that queer little old-fashioned thing could be. * Such a lecture as she gave Mr. Joe Fleming for gambling, and leading you wrong generally. Why, ' laugh till I cry every time I think of it,' Josey said, proving she truth of what aha asserted by laughing heartily. But the laugh grated on Everard, as in some way an affront to Eossie, and he shrank from saying much of her, except to tell who she was, and how she came to be living at the Forrest Hous& * And was it her own money she sent me, or where did she get it I Has she the open sesame to your father's purse 1 If 80, you had better apply to her, when in need,' Josoy said ; and in a sudden spasm of fear less in someway Eossie should become a victim of the greed he was beginning dimly to com- prehend, ho told the story of the hair, but withheld the name of Beatrice, from a feeling that he would rather Josephine should not know of his acquaintance with her. * What do you think of a girl who could do so generous a thing as that for a great lout like meV he a^iked, and Josephine replied, ' I think she was a little goose ! Catch me parting with my hair ; though I am glad she did it, as it relieved you, and was of great benefit to Joe Fleming. She laughed lightly, but Everard was disgusted and indig- nant at her utter want of appreciation of the sacrifice which few girls would have made. She saw the shadow on his face, and, suspecting the cause, changed her tactics, and became greatly interested in Rosamond, and said that she must be a generous, self-denying little thing, and she wished Everard would allow her to write to her in her own^proper character as his wife. But to this he would not consent. He was not de ceived bv this chanere iu her manner. He knew Josev had ex- pressed her real sentiments at tirot, and there was in his heart a i FORREST HOUSE. 83 xightfullj , ans of get- w to what funds, she had money e must be Rosamond, oned thing gambling, I till I cry bh of what an affront , except to bhe Forrest are did she purse 1 If oHoy aaid ; ssie should ily to oom- 1 the name Josephine generous a Josephine ue parting lieved you, and in dig- fice which »n his face, id became must be a d Everard laracter as iras not de ay ^a.(^ fix- his heart a constftutly-increasiijg sense of disappolntmenc and loss of som© thing, he scarcely knew what. Nor could all Josephine's wilei and witcheries lift the shadows from his face, and make him feel just as he used to do when he sat alone in the little parlour \yith her at his side. She was very charming in her brown silk, which fitted her admirably, and Beatrice herself could not have been softer, and sweeter, and gentler than she tried to be ; but there was something lacking, and though Everard put his' arm around her slender waist, and her golden hair was pillow- ed on his shoulder, his heart beat with heavy throbs-of pain as he spoke of her last letter to him, in which she had asked for more money. It bad been his intention to give her all he had, and bid her make it last the year, but he had changed his mind suddenly, and liauded her only twenty dollars, and told her it was by mere chance that he was fortunate enough to have so much to give her, and that he hoped she would do the best she could with it ; for though he would gladly give her ten times the amount, if he could, the thing was impossible. She thanked him graciously, and said she meant to be very economical, only things did cost so much, and as Mrs. Forrest, she felt that she must dress better than Josephine Fleming had done. If he said so, she would take in sewing, or even washing, if he liked, — anything to show him she really meant to please him. He vetoed the washing and the sewing, of course, and then, as he heard the rattling of dishes in the adjoining room, he hastened to say that he was to leave on the half-past seven train, so as to reach Amherst that night. There was a passion- ate protest, and a pretty, pouting declaration that he did not care for her any more, and then she allowed herself to be com- forted, and felt really relieved when she remembered Captain Sparks and his engagement for eight o'clock. There were waf- fles for supper,— Everard's favourites,— and Josephine aat by him and buttered them for him, and made his tea, and heli>ed him to peaches and cream, and between times studied the face which baflled and puzzled her so, with its new expression, born of remorse and harrowing unrest. She had married a boy whom she thought to mould so easily, but she found him now a man, for whom she felt a little awe ai 1 fear, and there was something of real timidity and shyness in her manne* when at Irtof ^Im n<.j.-3 -_ ^.-3 1 .-!• 1 .II.* -^^v =i:^ =a:-_: j^vuu L!j.y lii liim, snci waccHea nira llirough the darkness as he went rapidly from her to the train which was to take him on his way to Amherst. J !; if *,■ ., ; { '.i ■it 1 [■- :\i -M 1 u 84 FORREST HOUSE. OHAJ>TBR XI. AFTER TWO YEARa T T 18 not my intention to linger over the incidents of the next L Tu' ?' ""T ^-^r 8'^°*=^ ^^ the Forrest House, where S i ';i^" , Hastings laughed and played, and romped. gaTning ach day health, and strength, and girlish beauty, but retah? r^l fnIT ^! '"T- l^^^ig'^tforward, generon«, self-detmng To Fvl r^'''' ^r"^ T^' ^'' ^ ^^^°""te with every^^^f.' To Everard she was hterally a good angel, and never was a son vva ched more carefully by an anxious mother than she watched an.l guarded him. She wrote him letters of advice a^dsa^e couuseJ such as a grandmother of sevonty might have written and which frequently nad in them some word of warningYga nst bad asso«i....s in general, and Joe Fleming in particular^ She ^^ ' :;' ;"' '^°^^ -^^ Joe aitogetS^r, ^r h^tSd he^ ; elrr ,:. "T^i^ his ^oreneed he had taken the money she T^ftu \T^ ^'"^ "^^'^ her quarterly allowance was paid. But f^ tho r. 3t he was manfully keeping to the pledge which she had drawn i^rhim to sign. Oulyonce in all the two years had he ZX'". ^^- h^l^therformore money than that cWdealing man chose to give him, and the storm of anger which that re- quest had evoked determined him never to repeat the act H« sent his father's letter to Josephine, that she Lo might^^^^ stand how difficult it was for him to .upply'her'confanTy in- creasing wants, and for a time the effect was good ; but an n- oramate fondness for dress was one of Josey'g weaknesses and having once indulged it to a certain extent she coufd not readSv deny herself, especially as she felt she had a right to a part Jt least, of the Forrest money. So she wrote to Everard again a«d again, sometimes for five dollars, sometimes for ten or twenty, and when she found that sooner or later it car^e'she ventured to ask for more, and at la«t demanded fiydoHat Which she needed for furs, as her old ones were worn c ' Then Everard sold the little diamnn^ «;« u;- ^..u__r . P^^^' him. and parted with it almoaV wi^hoiic a ^^^i^l^^l^ZSi J FORREST HOUSE. 35 His fir«t:clas8 boaShourw!«^'"T'''''";''^"^ evei-ything club, where the poore8t%oun^ In f-'^'V^f ^* ^^"' '^ ^^'''•d-r-te the x„a,a.ines a^d «dd Tern' Twh"' '' '"---te articles for ohce, when the janitor was sici for a f "''J get, and and earned a few dollars N^ith which to sw'u V^^ ^^ P^»^^' found It nec.-ssary to keen o > i to «well the amount ho a handsomer ward. obe than ,1" ^;°\*^« ^^"'an who s,.o,tod Of course the world nZ^ . ^'"^^'"'^ ^"^'^ "^ Hoiburt/.n. the girl's reputatl^n'b:' :l^;7U'--P^-^^^ ^^ ^^"«. - explanation and said a dist-.nfl !• c , "^''^^y "'^'^e the in Ireland, and left her atewt-l "^ ^'' ^"'''"" ^^''•' ''"'' And in this story there was ^5^ %'^° ^'^'^ ^' «he liked aunt, who for yLrsTad iL^d n fc' ^V''"*^' ^^'^ '-^ »'-^'- coast of Ireland, and tXnllL^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^" "-therK did die, and leave to her ^r. n 1 • -^ . summer season, f y pounds, which was ostfSrr'/^, ^"^'"^^^ ^^'« «""> o Josephine, though thefatter had H ^ ^T''''' '^g"«« «"d ately appeared on the street in 1 ^''^.^^' ''"^^"' «"^ i"'niedi- attracted much attest n a J "ioST" "f ^' ^^^^' -^ich ft-m those who were watc^ng Slreef ^^^ ^^"^''^^ fehe was not popular fai- «nfV, ? J^ career ot the young sh-] on all sorts of a£ and L?! " ^"' ^/^'« «^^« ^'«^ also",; in the extreme, wlI^l"rSrH'-"''r^''^^ «"^' "«-- marked as to make her notorious ,1 '"' ? g^^tJemen were so coquette. Captain Sparks hariaid' ^'"'"'ff "'^'^ unprincipled fortune at her feet, oirof course to I'^'^'f ^^i^ ^'^ '"^^i*"«« told him so sweetly wi h L^rl? '1 ^^ ""^^"'^^ ^ ^"^ «he had was not more thanU LVt'eJ^/^:'. ^^ '^"' .^^^^' *^^* ^^ ed still in b.T train of hangers on n^T'"T* ''' ^"'^ ^ang- there frequently, and neeK«T" F'' ^^^^^^^^^^^^on, too, was the favored one, A^^from thTf "T'' ^?^ ^^^"^l^ing'hin, they seemed to stind^o^ar other n'' ''''*^'"« ^'^ ^^'^^ Everard himself went over to Hdt;. J'" I" ^ «^«** ^^''« m^re than a few hours aUh^mof ^^^^^^^^^^ «^W^<^ wa« dead, and her beauty tvt^ n.:^4i"M^n:t. t^Il tZ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET {MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1^ 112.8 1^ 1 2.5 m 1 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" ► Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y, 14580 (716) 872-4503 m. %^ ,\ iV -^\\ % V ^^t^ ^^^ 6^ *u w '»' ^^ ^l.w i/.x -r I ii I It I i , I II • I 86 FORREST HOUSE. paises quicken one whit fwter than their %ont. She was hw wife, and he accepted the fact, and resolved to make the b«8t of it, but the future held nothing bright in store for him. On the contrary, he shrank from it with a kind of nervous terror, and felt no throb of joy when his college days drew near their dose and he knew that Le stood first in his class, and should graduate with every possible honour. He had worked hard for that but it was more to please Beatrice and Rosamond than for any good to himself that he had studied early and late, and made himself what he was. They were coming on from Roth- say with his father, to see him graduated, and hear his vale dictory, for that honour was awarded him, and he had engaged rooms for them at a private house where he knew they would be more comfortable than at the hotel. Rossie was iJl eagei> ness and excitement, and wrote frequently to Everard, telhng him once that if Joe Fleming was there, to not let him know who she was, but to be sure to point him out to her, as she had a great desire to see a real gambler and blackleg. Slie had recently applied this last term to Joe Fleming, and Everard smiled when he read the letter, but felt a great pang of fear lest Josephine should thrust herself upon the notice of his father and Beatrice. He had given her no hint that her pr^ sence would be agreeable to him, but he knew she did not need it, and was not at all disappointed when he received a note from her saying that she was coming down to see him graduate, but should not trouble him more than she could help, as a friend who lived about a mile from town had asked net to spend a few days with her, and be present at the exercises. She should, of course, expect him to call and pay her any little attention which he consistently could. It was long since Josephine had attempted anything like love-making with Everard, for she felt that he understood her perfectly now, and had no respect whatever for her. He had found her a sham, just as Rossie had, said she was, and had accepted his fate with a bitterness and remorse, such as few men of his age had ever experienced. He did not believe in her at all, and whenever he was with her, and met the soft, pleading glance of the eyes which had once so fascinated and bewitched him, he only felt indignaul auu difigubted, for bo knew how false it all was, and that the eyes which looked so beseechinglv un to him would the next hour rest as lovinKlf FORfeKST HOUSE. 87 he was h» :e the best him. On >U8 terror, near their ind should d hard for oioDd than d late, and rem Roth- X his vale- id engaged they would all eager- ird, telling him know as she had She had ad Everard ang of fear >tice of his lat her pre- id not need ved a note n graduate, 1 help, as a sked her to B exercises. sr any little ly thing like* erstood her jr. He had as, and had such as few >t believe in det the soft, ^cinated and •I j» i_ - tbicu, lor Sv ;h looked so as lovinelv npon Dr. Mattnewson, or Captain Sparks, or any other man whom she deemed worthy of her notice. Once, when he was in Hoi burton, he accidentally discovered that the washing and ironing, with which Agnes seemed always busy, were done to pay the music bills and sundry other expenses, for which he had sent the money, and in his surprise he asked a few leading questions and learned more than he had dreamed of. As the worm will turn when trodden upon, so Agnes, who chanced to be smarting under some fresh indignity imposed upon her, turned upon her tyrant and told many things which, for Eve- rard's peace of mind, would have been better unsaid, for she dwelt mostly upon Josey's free-and-easy manner with the gentle- men who came to the house to call, or chanced to be boarding there. * I don't moan she does anything bad,* she said, * anything you could sue for if you wanted to, but she just makes eyes at them, and leads them on, and gets them all dangling on her string, and w.ants to be their sister, and all that sort of stuflF, and when the fools offer themselves, as some of them do, she rises up on her tip-toes and wondew how they could presume to do such a thing, as she had never meant to encourage them, —she was simply their friend ; and, if you'll believe it, they mostly stick to her just the same, and the stater business goes on, and she a married woman I I'm sorry for vou. Mr. Forrest I' ^ ^ ' And oh, how sorry he was for himself, and how after thii revelation he shrank from the gay butterfly which flitted around him so gracefully, and treated him to the eyes of which Agnes had spoken so significantly. And still there was no open rup- ture between the two, no words of recrimiuation or reproach on either side. He was always courteous and polite, though cold as the polar sea ; while she was sweetness itself, and only the expression of her face told occasionally that she fully re- alized the situation, and knew just how she stood with him. But he was her husband, and as such would one day be known to the world, and she was far prouder of him now in his char- acter as a man than she had been when she took him, a boy ; and she meant to see him on the stage in Amherst, and compel niwi frt «^A«v l«A«. .».» . -ix — A*.^ __ t •lilt . . '■ bbject of preference. She knew ho did not wish to have her there, but she did not care for that, and wrote to him her inton- 88 FORREST HOUSE. hon lo be present at the Commencement, and her wish that he should pay her some attention. The old, weary, hopeless look, which had become habitual to his face, deepened ia intensity as Everard read the note, and then began to calculate the chances of a meeting between his friends and Josey. He was very morbid about this secret, which he had kept so long that it seemed to him now that he never could divulge it, even if sure that his father's bUter anger would not follow. And he did not wish Beatrice and Rossie to see his wife, if he could help it, and perhaps he could. There would be a great crowd in the church ; they could not see her there ; and, as Mrs. Evarts lived more than a mile from town, they might not meet her at all, unless at the reception given by the president, and to this Josey would hardly be invited. So he breathed a little more freely, and completed his arrange- ments for his family, and wrote a line to Josey, saying he would call upon her at Mrs. Everts' when she came, but should be so veiy busy that he could not be with her a great deal. To Rosamond he wrote quite differently, and told her how ■•lad he was that she was coming, and how much he hoped she would enjoy the trip, and that there was the coziest, prettiest room imaginable waiting for her in one of the pleasantest houses 111 town. And Rossie was crazy with delight and anticipation, and scarcely slept a wink the night b they started. And s( ill she was very bright, and fresh, i retty, in her suit of Holland linen, and never was journey more enjoyed than she enjoyed hers, seeing everything, and appreciating everything, and declaring that she was not a whit tired when at last they reached Amherst, and found Everard waiting for them. FORREST HOUSE. 89 'ish that h« le habitual le note, and letween his this secret, ow that he )Hter anger and Bosaie uld. There not see her from town, >tion given be invited. lis arrange* ig he would iould be so il. Id her how hoped she b, prettiest test houses iticipation, •ted. Au(i her suit of d than she everything, it last they em. CHAPTER Xn. COMMENCEMENT. TT was nearly a year since they had seen Everard wd Bee 1 and Eossie were struck at once with the great chancre in his personal appearance, while even the judge nSd how thn Ifjf \''''' ^"' ^""^"^«. jate, when of talking v^as lighted )se of Jose- b of honej- ^e a golden ippearance. and sopho- lyiiig some md coquet- tenfold, id. himself, ■ed having Holburton, icasionally, they were broke the d, coming ds, an act 1 mentally there, and ind where was very but some- iiim into a nd stingy . living re- r set, and avats, and )od round lier of her her ques- b place for vfi a good orus; ^jd >, Everwd Mid to her : * T don't see that there is any chanoe for m« to offei' you any attention, you seem so well provided for.' Joeey bit her lip with vexation, for though she was delighted to have so many admirers at her side, she would far rather liave been cared for particularly by this husband of whom she was beginning to be a good deal afraid. He was so greatly changed that she could not understand him at all, or guess what was passing in his mind, and when at last he rose to go she said to him almost beseechingly : ^ ° , ' I hope I shall see you to-morrow.' * Possibly, though I shall be very busy,' was his reply ; and just then one of the juniors said to him : ' By the way, Forrest, who is that fine-looking, elderly gentle- man T saw with you this evening % Your father I ' * Yes, my father,' Everard replied, feeling a desire to throttle the young inan, and glancing involuntarily at Josephine, over whom a curious change had come. There was a blood-red spot in her cheeks, and an unnatural' glitter in her eyes, and she said to the quartette around her : * Excuse me a moment I have just thought of something A^hich I particularly wish to say to Mr. Forrest.' The next moment she stood in the hall with him, and was saying to him rapidly and excitedly : * Your father is here, and vou did not tell me. T don't like it I wish to see him, — wish him to see me, and you must introduce me at the reception. 1 intend to be there.' ' Very well,' was all Everard said, but he felt «s if a band of iron was drawn around his heart as he went back to Beatrice and Rossie, who were waiting for him, and who noticed at once the worried look upon his face, and wondered a little at it. Had anything happened to disquiet him, that he should seem 80 absent-minded and disturbed 1 Eossie was the first to reach a solution of the mystery, and when at his request, Beatrice leated herself at the piano and began to play, she stole up to him, and whispered very low, ' Have you seen Joe Fleming to- night 1' * Yes,' was his repl , and Rossie's wise little nod said plainly, ' I guessed as much.' »•• II'. I tuiii-^ ^Tcij Lxuuuic Oi pcrpicAitj' wnicn came to nive- rard had something to do with the mysterious Joe Fleming, though in what way she could not guess. She onlv knew that »2 FORREST HOUSE. ! :| I! i' ii ofS. Eit *■'" " """^ "•"" *» ^ «"« M*^ -»<' tho^t. whenTt last he W ,fer SwL'n A'""'',', "" bouquet of pansies which fell at Everardtfeet wher^^^^^ ^^^ disposed to let it lie. until a boy pSd it ,?n ,T^ T ^T-"""'^ very fa.t, and wtTt^" Z Lst'retrah^Srnot^ "'" ro;rs t^r" ""''• """ -'<• ^-oh »"^her «;-;;r« FORREST HOUSE. 93 this biie noif night at the e there,' she I her pillow, rnie down to to the head- I fought the ictory. rice entered acked. But through the oration, and ful lady was ed desirous hould reach she saw the e he seemed aaded it to veil against :i how fiiint the flowers imself, and e and satis- was almost •owing sick d not even 3 her room, rard a rao- ow fine she r had been i lightened it was no- !e, and the >r Beatrice little girl remain »,\ CHAPTER Xm. THE RECEPTION. 1 T WM a rather stupid affair, with a great many more p«n*'^ 1 men than ladiea Indeed, there were but ^eryfew of tfe tr entered the hot parlour, accompanied by one ol '■ e Ziot like priSeKl^ R f ' ?' *? '°''*"^ * ^^^11 of somethinf uKe pride m her. But when he remembered tha- this beanfv anc grace, and sweetness was all there was of the woman thit aisgust, but glanced nervouslv af. hie f„fV,„. * , . 'S. "* FORREST HOUat. 1 . lode at w ; ^^z^^:::;^^ prejudices which one «°7"Xck ,nd ^^^ his interrupted knowing why, he tttrj«*i,^,f ^^'J^^.e "ung ^^^^ ^^^r attendant conversation, and f « ^^.^^^^^^^jr^r whom she had never when he presented her to B^veraru » '"e!' '• ""'''^'''^ ''^"^- word traitor implies ; if you dirJ^ vn '^'Tf 7°" ^»««^ «" the ply it to yourself.' ' ^°" '^'''' ^'^^ wouldn't voluntarily ap. answe^rhim humbly ^w^il* tflf^,' ''"^ S'*"'' ^ know,' Josey but produced no effect' :X ZfJlT ^"^" ^" '^^^ ^'^ ^^-' . Indeed, he scarcely saw th«m 1 ^ himself of this piece SectatToV'r T ^"^^'^upon ridding pronounced her; and it w^ auTn va^n 'tSlH''!'^' ^ ^'^ "^^"t^"? him the little coquetries which «K ^""^ '^'*^ practised upon other men with Lre or Css^^^^^^^^^ to play o/on innocence, nor h.r pretty pretencAnf ,• '^'^ "°^ «*^« ^^r her nor timid ty no L^Z Pf®"®"*'® ^^ ignorance of the world admi>atio„UmsS '^^^^ and poetr^ni and felt herself growing angry with .k^^' """^ after another, nnmoved before her and sJLed n„l '' "?'" ^^^ ^'^od so She had made no impression nnvk*"'''°"« *» getaway ■mpression. and she knew ?t and i!* T^'i''"^^' *^ '^^^^ no good He might be reached t^ofgh his rn"^' 'S'^'" '"' ^°"^ ^^°^^ .^'^T-'^' ^i!*^ ^'^'"P^'^ented his oratT^^^^ a T.I^^ "mentioned Btood m the estimation of the nt ? ' ""^ ^^^^ *^«^ high h« «niplary young man he w^ and IUTT' *^^ ^^** «> «*• be very proud of him. ar^^'.^lA"?^^ ^^ «*yi°ft ' ^ou mu.1 — asadirect,uestio;:bu;theiudgedidoota„.weri. li !^ M! Ii 06 FORKEST HOUSE. There wa« beginning to dawn upon h.m J.^- ^^J^te ^ girl, whose flippant manner he so much d^W^^ d^J ^^ ^^^ Uted in his son than - ^-^J '„ ,"t r^^^^^^^^^^^^ the was interested in her. At all «,^^;"" "? .-_„^prinBherque«. extent of their acquamtance, and mstead ot answenog u ^^ tion, he asked : * Have rou known my son long » omiivn*-*. and . park of it m Holtarton, ^hs^ je '';»-^„^;™P° .Jife name m 6ne which he hU ever heard, ''»' f "J" Tu^.^ (,„ Soubting JoBey'8 word, and "«'« W"'^.* a KrJrvS the consequences if he did ^X";;^°*5^,'di"Forre8t was, and sr=eW^^SJSSor?^7-r; thel farewell to her dream of «»'*• '""Se^^^ the ''■? TEtemlTorrt' wo^ld^lways Uk^ precedence of Jo- ;';Ul£t:;lttJ„«ey«kedwhat.^^^^^^^^^^^ Jtt*r than positron, a.>d Ve^S' '^"^^^^^ we're'suj. oil Ail :nin2 following ib"^ recepbiou, i!.venira .»-. - =•- - -- = the morning following )n that thli wras more in- sibly, his son to know the ring her ques* ban equivoca- with her mO' tracation East, Perhaps you new your wife d not remem- he recall the ,d not think oi at, though her former servant e had been the ) her daughter, ^ho at last ap- it at familiarity ;rined, and mor- stand how diffi- iage, and to fear I reader ofb.u- j'orrest was, and . She saw too, for the first tim« th.^t she was his light follow, and iry, and position. 1 extent, for the )recedence of Jo- would bring her ^ellto keep quiet ; wants wore sup- engthened when FOllREST HOUSE. Cauiv fi>r nomentji to see her and 07 her t« escort leave cnat morning for home. to her either ^ "' '"'' """ '"J' ""niplimeQtary like hT si?!" ".' ■ .*'"°,"8''' <■" ">»' "»««'■•. buf I Ao not Ttre'.^ott^r^ribttterbit*'!.'' '?"'"• '."'' f--^^' tt wt'h 'CVeif S\1T"'.^\°"' f^""' '^ •greeable young^iady * ""^ '"'""' J'»«PWne a very aa imlilrJ^ry* • \ ^.^"^^^^ ^ she represents. Why she is Th wJ^Thf? f°^ ^""T "" ^^'^'''^' •« ""like da/light . ting de^e'and ftr i^'l '"! .'l^*'^*^^ '''' ^^« ^'-" ^^t. kirn to acknoHed!/tL ' • "^''^ ^'"'^ impossible it was for She hai „^rtL''«";„"'Ti;« f"' him and re*1y for the t;! Mct^ to fit. ., ? "' ''?' numerous admirers that she e» Er Shf "■ ,"«"•"'»«. •» she wished to see E verard though ^'^XT^l S"'' ,■""•, ''^'^- "•" '""rf-'oSg, illll 98 FORREST HOUSE. There was a auddeu Ufting if hia hand to hia head a« if he had been struck, and Everard staggered a little back from lier, M he replied : , t * -^ i.;,-* ' Come to Forrest House 1 I don't know. I am afraid that «fill never be while father lives.' , vi u ' Yes I saw he took a great dislike to me, and probably he has been airing his opinion of me to you,' she said, tartly ; then, as Everard did not speak, she continued: 'TeUmewhathe said of me. _ , « Why should he say anything of you to me 1 Ee knows no- thing,' Everard asked, and Josephine replied : ' I don't know why. I only know he has ; so, out with it. I insist upon knowing'tho worst. What did he cay ] There was a hard ring in her voice, which Agnes knew weU, but which Everard had never heard before, and a look in her eyes before which he quailed; and after a moment, during which she twice repeated : ' Tell me what he said,' he answered her : 'I would rather not, for I have no wish to wound you un- necessarily, and what father'said was not complimentary. * I know that. I knew he hated me, but I insist upon know- ing just what he said and all he said,' Josey cried passionately, for she who seldom lost her temper except with Agnes, was beginning to lose 1- now. j 'j 'If you will insist I must tell you, I suppose,' Everard said, 'but remember that father's prejudices are sometimes un- He meant to soften it to her as much as possible, but he told her the truth, and Josey was conscious of a keener pang of mor- tification than she had ever felt before. She had meant to win the iudge, just as she won all men when she tried, but she had failed utterly. He disliked and despised her, and if he knew she was his son's wife he might go at any length to be nd of her, even to the attempting a divorce. Once, when sorelv pressed, Agnes had suggested that idea as something which might occur to Everard, and said : ,,4 'You know that under the circumstances he could get one OAnilv.' _ - . i^phine Knew that he could, too, but she had faith i»i iSveif. fcrd. He would not bring this publicity upon himself «nd her . but his father was quite another sort of person. She was attM* POBREST HOUSE. 99 im afridd thai Ee kuows uo- sometimes un- le could get one of him. and of what he might do if roused to action as a know- ledge of the marriage would rouse him. He must not know of It at present, and though she had intended to make Everard acknowledge her as soon as he was graduated and settled at home, bhe changed her mind suddenly, and was almost as anxious to keep the secret as Everard himself. ' I am greatly obliged to your father for his opinion of me.' Bhe said, when she could command herself to speak. « He is the fi^t man I ever faUed to please when I really tried to do so, and 1 did try hard to make an impression, but it was all a w^te of words ; he is drier and stiffer than an old powder-horn. I don t Idee your father. Everard, and I am free to say so, though, of coure, I mea > blame to you. I am glad I have met him, for I understana the situation perfectly, and know iust how you shrink from letting him know our secret. I hoped that you would take me home as soon as you were settled at your law studies in your father's office, but I am convinced tnat to announce your marriage with me at present would be disastrous to your future ; so we must wait still longer, hoping that something will ttirn tip.' o » r e She spoke very cheerfully, and her hand was on Everard's and her eyes were wearing their sweetest expression as che added: ♦ But you will write to me often, won't you, and try to love me again as you did before that night, which I wish had never been tor your sake, because I know you are sorry.' He did not say he was not ; he did not say anything, but the shadow lifted from his face, and his heart gave a gr?at bound when he heard from her own lips that she should not urge her claim upon him at once. He had feared this with such fear a^ a freed slave has of a retui . to his chains, and now that he was to have a little longer respite, he felt so happy and grateful withal that when she said to him : *I wish you'd kiss me once for the sake of the old time • ' he stooped and kissed her twice, and let her golden head rest against his bosom, where she laid it for a moment, but he felt no throb of love for this woman who was bis wife. That was dead, and he could not rekindle it, but he could be kind to her. and do his duty to her^ and ha *«>'kft<' — '"' * » . • - . ' TTiiii ircz It! and «ud he meant to go to work at something at once, and Uop^d to become a regular contributor to a magacine which paid I If 1 1 I 100 FORREST HOUSE. I I I: \9i' srcr-? H&r„ s%r«u^iru: tbe least lessen her m *«jf™™a' it increased her im- gathered '»»;* 'f ^.f" '^ 3 Ma great pride in the tall, was jusfc as grave as ever when at last he saia gooa ojfc, walked away. # » # • * . Did you come up here to see that girl off 1' was said close U, lit. and I'kno" her so well, her mother was very kind to ""'•'Xjmph 1 IVo no doubt of it. Such people always an. kind r^bt^^r^vtitw^'xr^rSi-^t Th^ one with the most money, of course, but it must not be tne one wiwi kuo luv/a- ^ ^ ,.^j„ t>j *.,^« ^mi nnt of doors. n' rrZ Aeitet „'„r«rtto p"rotao'r;,"«;d ih.toh.ng d Jt^i^Zti w™'hTd not p-SticularlT tend to r«.e Ev«. FORREST HOUSE. 101 ard 8 spirits, as he went to the house where Beatrice and Rosa- mond were stopping. Still, he felt a great burden gone when he remembered that of her own free willJoaephine had decided that their secret must be kept for a while longer, and something of his own self came back to him as he thought of months, if not a whole year, of freedom with Beatrice and Rossie, at the old home in Eothsay. CHAPTER XIV. TWO MONTHa OF the every-day life of the three young people, Beatrice Bverard, and Rosamond, I wish to say a few words be- fore hurrying on to the tragedy which cast so dark a shadow over the n all. But there was no sign of the storm now in the rose-tinted sky, and Everard never forgot that bright summer and autumn which followed his return from college, — when he was so happy in the society of Beatrice and Rossie. It is true he never forgot that he was bound fast, with no hope of ever being free, but here in Rothsay, miles and miles away from the chain which bound him, it did not hurt so much or seem quite so hard to bear. Josephine was not very troublesome ; in fact, she had only written to him twice, and then she did not ask for money, and seemed quite as anxious as himself that their secret should be kept from his father until some way was found to reconcile him to it. Possibly her reticence on the subject of money arose from the fact that he sent her fifty dollars in his first letter written after his return to Rothsay. This large sum ho had got together by the most rigid economy in his own expenses, and by the interest on a few shares of railroad stock which a relative had left to him as her godson. This stock for a time bad been good for nothing, but recently it had risen in valuer BO that a dividend had been declared, and Everard had sent the first proceeds to Josephine ; but his boyish love was dead, and ,1- V. ' t P 102 FORREST HOUSE. "°tfS"f,TZ Lveagld tirnVShVie and Bee, and 'yt wilt ttur S JZn. down to work when the Ume '°'-^cr 'a great '^f J" j««rgS:d'u"Lrwuh''i: very indulgent '»"«* .^"J^r^hoSyuSt and steady; sent bto with »fi-,7;'rfi"whSr"d wanted, and he black pony, and Kyerard s "hite-faced ™^™8. i^^_ ferred remaining »' ^"Ji J„*i„';,f;t'Zrwas rare to be, selves, and people '^'''««/"';'"°|'ve° contradicted them, but and hinted it to Kosamond, who »«™ '""^g^^ ^elie-ed im- by her manner gave credence to *» J'°^- ^f ,he Forrest plicitly that Beatrice was «7 "8 ^^''" ^^^0° next to Mr. ^^jxTTof:.t:h:fm:L^^'5rr;mm™se-^^^^^^^^ iJto&ron. Years ago he had ^ as coming. , , , , , , . j v. « It's never my way to bo^t round the bush, the judge began j 1 come to the point at once, and so I want to know if you ud Bee have settled it yet V ' Settled what 1 ' Everard asked ; and his father replied : « Don't be a fool and put on girlish airs. Marrying is as much a matter of business as anything .else, and we may discuss it just the same. You don't suppose me in my dotage, that I have not seen what is in everybody's mouth,— your devotion to Bea- trice and her readiness to receive it ; wait till I'm through,' he continued, authoritatively, as he saw Everard about to speak. ' 1 like the girl] have always liked her, though she is a wild, saucy think, but that will correct itself in time. Your mother believed in her fully, and she knew what was in woman. She hoped you would marry Bee some day, and what I wish to say is this : you may think you must Wait till you get your profes- sion, but there is no need of that at all. You arfl twenty-two. You have matured wonderfully the last two years, and I may say improved, too ; time was when I could hardly speak peace- ably to you for the scrapes you were eternally getting into, but you dropped all that after your poor mother died. I was proud of you at Commencement. I am proud of you now, and I want you to marry at once. The house needs a mistress, and I have fixed upon Christmas as the proper time for the wedding, so, if Vou hair* qot settled it with Bee» do so at once.' FORREST HOUSE. 106 ve weeks oi tvember, just lulating him- 16 in, and af- i vigorously, with you.* id facing his ig unpleasant judge began j know if you ler replied : ing is as much may discuss it re, that I have votion to Bea- a through,' he bout to speak, she is a wild, Your mother woman. She 1 1 wish to say et your profes- re twenty-two. irs, and I may ly speak peace- icting into, but 1. I was proud >w, and I want ess, and I have wedding, au, if 'But, father,' Everard gasped, with a face as white as snow. It IS impossible that I should marry Beatrica I have never for a moment considered such a thln<».' 'The deuce you haven't,' the judge exclaimed, beginning to get angry. ' Pray, let me ask you why you have been racing and chasing after her ever since you came home, if you never considered the thing, as you say 1 Others have considered it, It you have not. Everybody thinks you are to marry her, and, by beorge, I won t have her compromised. No, I won't 1 She could sue you for breach of promise, and recover, too, with all this dancing, and prancing, and scurripping round the country. If you have not thought of it, you must tLink of it now. You surely like the girl.' He stopped to take breath, and Everard answered him : 'Yes. father, I like her very much, but not in that way,— not as a wife, and I never can. It is impossible.' 'Why impossible? What do you meani' the judge said, loudly and angrily. « Is there somebody else 1 Is it that yellow- haired hussy who made those eyes at me, because, if it is, by Jove, you are no son of mine, and you may as well understand it first as last. I'll never sanction that, never 1 Why don't you answer me, and not stare at me so like an idiot 1 Do vou like that white-livered woman better than Beatrice 1 Do you think her a better wife for you and companion for Eosamond?' Everard had opened his lips to tell the truth, but what hie father said of Josephine sealed them tight; but he answered his father's last question, and said : 'No, I do not think her a fitter companion for Rossie than Beatrice, and I do not like her better.' ' Then what in thunder is in the way 1 ' the judge asked, slightly appeased. ' Have you any fears of Bee's sayin<» no ? I can assure you there. I know she won't. I am as certain of it as that I am living now.* Suddenly there shot across Everard's mind a way of escape from the diflSculty, a chance for a longer respite, and he said : ♦ If I were to ask Bee to marry me and she refused, would vou be satisfied?* "' ' With you 1 Yes, but, I tell you she won't refuse. And don't you ask her unless you intend to stick to it like a man,' the judge replied, as he rose lo end the conference. 'I shall ask her, and to-night,* was Everard's low-spoken ill 106 FOBREST HOUSE. tmawer, wliich reached his father's ears, and sent him home in a better frame of mind. He was very gracious to Everard at dinner, and paid him the compliment of consulting him on some business matter, but Everard was too much pre-occupied to heed what he was say- ing, and declining the dessert, excused himself from the tabic, and went to his own room. Never since his ill-starred marriage had he felt so troubled and perplexed as non, when the fruit of his wrong-doing was staring him so broadly in the face. That his father would never leave him in peace until he proposed to Beatrice, he knew, and unless he confessed everything and threw himself upon his mercy, there was but one course left him to pursue, — tell Bea- trix 3 the whole story, without the slightest prevarication, and then go through the farce of offering himself to her, who must, of course, refuse. This refusal he could report to his father, who would not blame him, and so a longer probation would come to himself. In his excitement he did not stop to consider what a cowardly thing it was to throw the responsibility upon a girl, and make her bear the burden for him. To do him justice, however, he did not for a moment suppose Beatrice cared for him as his father believed she did, or he would never have gone to insult her with an offer she could not accept. He knew she was beautiful and sweet, and all that was lovely and desirable in womanhood, but she was not for Lim. She, or any one like her, could never be his wife. He had made that im- possible ; had by his own act put such as she far out of his reach. But when he reached Elm Park and saw her, so grace- ful and lady -like, and heard the well bred tones of her voice, and remembered how pure and good she was, there did come to him the thought that if there was no Josephine in the way, he might in time have come to say in earnest to tliis true, spot- less girl what now was but a cruel jest, if she cared for him, — which she did not in the way his father believed she did ; — he was her friend, her brother. The Fejee missionary, whose name she saw so often in the papers, and who had recently been re- moved to a more eligible field, had never been quite forgotten, pond-lily, given the day she told him no, and with his kiss, the first and last, upon her forehead, sent him away to the girl FOKBEST HOUSE. 107 n home in d him the uitter, but e was say- the table, troubled doing was Duld never knew, and upon his -tell Bea- ation, and who must, his father, ion would 1 cowardly and make )wever, he im as his Q to insult was lovely . She, or le that ini- out of hia , so graces her voice, did come 1 the way, true, spot- for him, — ! did ; — he hose name y been re- forgotten, is kiso, the to the girl imoDg the Vermont hills, with the glasses and brown alpac? dress. She had no suspicion of the nature of his errand, and was surprised when, as if anxious to have it off his mind, he began, impulsively : ' Beatrice, I have come to say something serious to you to- night, and I want you to stop jesting and be as much in earnest as I am, for I, — I am terribly in earnest for once in my Kfe. Bee, — I, — I feel as if I were going to be hung and do the deed myself.' But his face was white as marble, and his voice shook as he continued : ' I am going to tell you something, — going to ask you some- thing, — going to ask you to be my wife, but you must refuse.' It was an odd way of putting it, and not at litd. ' H e her ♦rorc Ji' F^f ?u' ^^«<^",K'i'^«.,«?er as your wife, Bring her home to Forrest House and I will stand her friend to the death.' Everard knew that Bee meant what she sai.l, and that hm influence was worth more than that of the wliole town, and i/ he could have felt any love or even desire for Josephine, it would have seemed easy to acknowledge his marriage, with Bee 8 hopeful words in his ear and Bee's strong nature to lack hira, but he did not. He had no love, no desire for her ; he- was happier away from her, happier to live his present life with Beatrice and Rossie; and, beside that, he could not bring h«r home ; his fatlier would never permit it, ruid would probably turn him from the door if he know of t:.e alliance. This Bee did not know but he told her of the great aversion his fathei had conceived for the girl whom he stigmatized as the yellow haired hussy from Massachusetts, 'and after that, do you think I can tell him ? ' he asked. 'It will be hard, I know,' Beatrice replied, 'but it seems youi only course, if he insists upon your marrying me.' 'But if I tell him you refused me, it may make a difference, and things can go on as they are till I get my profession.' Ever- ard pleaded, with a shrinking which he knew was cowardly, troni all which the telling his father might involve 'Even then you are putting off ti.e evil day, and a thing con- cealed grows worse as time goes on,' Bee said. ' You must confess It some time, and why not do it now. At the most your father can but turn you from his tloor, and if he does thai take your wife and go somewhere else. You are young, and the world 18 all before you, and if there i. any true womallhood m Josephine, It will assert itself when she knows all that you have lost for her. She will grow to your standard. She has a sweet childish face, and must have a loving, affectionate nature. I^ he:- a chance, Everard, to show what she is.' This giving her a chance was just what Everard dreadea the most bo long as his life with Josephine was in the future, he could be tolerably content, and even happy, but when it looked nim square m the face, at something which must be met, he onrank from meeting it. ' Oh, I cannot do that, at least, not yet,' he said. 'It will J .11 .„j „iu.atea. i vaiuiui, icii ra&ner, ana Dear the storm sure to follow. Josephine must stay where she is till J we what I can do.' no FORREST HOUSE. ill i » 'J.! M- :f • But 18 that tHJst for her H ' h^, ^,ce asked. • What sort ol a woman is hei "other 1 She raay be a lady, and still be very poor. What is she, Everard I ' He had refrained from speaking of Josephine's antecedents ta Beatrice. He would rather she should not know all he knew of the family. It would be kinder to Josephine tc spare her so much ; but when Beatrice appealed t-o him with regard to the mother, he told her just who Mrs. Fleming was. Bee Belknap was a born aristocrat and some of the bluest blood in Boston was in her veins. Indeed, she traced h' ^ j> U- gree back to Miles Standtsh on her father's side, while her mo- ther came straight down from a Scottish earl, who married the rector's daughter. She was proud of her birth, and the train- ing she had received at home and abroad had tended to increase this pride, and it was hard for her to understand just how people like Roxie Fleming could stand on t'le same social plat- form with herself. She knew they did, but she rebelled against it, and for a moment Josephine's cause was in danger of being lost so f&v as she was concerned. She had thought of her as probably the dau ;hter of some poor, but highly respectable farmer, or mecaauic, whose mother took boarders, as many women do to make a little money, and whose daughters, per- haps, stitched shoea or made bonnets, as New England girls often do, but now that she knew the truth she stood for a mo- ment aghast, and then, her strong, sensible nature asserted itr self and whispered to her, • a man's a man for a' that.' Jo- sephine was no more to blame for the accident of her birth than was she, Beatrice Belknap, to be praised for hers. ' I'll stand by her all the same,' she said to herself, but she did not urge quite so streuuously upon Everard the necessity of telling his raither at once, for she felt sure the irascibl« judge would leave no stone unturned to ascertain whc ' fi^ iwi ,hterin-la'« was, and that the asoti-aining would resu'' ^v? 3e than } Vq: >..rd feared. • It may be better to keep silent a little longer*' she said, and meanwhile she'd turn the matter over in her own nund and see what she could do to help him. ' But in order to have any peaoe at home I must tell father that you refused me,' Everard said, ' and I have not yet gone '-.rough the farce of onering myself, or you of refusing th« offei;' FOBUlitJT ROUSE. HI lat sort ul ill be very ntecedentfl 11 he knew spare her regard to the blueat 1 h< . {}' 'U- le her mo- larried the the train- to increase [ just how Kjcial plat- ed against ir of being > of her as espectable , as many hters, per- ;land girls for a mo- isserted it- hat.' Jo- birth than J ' Marry Rossie I That child,— homely as a hedge fence ! ' was the indignant reply of Aunt Rachel, who was not always choice in hijr selection of language. ' Rosamond is fifteen, and growing pretty every day,' Bea- trice retorted, always ready to defend her pet. She has magni- ficent eyes and hair, and the sweetest voice I ever heard. Her complexion is clearing up, her face and figure rounding out, and she will yet be a beauty, and cast me into the shade, with «... — — J? A. _1 • 1 • •« • m _ _ ' Ulf eruWsToet and wrinkles ; see if she dv,* s not ; but I cannot afford to quarrel any longer ; I am goinj^ to take Widow Rick, etts out to ride, so good-bye, auntie, and don't be sorry that I FORBEST HOUSE. 113 B ea- •m not to leave you yet. You an*! T «„-n v, together, I hope! ^ "^'^ ^'^^^ ™a»y years She kissed her aunt, and went eaylv from thp mnn, .■ • have the ' power ' ^t for tl e ff '^ T^f ^"/^- ""^'^ P'-^^^"^^*^ ^o wh?w\?w!Sn7fo^n?e\^^^^^^^ "*' ^ .Y-^ *° ^*^^-. ^Ai., there was fo ell Tf Josefhfne Of ^^o ? *'"^.^^^ ^^^^■ outofdoorsimmediatelv anTL^^T ^^ ^°"r«^ ^e turned me mJ,yi, c) /"'"it-aiacejy, and said I was no lono-er hia son T migho 8 eep in my room during the niaht hiiMn fh • ^ I must be oif. But I .li.l n^f !i ''"\"'S""^' ""* m the mornmg dreadful language um^earT If^ltTH ^ ''^"^^,"''' 7''^'^^' he could not have tal/ed worse to', ^^^ f"^.^^^ me viler names. So I packid a fL 7i • ''• ^^ ^'^' ""^ '^^"^^^ staidiu the carriage-houC 1 it i:ri ;;;P n"^ '/^^' '"^^ Th? ^^jrtrafn rtH ittTgi "^^ 4"^' -^ to the^eLer House Is all Lrr"'"'fr^ "^«' ^^'^'^ know the clerk Don't t.l T ^ i' t"''''^ ,'*"'''« *^*^»'«' as I 8he should not know ftod K T ''^ J^'^^P^""^- ^'d rather in ail the world Tnd faJn^U ''"r^ y'"' "^^ '^^^^ ^^^"^3 a.u reaping tli^htlwi^ J Sh^'^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^'^« -^^' -^ J. E. Forrest.' N 114 FORREST HOUSE. CHAPTER XVt k THE HOUSE OF CARDS GOBS DOWN. IT was past eleven when Everard left Elm Park after hu interview with Beatrice, and nearly half-past when h« reached home, expecting to find the house dark, and the family in bed. But as he walked slowly up the avenue, he saw a light in his father's room, and the figure of a man walking b;%ck and forth, as if impatient of something. * Can it be he is waiting for me 1 ' he thought, and a sigh escaped him as he felt how unequal he was to a conilict with his father that night. Entering the hall as noiselessly as possible, he groped his way up stairs to the broad landing, when the darkness was suddenly broken by a flood of light which poured from Rossie's room, and Rossie herself appeai'ed in the door, holding her gray flan- nel dressing-gown together with one hand, and with the other shedding her hair back from her face, which looked tired and sleepy, as she said : ' Oh, I'm so gla4 you've come. Your father wanta to see you, and asked me to sit up and tell you when you came. Good-night ! ' and she stepped back into her room while he passed slowly down the hall, and she saw him knock at his father's room at the far end of the passage. * Well, my son, so you've come at last,' the judge said to him, but there was no anger in his voice, only a slight tone of irritation that he had been kept up so late. ' You have been to see Bee, I take it, and from the length of time you staid, concluded that you have settled the little matter we were talking about this morning.' * Yes, father, we settled it,' Everard said, but his voice was not the voice of a hopeful, happy lover, and his father looked •uspiciously at him as he continued : ' With what result 1 ' * Beatrice refused me ; ' and Everard's voice was still lower And more hopeless. ' Refused you I 'Tia false ! You never asked her I ' the jud^^e exclaimed, growing angry at once. FORREST HOUSE. 115 rk after hii it when he the family ), he saw a liking back and a sigh mAicl with led his way s suddenly sie's room, gray flan- li the other 1 tired and rour father 1 when you her room lim knock Ige said to ;ht tone of have been you staid, ere talking I voice was her looked still iowei thejuti^e . 'Father!' and now Everard looked straight into his sire't face, ' do you mean to say I lie, and I your son and mother's f ' The judge knew that in times past Everard had been guilty cf almost everything a fast young man is ever guilty of, but he had never detected him in a falsehood, and he was obliged to answe? him now : « No, not exactly lie, though I don't understand why she should refuse you. If I know anything about girls, she is not averse to you, and here you come and tell me that she refused you flat. There's some trick somewhere; something I do not understand. Beatrice likes you well enough to marry you, and you know it. Why then did she refuse you, unless you made a bungle of the whole thing, and showed her you were not more thaw half in earnest, as upon my soul j believe you are not ; but you shall be. I've had my mind on that marriage for years, and I will not easily give it up. Do you hear or care for what I am saying 1 ' he asked, in a voice growing each in- stant louder and more excited. * Yes, father,' Everard answered wearily, with the voice of one who really did not comprehend, * I hear,— I care,— but I am so tired to night. Let me off, won't you, till another time, when I can talk with you better and tell you all I feel.' ' No, I won't let you off,' the judge replied. *I intend to know why you are so indifferent to Bee. Is it, aa I have sus- Eected, that yellow-haired woman 1 Because if it is, by the lOrd Harry, you will be sorry ! She shall never come here : never ! The bold-faced vulgar thing ! ' * Father I ' and Ev^erard roused himself at last, « you must not speak so of Josephine. I will not listen to it.' That was the speech which fired the train, and the judge grew purple with rage as he demanded by what right his son forbade him to speak as he pleased of Josephine. ' What is she to you 1 ' he asked, and with white, quivering lips Everard answered back : * She is my wife ,' ' The words were spoken almost in a whisper, but they echoed like thunder through the room, and seemed to repeat them- selves over and oyer again during the moment of utter silence wiiicii cnsuca. jLverard had told his secret, and felt better al- ready, as if the worst was over ; while his father stood motiou- less and dumb, glaring upon him with a baleful light in hi» X! 116 FOBREST HOUSE. eyes, which boded no good to ihe sorely-presBed youny man who was the first to speak. ' 'Let me tell you all about it,' he said, * and then you may kill me if you choose ; it does not matter much.' ' Yes, tell me ;' his father said hoaraely ; and without lifting up his bowed head, or raising his voice, which was strangely saa and low,^ Everard told his story,— every word of it, even to Josephine's parentage and Rossie's generous conduct' in his behalf. Of Josephine herself he said ns little as possible, and did not by the slightest word hint at liis growing aversion for her. That would not help matters now. She was his wife, and he called her so two or three times, and did nob see how at the rnention of that name his father ground his teeth together and clutched at his cravat as if to tear it off and give himself more roofh to breathe. ' I have told you everything now, father,' Everard said in concliision, ' everything there is to tell, except that since that night I have not committed a single act of which I am not willing you should know. I have tried to do my best as I promised mother I would the last time I talked with her! She believed in me then ; she would believe me if she were here, and for her sake I ask you to forgive me too. I am so sorry sorrier than you can possibly be. Will you forgive me for mother's sake 1 ' He had made his plea and waited for an answer. He knew how ungovernable his father's temper was at times, but it was 80 long since he had met it in its worst form, that he was wholly unprepared for the terrible burst of passion to which his fethe'r gave vent. He had listened quietly to his son's story, without comment or interruption, but his anger had grown stronger and liercer with each detail, so that even the mention of his dead wife had no power to move him now. On the contrary, it ex- asperated him the more, and, at Everard's appeal for pardon, the storm burst, and he began in a voice of such withering bcorn and conterr.pt, that Everard looked wonderingly at the old man, who shook with rage and whose face was livid in spots. There was nothing to be hoped for from him, and Everard Lowed his head again, while the tempest raged on. '■ Forgive you fur your aothers sake I DaHiard i how dare y^ouiig man, 3n you may liout liftiuf* s strangely of it, even duct in his md did not on for her. fe, and he liow at the gether and mself more rd said in that since hich I am 3 my best, I with her. ' she were n so sorry, ve me for He kneM^ but it was vas wholly his father f, without ■onger and ' his dead ary, it ex- r pardon, withering ^ly at the i in spots. i Everard how dare FOftREST HOUSE. 117 eens^ and reason left I'^ ^ ^^^^'^ ^ ^°"S «« I havt duty to prosecute, fhe fud'e went ft u^ -7^'"™ '^ '' ^»« squander urVrtlt vellow hJlST f ? "!""?'' '""^ " "'"''1 "• asking hM u.oarrvZt.tf •''''''>'■ "''.'"^-It to Beatrice, su^S'tp"" He' dif n'ofeT" ^^"'' 'l^llL'Le ,.« I.k« some great rearing rive. W" fa; J"'''''" ™- -"-ded ter«eZrhf«i. '• iw^' "vo:/ V "" ""^"''"^ «- "•ill I tbrgivo or own ™ fn^ l ™' *> '""« "« ^ '■'«, that jadelu your *°fe^°Vl,T^-T' ^ '° ""^ ™)' ""-gni^" I diswa To^ I^St JZff f " "™ ^°,? ""^ "»"« of mine. to-night, b'nt^n thTLZwVon S; 1? " Y t'^ '■^^» darling and her hifr], },nvn f •? , ' ^^"^ ^o back to your tbresh^ldalrwKr i^Sg^' Do yCw"" ^^^^^ "'^ stone, a clod that you sit there sli quietly?' ^'''' "' ^' ^'"^ ' bett ^'aLdTaTE^SaT.^ ^^"' '""V'^ ^^"^^ »•-« b«- him ba?k scorn for torn K h • 7 '""'K ^^ ^"^^' ^"'i ^iven was too con,pletX crushed !ooff«' ^'''';^ T^^ "^"^ ^''^ ^e Only at the la^t when h« 1- n ^- ^ ^^^^ '"^ ^'' ""^"^ •^^^^«"«^- and said, ' D^yormean it fu^^^^ ^Tm '^^'°^^^^' ^« ^^"^•^d yourhouse?' ^ ' ^^^^^^* '^^^^'^ to turn me from y^i^l I:iitllll6^t^^^^^ P^- ^-g-ge when in;Stn^^^rS^^l!!^?l^^-^.^ ri. 118 FORREST HOUSE. ,I>U' too hard with me, and you will be sorry for it some day. Good bye ; I am going. ' Go, then, and never come back,' came like a savage growl from the infuriated man, and those were the last words whicL ever passed between the father and the son. ' Good-bye, father, I am going.' * Go, then, and never come back.' They sounded through the stillness of the night, and Everard shivered as he went through the long, dark hall and up the stairs, where the old clock was striking one, and where the light from Rossie's door again shone into the gloom, and Rossie's; face looked out, pale and scared this time, for she had heard the judge's angry voice, and knew a dreadful battle was in pro- gress. So she wrapped a shawl about her and waited till it was over, and she heard Everard coming up the stairs. Then she went to him, for something told the motherly child that he was in need of comfort and sympathy, and such crumbs as she could give she would. But she was not prepared for the cowM humiliated look of utter hopelessness, and not knowing what she was doing, she drew him into her room, and making him sit down, she took his icy hands and rubbed and chafed them, while she saM, ♦ What is it, Mr. Everard ? Tell me all about it. I heard your father's voice so loud and angry that it fright- ened me, and I sat up to wait for you and tell you how sorrv lam. What is it?' ' Her sympathy was very sweet to Everard, and touched him so closely that for a moment he was unable to speak ; then he said: « I cannot tell you, Rossie, what it is ; only that it is some- thing which dates far back, before mother died, and father has ;ust found it out, and has turned me from his door.' 'Oh, Mr. Everard, you must have misunderstood him; he did not mean that. You are mistaken,' Rossie cried, in great distress ; and Everard replied : ' When a man calls his son a sneak, a coward, a clod, a vil- lain, a scoundrel, a scamp, a hypocrite, a liar, there can be no misunderstanding the language, or what it means ; and father called me all these names, and more, and said things I never can forget. I deserve a £,.eat deal, but not all this. Oh. if I had died years and years ago 1 * His chin ouivered and his voice trembled as he talked, while FORBEST HOUSE. 119 day. Good savage growl words whicL and Everard and up th« i where the and Rossie'&i i had heard s was in pro- waited till it it is some- i father has od him ; he sd, in great clod, a vil- can be no ; and father igs I never 8. Oh, if I talked, while ^ssie's tears flowed like rain as she stood, not holding his so lnr°Tv.^f pntly stroking the hair of the head bowed down 80 low With Its load of grief and shame. do wUh^rKnVf' '' '"'' ''" ''" '""''• ^''^'^""^ ^ contTn'S'e'dT^^^'"^'' ^^«™^^ *°«^«r«d, bitterly ; and Rossie fJP^' "^v"" l"" '°"^' ^ ^""^^^ y^*^ ^^ broken with him for ever You have oeen so good and nice, and kept that pledge JO ^beautifully I How could you have anything to do with to m«*^"/Z '• f*'"' *"^'* \^t'^^ ^""^'^^•^ y^*'-^ ^So it seems ^J. f" ^^5.'^'° ^'^ .^''^''^ '«^*P«' ^^-o"^ which I cannot ex- tricate myself,' Everard said, and Kossie continued • 1 see, you did something which Joe knows about, and so has you m his power, and you have just told your father.' Yes, that is it, very nearly,' Everard replied. vo„ T 1^" ^ H^ ""'J^*' '^ ''■ ^ ''"o^t know I could help St^f ''T'f.r^^ 'P'^^ ^ yonr father; he is always kind to me, and will hsten to reason. I think,' Kossie said : and then Everard looked up quickly, and spoke decidedly : h.v« fr'^°"K""f »«^«P«ak to father for me. I will not nave it. He has taunted me enough with "hanging on the apron-strings of a little feirl ; " that's'Vhat he «aid,Sring to iny having taken money from you ; for you see I told him every- thing, even to the hair you sold, and I think that made him more funous than all the rest. It was a dastardly thTngIn r and there must be no repetition. You must not intorfere b^ so much as a word ; remember that when I am gone, for I am going to Cincinnati first, ana if I find nothing to do there I shall go on to Louisville, and possibly further South. I shall writo for^l^ T° ^' ^ ^"^"^ "".^^^ ^ '"^ g^^"S *° do.-^perhaps be- tore , and, Rossie, among all the pleasant memories of my old home the very sweetest will be the memory of the little girl movP fS'".''^ T1 r*^. lightened, if she could notre- worth It, he said, as she burst into apassionate fit of weeping h»n.! I'l.fiT.ri^f^l was bending over her and holding^er „ „ „^^ „,,„,. ..y gjj^ ^g_ sojjfji^jg ^^^^^^ jjg wound his «d Zfort tn '''''™« ■"" °''"' '" """• "^ »" «'^« 'Don't, EoMie, don't ; you mmuin me entirely, to aee you gir» 120 FORREST HOUSE. tvay «o; I'd ratiieriemember you as the brave little wom&n who always controlled herself.' w»in»n Dovvn over Eossie's shoulders her unbound hair was falline and lifting up one of the wavy tresses, Everard continued 'f sb.dl be gone m the morning, Rossie, and I want to take with m. a lock of this hair. It will be a constant reminder of the r;fhar iUW r/"^ -^' ^^^^ ^-P - ^-- ^-P^ation^ ^nf ^tt 7"!^ ^'''"' ^''''"' ^^™ ^^^ ^'^^^ ^^^ he asked her for it, and the lock was soon severed from the rest and laid in his hand Holding it to the light, he said, ' Look how long, and bright, and even it la You have beautiful hair, Rossie ' He meant to divert her mind, but her heart was very sore Id her face toar-stamed and wet as she tied the hair with abT of iibbon, and placing it in a paper, handed it to him Thank you, Rossi,,' he said; 'no man ever had a dearer .Hter than I, and it am ever anything, it will be wholly owina to your influence and Dee's ' ^ » ; Oh ]VIr Everard,' she said, ' how can you go away and leave Miss Beatrice ? and I thought you and she would sometime be Kiarried, and we f.bould all be so happy ' '"yHnie oe J^That can never be,' Everard replied ; ' Beatrice will not have me ; I ca^inot have her. We settled that to-night but are the best of friends, and I esteem her as one of the noblest girls I ever knew. You may tell her so if she ever speak of m:a'luLtT^^' '^^^i'" '*"' ^^^^ y*^" sherepreCt t me all that is purest and sweetest in womanhood ; and now Rossie I must say good-bye. It is almost two o'clock ' He took her upturned face between both his hands and held'' ifc a moment, while he ooked earnestly into the clear, bri'ht eyes, which met his without a shadow of consciousness excep the consciousness that he was going away, and this 'wS. nu-ewel . Then he stooped and kissed her forehead and said, are .11 r Vf, ^f '^""'^ ' ^' ^ <^^"gi^ter to my father. Yo« are all the child he has now.' An hour later and Rosamond had cried herself to sleep, and fnif^L'lTu^ir,^^ «, '--'T' f-t«teps, as, with his s^atchel ,,„,,.,, „,^.,e aown tne stairs and out to the carriage- house, wnere he passed the fewrem-' 'theNovemW night, feeliug that h. a wand'm FORREST HOUSE. 121 CHAPTER XVIL THE NEXT DAY. Stormy interview with his son, or whether came to him *ny twinges of regret for all the bitter things he had ^aid none evei knew. He prided himself upon seldom%hangi„g h s mind 7mJTt T ^«^,7^V^P ' ^^^ «o. P^^rhaps hi^ temper was cended to the breakfast room, and bade John bring in the cof- shnt^n f^^'; ^^'' ^T- T ""''y '< ^"^ I"« «y^« were blood- shot and watery, and his hands, which held the morning paper .the breakfast and arranged it upon the table. ^ y\ here a Miss Rosamond and my son 1 Are they not ready 1 ' the judge asked a little irritably, for he required every on J to be prompt where he was concerned. ^ His questions were partly answered by the appearance of wTaratlh: tuf 'd T' ^"' "^"^^^'^ usuafas^^rrk her seat at the table and began to pour the coffee. S!)o had slept soundly, and d,d not feel the effects of last night's excite ment, except ma little tremor of fear and anxiety with roganl plead tor him. Ho had said so expressly, and she mu-^t obev and as she ooked furtively at the Inflamed face opposite he^' who P i^ri '™' '"^ ^'' ^'^' a great fear of the man.' who, as Everard did not appear, said angrily, 'Go to my son's ZZr^'''-7^i\'' ^'^^^^"S ^"™' an^telibi^Ise^^ou' llAtunXi ™""^"' -uld necessarily hasten theW Then Rossie dropped her spoon and sat shaking in hor chair until he servont came swiftly back, with wonder and alarm Wftereiehe. then] the judge asked, in a voice that made 122 FORREST HOUSE. \ .: \W IS- B I K«BS« tombl« even more ttau th„ a„„„„„c™o„t U,.t Evemr« ' 1 dunno, maee'r, where he can be. I knnw 1,a'. „„t .u Iv T'll «rf ' *"' '^^i?'^*'. ^*^^' ^'^d ^«'« here now, most like- nuff hU big «>toher go^nf i^S t^JT.^^ Zlt"'"! shouldn't wonder if he's popp ^twav ' ti,^ i ■ ""^* ^ tinned. « he inve««gal7ZSa^5\!r„r"" "*" "^'■ he r^ra'a'yl What Ztt'f''"f'^i"'F- '"Vsbonld ^r inauJ, hJr n^ei^^^^nr^^^^^^^^^^ at your word, and when you read th?s I'shall hJJ"' ^^ away from Rothsay. After what vn. «L f r "^^""^ ""'^^^ pass the night und^r th roof L^d shalU^^^^^^ '"^'^ house until time to take the Sd^^^ am ?Jy L '1!^^ passed very sorry, and wish I could undo my part of if i.^ cannot, and so it is betU for me to go. Gooir/e! father. "' ' Your son, ' EVERARD.' h«. not taken hi.-S irimpti;arLi''Sr_rL"h^™a i FORREST HOUSE. 123 at Everaid J not thar, night after moBt like- ed for uis r o{ whom e sme, an' yes shoo ' suit. I ieglO JOil- hy should iihe cham- ving your ^appeared the man- Her pale- just then )hat £ve- ind your Qe leave ken you ay miles lot even jarriage- that has it, but her. ARD.' his yea iverard d staid •nd gone to breakfast as usual au I about his daily avocations, his father would have cooled down gradually, and come in time to look the matter over soberly and make the best of }K But liverard had gone, and the irascible old man broke forth afresh into myectives against him, denouncing him as a dog, to sleep m carriage-houses, and then run away as if there was anything to run from. •' * •I'll never forgive him,' he said to Rossie, who had stood silently by, appalled at tne storm of passion such as she had never seen before, until at last, forgetful of Eveiard's charge not to interfere, she roused in his defence. ' Yes, you will forgive him,' she said. ♦ You must He is your son, and though I don't know what he has done to make you so angry, I am sure it is not sufficient for you to treat him 80, and you will send for him to come back. I know where be 8 gone. He came and told me where he was going, though I did not think It would be till this morning, when I hoped jou might make it up.' ^ • l;^"? 80 he asked you to intercede for him, as you have been M the habit of doing, and maybe told you the nice thine he had done 1 the judge said, forgetting her assertion that she did not know. 'No sir. Oh no,' Rossie cried. 'He did not ask me to intercede ; he said, on the contrary, that I was on no account to mention him, and he did not tell me what it was about, ex- cept that it happened long ago ; and he is so sorry and has tried to be good since. You know he was trying, Judge For- rest, and you will forgive him, won't you 9' * By the lord Harry, no ! and you would not ask it if you knew the disgrace he has brought upon me. I'll fix him I ' Was the judges angry reply, as he broke away from her, and strid- ing down the stairs took his hat from the hall-stand, and hur- ried to his office. Great was the consternation among the servants in the For- rest household when it was known that Mr. Everard had left the house, and gone no one knew whither, and many were the whispered surmises as to the cause of his going. ' Some row between him and old mass'r,' John said, and his solution 01 the inv.'^fp.rv vraa falron «« 4.1.^ ^ .. wifhThei ^ Everard, who was very pojiuiw 124 FORREST HOUSE. .11 weld have beon',0 di4 "nt- ''^°° '""' '"^ "" " Bee's face was scarlet as she replied • , "« '™' you tliat, and nothing more )' l^n'.i'' . '"""'"''"S »l'"':t wouldn't n,„I couHn't I oSt't" mar vWm lVT''^'i>' 'jl"', "«'. a»d I think you potr Bee who'™' " ' pTle f„"i™, ""l-^J.-P^achfull/at low as she said : ^ '^ ' "'""" ""™ ""^ """i. """i , ' Rossie, I could not marry Everard if I wisT,«,l t„ ti KdVe' «r yo'l'".^tnl ::'{i' fh' "'" »'-?■' I "-' ^" his fathfr r ^ ^ "■' ""■"* "' ''« «»""•«' "itl" he is alwjys doing harm to Mr Sf erlr ^"' '""'" '''""'"'■ of scfZlT" ""' '"'■'"" " ^''^ »* *'' l"''i"™"» nUtake or sex, and tor a moment was temnh-rl tr. t, ii ♦! ."°'^'*'''' ["■* - b" Vr embering that EveraZ ht ' aidl i'e 'was tl o"f joTreilSit^^^ '•'^''' '"' ^-'' -'^ '^f' - 43;;:: i4^^o;„z'"4t,*%srh^pf S'^r'™;fr,^"^' ^ Mho once stood hil in Ts n;ofessir Ivf T '""' ,^^«J"^'s<^' oM/i u;„ «: '^ proiesbion, iiad done much businp^sQ a d h.8 office was occupie.l by Mr. Russell, his l3 adyTser but he was frequently there, and as Bee drav« ^ovt^n Ik! !l!!'j TifTnl "" f^"^^"^ °"*''^^ ^'^« ^'^'^ glancing up aS down M If lookmg tor some one. Something iS his atUtude or mTn" KorBEST BOUSE. 1£5 m aa well as not?' he contiinJ o»T t>antyoHgo courage for th. conflict, Be:",5rL'd A^""'''"'' ^" ''"^ in .n;i7aivi« fo" 'ii^^llaT '" """"" ""^ ""' '^"^ » ' Who said It was adverse to him tho doa I ' n^ i how he has disgraced me t h,i^ t?.' i^ i ^"^ ^^"^ ^"^^ nobly for Everkrd tr^r,1 f^ l ^ A- . ^'^'^ '■^^'^"®' ^"^ standiiw' only g^;; »"e Id"! J .i;t ,™ £' .'^'.^T' ""^ mood, Beatrice bade him good morn L,ni .^ ^" ' P'"'""' 'Vfv. 126 FORREST HOUSE. death. Terrified beyond measure, Beatrice dressed herself hurriedly, and was soon on her way to the house, where she round matters even worse than she feared. CHAPTER XVIll THK SHADOW OF DEATH. BREAKFAST at the Forrest House had been late that morning, for the judge, who was usually so prompt, did aot make his appearance, and Rosamond waited for him until the clock struck eight. Then as the minute hand crept on and he still did not come down, she went to the door of his rooa and knocked, but there came no answer, though she thought Bhe heard a faint sound like the moan of some one in pain Knocking still louder, with her ear to the keyhole, she called! J udge Forrest, are you awake 1 Do you hear me f Do vou know how late it is ?' ' This time there was an effort to reply, and without waiting tor anything further, Rosamond went unhesitatingly into the room. The shutters were closed and the heavy curtains drawn but even m the darkness Rossie could discern the white un- natural face upon the pillow, and the eyes which met hers so appealingly as the judge tried in vain to speak, for the blue lips gave forth only an unmeaning sound, which might have meant anything. There was a loud call for help, and in a moment the room was full of the terrified servants, who ran over and against each other in their frantic haste to execute Miss Rossie's orders, gi 'fen so rapidly. 'Open the shutters and windows wide and let in the air and bring some camphor, and hartshorn, and ice-water, quick and somebody go for the doctor and Miss Belknap as soon as they can, and don't make such a noise with your crying, it's only a,--a,— a fit of some kind ; he will soon be better.* RoHsie said, with a forced calmness, as she bent over the helpless man •nd rubbed and chafed the hands which, the moment she let go FORREST HOUSE. 127 f rkQQiiA thSZ If "f ' 1'™,? "P"" "■» W-Softe^, where they la, stantlj as .f with some wish the dumb lip, could not "xnreM viS Wm thirhf °" "■•""' '""' " S''""^ "' '"' PaS ?o'„. vincea him that his services were of no avail exooot to in«t„ the sufferer a little more comfortable. It wJ\Sv\^Zfj wo'rl^'hrS'Silfr"' ^' T" f-' ^"i'^eKt^^: worK ne said to Rosamond, whom he questioned closelv as t^ 1&: aTT ''' pT^°v^ "^s^^- H« had Shom*: aoout tour clock, Rosamond said, and eaten a very heartv Air.^ I r V -^ ' * ^ ''"^' "6 smoked a lone time stftt^r fconf^Herr l"'.\'^^ P^t"^ where she^wasgettng S he Sked W r^'^^J'f *^ P'^^ ««™^ "^^ f^«l»o«ed tunes 7ZTJ. I *' ^.^ ^^''^' ''^<'^"«« ^hey took him back to the time when he was a boy at home in Carolina. Then ^-c toJ.I her of his home and his mother, and talked of h\^2. -l and said that he hoped Forrest House wou,d^^ mistress as sweet and good as she was Wutn.f^li-^ good-night, he kissed her foXad a^i said .VtitL' "^'^ are all I have left me now. Heaven bless vou - ' t k1 ' ^""1 tZ tSi^g.^ ^-'^ '- nothing"m'l:?ffl Sli^t mIi^Z'7' f "* ''T ' '^ ^*« "^^'-e'y "^ n>atter of a few days at Met';hV::?utn?r\tf^^^^^^^ «rThe&f 'The\'°™-'^ "-^P^^^^- wTthe h-S; speik. ^'* ^''-S^d glances, and Beatrice hfl haA h«o^^ a ■ ^«FiK(J, looKing curious y at her for ijvciaixi iiJasL comtj immediately " '"'' ""' "" grid's "al'Th.r' '"™ ^'"•' "" "•» »°'™ ««'«- Brapnen DacR, and then « message went to Gait House, in 128 FORREST HOUSE. ^51 I " 'lib Louisville, wliere Evurard always stopped, and that too elicited the answer ' Not here.' Where was he, then, — the outcast son, — when his father lay dying, with that white, scared, troubled look upon his face, and that vain eflFort to speak and let his wishes be known. Dead his body was already, so far as power to move was concerned, but the mind was apparently unimpared, and expressed itself in the agonized expression of his face, and the entreating, be- seeching, pleading look of the dim eyes which followed Rosa- mond so constantly and seemed trying to communicate with her. * There is something he wants,' Rossie said to Beatrice, who shared her vigils, 'and if 1 could only guess what it was ;' then, suddenly starting up, she hurried to his side, and taking the poor, palsied hand in hers rubbed and caressed it pityingly, and smoothing his thin hair said to him, ' Judge Forrest, you want something, and I can't guess what it is, unless, — unless — ;' she hesitated a moment, for as yet Everard's name had not been mentioned in his hearing, and she did not know what the eflFect might be ; but the eyes, fastened so eagerly upon her, seemed challenging her to go on, and at last she said, — 'unless it is Mr. Everard. Has it anything to do with him ?' Oh, how hard the lips tried to articulate, but they only quivered convulsively and gave forth a little moaning sound, but in the lighting up of the eager eyes, which grew larger and brighter, Eossie thought she read the answer, and emboldened by it went on to say that they had telegraphed to Cincinnati and Louisville both, and had that mori-iug dispatched a mes- sage to Memphis and New Orleans. ' We shall surely find him somewhere,' she continued, ' and he will come at once. I do not think he was angry with you when he went away, he spoke so kindly of you.' ^ , Again the lips tried to speak, but could not ; only the eyes fastened themselves wistfully upon Rosamond, following her wherever she went, and as if by some subtle magnetism bringing her back to the bedside, where she staid almost constantly. How those wide-open, never sleeping eyes haunted and troubled her, and mada her at last almost afraid to stay alone with them, and meet their constant gaze ! Doatrice had been taken sick and was unable to come to the Forrest House, and the judge ieetned ao much more quiet when Kossie was sitting where h*» FOllEEST HOUSE. elicitea 129 ainlr sould look her straight in the face, that the npan hired to nurso him staid mostly in the adjoining room, and Rossie kept her vigils alone, wearying herself with tiu; constantly-recurring question as to what it was the sick man wished to tell her. Something, sure, and something important, too— for as the days went on, and tliere came no tidings of his son, the eyes grew larger, and seemed at times about to leap from their sockets, to escape the horror and remorse so plainly written in them. What was it he wished to say 1 What was it troubling the old man so, and forcing out the great drops of sweat about his lips and forehead, and making his face a wtmder to look upon I Rosamond felt sometimes as if she should go mad herself, sit- ting by him, with those wild eyes watchingher so intently that if she moved away for a moment they called her back by their strange power, and compelled her not only to sit down again by them, but to look straight into their depths, where the un- speakable trouble lay struggling to free itself. ' Judge Forrest,' Rossie said to him the fifth day after his at- tuck, ' you wish to tell me something and you cannot, but per- httpg I can guess by mentioning ever so many things. I'll try, and if you mean no, look straight at me as you are looking now ; if you mean yes, turn your eyes to the window, or shut triem, as you choose. Do you understand me 1 ' There was the shadow of a smile on the wan face, and th« heavy eyelids closed, in token that he did comprehend. Rossie knew the Judge was dying, that at the most only a few days more were his, and ought not some one to tell him ? Was it right to lefc that fierce, turbulent spirit launch out upon the great sea of eternity unwarned ? ' Oh, if I was only good, I might help him, perhaps,' she thought ; ' at any rate he ought to know, and maybe it would make him kinder toward Everard,' for it was of him she meant to speak, through this novel channMof communication between herself and the sick man. She must have the father's forgiveness with which to comfort the son, and with death staring hhn in the face he would not withold it ; so she said to him : ' You are very sick, Judge Forrest : vou know that, don't youl' The eyes went slow'y to the window and back again, while the continued in her plain, outspoken way : 1 130 FORREST HOUSE. ^Do you think. I ouglit to tell you if yi^a urc going to die ( There was a momentary spasm of terror on the, face, a look lueh as a child has when shrinking from the rod, and then the eyes went to the window and back to Kossie, who said : • We hope for the best, but the case is very bad, and if you do not see Mr. Everard again shall I tell him you forgive him and was sorry ? ' o i Quick as lightning the affirmative answer agreed upon be- tween them was given, and in great delight Rossie exclaimed, ' I am so glad, for that is what have you tried so hard to tell me. You wish me to say this to Mr. Everard, and I will. Is that all 1 ' This time the eyes did not move, but looked into hers with such an earnest, beseeching expression, that she knew there was more to come. Question after question followed, but the eyes never left her face, and she could see the pupils dilate and the colour deepen in them, as they seemed burning themselves into hers. 'What is it 1 What can it be 1' she asked, despairingly ' Does it concern Mr. Everard in any way V . 'Yes,' was the eye answer quickly given, and then Rosamond guessed everythnig she could think of, the possible and impos- sible, but the bright eyes kept their steady gaze upon her until thinking of Joe Fleming, she asked, ' Is somebody else con- cerned in it ? ' ' Yes,' was the response, and not willing to introduce Joe too soon, Rossie said : * Is it the servants? * ' No.' ' Is it Beatrice f 'No.' * Is it I r She had no doubt it was, and was festonished when the eyes went over the window in token that it was. 'Is it something that I can do T she asked, and the eyes seemed to leap from her face to the window. ' And shall I sometime know what it is 1 ' Again the emphatic ' yes,' while the sweat ran like rain down his face. 'Then. tTudfifft Porroah ' nnri Prxaoio v.iif nr> Via- tir- * -1J-_^ air, 'you may be certain I'll do it, for I promise you solemnly that if anything comes to light which you left undone, and which I can do. I'li do ^ -<^»> ' I I FORREST HOUSE. 131 ig to die ( ice, a Jook d then the id: md if you rgive him, i upon he- 3xclaimed, ard to tell [will. Is hers with [lew there 1, but the dilate and hemselves pairingly, Rosamond nd impos- her until, else con- ce Joe too the eyes the eyes ain down ill, J/ltitlol) solemnly one, and I ^ The e>es I'aiily ciaiiced now, and there was no mistaking the joy shining In them, while the lips moved as if in blessing upon che girl, who took the helpless hand and found there was a slight pressure of the limp, lifeless fingers which clung to hers. 'Is that all? have you made me understand?' she asked, and he artswered yes, and this time his eyes did not come back tc her face, but closed wearily, and in a few moments he was sleeping quietly, as he had not done before since his illness. The sleep did him good, and he was far less restless after he awoke, and there was a more natural look in his face, but no- thing could prolong his life, which hung upon a thread, and might go out at any time. There was no more following liossie with his eyes, though he wanted her with him constantly, and seemed happier when she was sitting by him and ministering to his comfort. Sometimes he seemed to be in deep reverie, with his eyes fixed on vacancy, and the great sweat-drops stand- ing thickly on his face from the intensity of his thought. Of what was he thinking as he lay there so helpless ? of the wasted years which he could not now reclaim? of sins committed and unfcrgiven in the days which lay behind him? of the wife who had died in that room and on that very bed ? of the son to whom he had been so harsh and unforgiving, and who was not there now to cheer the dreary sick-room ? And did the un- known future loom up darkly before him and fill his soul with horror and dread of the world so near to him that he could almost see the boundary line which divides it from us f Once, when Rossie said to him, ' Shall I read you something from the Bible?' he answered her with the affirmative sign, and taking her own little Bible, which her mother once used, she opened it at the first chapter of Isaiah, and her eyes chanced to fall upon the 18th verse, she commenced reading in a clear, sweet voice, which seemed to linger over the words, ' Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord ; though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as jnow ; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.' There were spasms of pam distorting the pinched features on the pillow, as the judge listened to those blessed words of promise and hope for evoa tne worst of 6iuueiB. ocarlefc sins and crimson sins all to be forgiven, and what were his but these 1 *I do believe he's concerned in his mind,' fioMie thought, u 132 FORREST HOUSE. V i ihc looked at lum ; and bending close to li^m she whispered, amid Jier own tears, • Shall I say the Lord's Prayer now V She knew he meant yes, and kneeling by his bedside, with her face on his hands, she said the prayer, he could not join in audibly, though she was sure he prayed in his heart ; and she wished so much for some one older, and wiser, and better than herself, to see and talk to him. 'Shall I send for the minister or for Mrs. Baker?' she asked, feeling in that hour that there was something in the Nazarite woman, fanatical though she might be, which would answer to the sore need. But the judge wished neither the clorgyraan nor Mj-s. Baker, then ; he would rather that pure young girl should read to and pray with hira, and he made her i derstand it, and every day from that time on until the end came, she sat by him and read, and said the simple prayers of her childhood, and his as well, —prayers which took him back to his boyhood, and his mother's knee, and made him pob sometime- like a little child, as he tried so often to repeat the one word 'forgive.' Gradually there came a more peaceful expression upon his face ; his eyes lost that look of terror and dread, and the muscles about his mouth ceased to twitch so painfully, but of the change within,— if real change there had been,— he could not speak ; that power was gone for ever, and he lay, dead in limb as a stone, waiting for the end. Once Rossie said to hira, * Do you feel better, Judge Forrest about dying. I mean are you afraid now ?' ' He looked her steadily in the face and she was sure his quivering lips said no to her last question. That was the day he died, and the day when news was received from Everard. He had - returned to Louisville from a journey to Alabama, had found the telegrams, and was hastening home as fast as possible. Beatrice was better, and able to be again at the Forrest House* but it was Rossie who took to the dying man the message from' his son. He was lying perfectly quiet, every limb and muscle composed, and a look of calm restfuluess ou his faco, which lighted suddenly when Rossie said to him, 'We have li-^ard from Mr^^Everard ; he is on his way home ; he will be here to- nigiit. iou arc very giaa, she contiiraed, as she saw the un- mistakable joy in his face. ' Maybe you will be able to make him understand what it was you wished to have done, FORREST HOUSK 133 but if you cannot, and I ever find it out, depend upon it I will do it sure. You can trust me.' ^ She looked like one to be trusted, the brave, unselfish little girl, on whom the dying eyes were fixed, so that Rossie's was the last face they ever saw, before they closed for ever on the things of this world, antl entered upon tl»e realities of the next. Kverard was not there, for the train was behind time, and when at last the Forrest House carriage came rapidly up the avenue, bringing the son who ten days ago had been qast out from his home and bidden never to enter it again, there were knots of crape upon the bell-knobs, and in the chamber above a sheeted figure lay, scarcely more quiet and still than when bound in the relentless bands of paralysis, bub with death upon Uie white face, which in its last sleep looked so calm and peaceful 1 i I CHAPTER XIX. THE judge's will. T was Rosamond who met Everard as he came into the _ house, and taking his hands in hers, held the a in token of sympathy, but said no word by way of condolence, or of the dead father either. She merely asked him of his journey and the delay of the train, and if he was not cold and hungry, and saw that his supper was served him by a bright, cheerful fire, and made him in all respects as comfortable as she could, while the servants vied with each other in their attentions to him, for was he not now their master, the rightful heir of all the Fovrest property. Whether Everard experienced any sense of freedom or heirship, or not, I cannot tell, or what he felt when at last he stood by his dead father, and looked upon the face which, when he saw it last, had been distorted with passion and hatred of himself. How placid and even sweet it was in its exDression now an swAof. fViat-. 'R'.vc»-nr./1 ot-^r^^^^A a^, — u:_« mg the cold forehead, and whispered softly : ♦ I am so sorry, father, that T ever made you angry with me ; * then, he r*. 134 FORREST HOUSE. I'i placed the covering and went out from the silent room. In the hall he met Rossie, who seeing the trace of weeping on his face, thought to comfort him by repeating the message left him by his father. ♦ Would you mind my telling you all about his sickness : can you bear to hear it t ' she asked, and he replied : ' Yes, tell me about it, — from the very first,' So they sat down together, and in her quaint, straightfor- ward way, Rossie told the story of the last ten days, softening as much as possible the judge's anger when he found his son had taken him at his word and gone, atid dwelling the most upon the change which came over him while lying so helpless and weak. She told of the method of communication* she managed to establish, and which had been suggested to her by reading Monte Cristo, and then continued : ' He seemed so glad when I told him we had sent for you, and so sorry that we could not find you, and his eyes kept fol- lowing me all the time, as if there was something he wanted to say and couldn't, and at last I found out what it was. If he never saw you again, he wished me to tell you that he forgave you everything ; that was it, I know, and he was so happy and quiet after it, though he wanted you to come so much.' Here Eossie paused, and thought of that mysterious thing which had seemed to trouble him the most, and which she was pledged to do when she found out what it was. • I wonder if 1 ought to tell him that now,' she thought, and finally concluded that she would not until something definite came to her knowledge of which she could speak. The next morning Beatrice came over, with a great pity in her heart for Everard, and a great fear as well, when she re- membered the angry man who had asked her to witness his will Had he carried out his purpose and left behind him a paper which would work mischief to his son, or had he thought better of it, and destroyed it, perhaps, or left it unwitnessed ? She could not guess. She could only hope for the best, so far as the will was concerned ; but there was a heavier trouble in store for the young man than loss of property,— the acknowledg- ing his marriage and bringing home his wife, for he would do that now, of course. There was no other way, and B«atrice at once resolved to stand bravely by Mra, J. E. Jborrtist ^1j©o she oUould %a:iv6b 1 FORREST HOUSE. 135 % Then came the funeral, — a grand affair, with a score of car- riages, a multitude of friends, and crowds of people vho came to go over the house and through the grounds moi« than for any respect they had for the man who lay in his costly coflSn, unmindful of the curious ones who looked at him and speculated upon the nature of the trouble which had driven his only son from home. Everybody knew there had been trouble, and each one put his or her construction on it, and all exonerated Ever- ard from more blame than naturally would attach to the acta of a young man like him, as opposed to the ideas of a man like his father. Beatrice went with Everard and Rossie to the grave, and then back to the house, which in their absence had been cleans- ed fr^m the asmosphere of death. The windows and doors had been opened to admit the fresh, pure air blowing up from the river ; then they weru closed again and wood fires kindled on the hearth, and the table arranged in the dining-room, and one of Aunt Axie's best dinners was waiting for such of the friends as chose to stay. Between Beatrice and Lawyer Eussell t^jre had been, a pri- vate talk concerning the will which so much troubled Bee, and the lawyer had inclined to the belief that there was none of recent date, or he should have known it. He would look, how- ever, he said, as he had a key to the judge's private desk in the office. He had locked, and to his surprise had found a will, which must have been made the day before the judge's sick- ness, and during his absence from the office. This he commu- nicated to Beatrice, and with her remained at the Forrest House to dinner ior the purpose of making the fact known to Everard as soon as possible. As for Everard, he had not thought of a will, or indeed of anything, except in a confused, general kind of way, that he was, of course, his father's natural heir, and that now Josephine must come there as his wife, and from that he shrank with a feeling amounting to actual pain ; and he was not a little surprised when, after dinner was over, and they had returned to the long parlour, Lawyer Russell, as the old and particular friend of the family, said to him, ' I found in look' ing over your father's papers a will, and as it was inclosed la an envelope directt 1 to me, I took charge of it, and have it with me now. Simii I read it aloud, or give it to you 1 ' * A will 1 ' Everard said, and a deep flush spread itself over 136 FORREST HOUSE* his face as if he dimly felt the coming blow which wa« to sfcrik. him mth such force. • Did father ifave a wU f ^^ever si pos(|d he made one. Jlead it aloud, of course. These are aH my/nends,' and he glanced at the clergyman and hU wife and Beatrice and Rossie, tlie onJy people present. ' Ihe tv.'o girls were sitting side by side on a low sofa and ■pp. site hem w^ Everard, looking very pale and ne;vou8 as he bent forward a little to listen to the will. It wa^ Lad, up the day before the judge's illness, and was duly dmwrup and witnessed by Parker and Merritt, the two students in the oflice, and after mentiorang a few thousands whJch were to be given to different individuals and charities, the judge wen ton •the remainder o my estate both real and personal I^ve bequeath, and devise to the girl Rosamond Hasting, and —^ Lawyer Russell got no further, for there was a low.cry fr >m Rossie as she sprang to her feet, and crossed swiftly to Ever ard s side. He, too, had risen, and with clasped hands was wam^nt ^ ^ "' '^" ^'"^''' ^''^' ^"« "^*^"^"g '' ^k delth ' What did he say, Mr. Everard, about me ? What does'it mean ? Rossie asked, laying both hands on Everard's arm and drawing his attention to herself. ' 'It means that my father disinherited me, and made you his 'It is not so. It does not read that way. There is some mistake ;' and before the lawyer was aware^of LrTntentrn she snatched the paper from him, and ran her eye with liX rung rapidity over what was written on it, comprehendinli she read that what she had heard was true i''''"^°^^ng ^ Pnfrr'*^7f disinherited, and she was the heiress of all the Forrest estate. Her first impulse was to tear the paper in pieces, but Everard caught her hands as she was in the^act of rending it asunder, and said : ' Rossie, you must not do that. The will will stand iust as my father meant it should.' ^ ^ Rossie's face was a study as she lifted it toward Everard pale as death, with a firm set look about the mouth and an expression in her large, black eyes such as the Cenc 's might have worn when upon the rack. ^ •Oh, Mr. Everard,' she said, 'you must always hate me, FORRi:ST HOUSE. 137 though I'll never let it stand. I did not know it. I nevet dreamed of such a thing. I sliall never touch it, never. Don't hate me, Mr. Everard. Oh, Beatrice help me, somebody help me. I believe I am going to die.' But she was only fainting, and Evewrd took her in his arms and carried her to an open window in an adjoining room, and giving i>er to the care of Beatrice, waited to see the colour come back to her face and motion to her eyelids; then he returned to the parlour, where lawyer Russell was examining the document which had done so much harm and made the memory of the dead man odious. ' Everard, this is a very strange affair ; a most inexplicable thing,' the lawyer said. ' I cannot understand it, or believe he really meant it. I do not wish to pry into your affairs, but as an old friend of the family, may I ask if you know of any reason, however slight, why he should do this?' ' Yes,' Everard answered promptly, there is a reason ; a good one, many would say ; and that I was rightly punished. This will is just ; I have no fault to find with it. I shall not try to dispute it. The will must stand.' He spoke proudly and decidedly, with the air of one whose mind was made up, and who did not wish to continue the con versation, and who w^uld not be made an object of pity or sympathy by any one. But when Lawyer Russell was gone, and Beatrice came to him as he sat alone by the dying fire, and putting her hand on his bowed head, said to him : ' I am so sorry, and wish I could help you some way.' He broke down a little, and his voice shook as he replied : ' Thank you, Bee. I know you do, and your friendship and sympathy are very dear to me now, for you know everything, and I can talk to you as to no one else. Father must have been very angry, and his anger reaches up out of bis grave and holds me with a savage grip, but I do not blame him much, and Bee, don't think there is no sweet with the bitter, for that iB not so. It is true I like money as well as any one, and I do not s&y that I had not to some degree anticipated what it would bring me, but, Bee, with that feeling was another, a shrinking from what would be my plain duty, if I were master here. You know what I mean.' You would bring your wife home," Bee answered, and he •on tinned : 138 FORREST HOUSE. her huvv impossible ifc was for her to do it until she reached lier majority, awn if Everard would take it. «You are a minor yet,' he said ; 'are what we call an infant. You must have a guardian, and I propose that you take Everard ami he may also be appointed administrator of the estate • he' will then bo entitled to a certain amount of money as his leiiti- mate tvca, and so get some of it.* Exactly what the office of guardian and administrator was Kosatnond did not know, but she grasped one idea, and said • ' T.^ t"^ ^^^".•'hat whoever is administrator will be paid, and if Mr. Everard is that, he will get some money which belongs to him already ; that is it, is it not? Now. I want him to have It all ; It 1 cannot give it to him till I am twenty-one, I shall do [It then, so sure as I live to see that day, and meanwhih. vou must contrive some way for him to use it just the same' lou can. 1 am ouite resolved. She had risen as she talked and stood before him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright, and her head thrown hack, so that she seemed taller than she really was. Lawyer Russell had always liked Rossie very much, and since that little business matter touching the receipt, he had felt mcraased respect and admiration for her, for he was certain 3he had helped Everard out of some one of the many scrapes he used in those days to be in. Looking at her now, he thought what a fine-looking gul she was gro^^'ing to be, and started suddenly as ho saw a way out of the .i.fficulty, but such a way that he hesitated a ni.^ment before suggesting it. Takin^off his glasses, and wipin- them with his handkerchief, he couAed two or three times and then said ; ^-ou^nea • How old are you, Itossio 1 ' •Fifteen last June,' was her reply, and he continued : Ihen you are almost fifteen and a half, and nretty well grown. ^ es, it might do ; there have been queerer things than •Queerer things than wiiatl' Rossie asked, and he replied • ^hi^f } ^ ^"^ «?'"" *° '"^'Sesfc. There is a way by Which Jiverard can use that money if he will ' 'What is itt Tell me,' she exclaimed, her face all aglow with excitement. *= Hi*.' ' '" ftHu i.1 , vuon wuttc was yoitrg nii|;bc b« ^ FORREST HOUSE. 139 ically. ' 1 shall givo it back to yoti, whethw you will take it oi not. It is not mine.' ' Yes, Rt)8sie, it is yours. He knew what he was doing ; he meant you to have it, Everard said ; and starting suddenly, aa the remembrance of something flashed upon her, Rossie shed back her hair from her spotted, tear-stained face, and exclaimed, with a ring of joy in her heart : ' He might have meant it at first, when he was very angry, but he repented of it, and tried to make amends. I see it now. I know what he meant,— the something v.hich concerned you, and which I was to do. I promised solemnly I would,— it will be a dreadful lie if 1 don't ; but you will let me when you hear, —when you know how he took it back. She was very much excited, and her eyes shone like stars as she stood before Everard, who looked at her curiously, with a thought th°t her mind might really be unsettled. ' Sit dowii, Rossie, and compose yourself,' he said, trying to draw her back to the couch ; but she would not sit down, and she went on rapidly : ' I told you how I managed to talk with your father, and to find out that he wanted to forgive you, but I did not tell you the rest I thoi I'd wait till it came to me wl ,g I was to do, and it ' com . I know now just what he meant. He was not quiet after the forgiveness, as I thought he'd be, but hi8 eyes followed me everywhere, and said as plain as eyes could lay, " There is something more ; " so I began to question him again, and found that it was about you and another person. That person was myself, and I was to do something when I found out what it was. I said, ' Is it something I am to do for Mr. Everard ] " and his eyes went to the window ; then I asked, "Shall I some day know what it is?" and he answered, u TT' i^^^^ ^ ^^^^' " ^'^^ ^^^^^y> ^"^''^'' ^o ^^'" and <^he poor, helpless face laughed up at me, he was so pleased and happy. After that he was very quiet. So you know he meant me to give the money back, and you will not refuse me now 1 * For a moment Everard could not speak. As Rossie talked, the great teaiS had gathered slowly and dioppad upon his face. He could see so vividly the scene which she described,— the dim, eager eyes of his dead father trying to communicate with tho Hiixious, ejcited Jittie girl, who had, perhaps, interpreted their ttieaniE,^ Aright. There could be but liitle doubt that hit 140 FORREST HOUSE. father, when his passion cooled down, was sorry for the rash ot time felt uncertain how to act, but when he remembered who must share his fortune with him, and all his father had said of « I XT ^^"'^ f f. ^'''^f "Sain, and said to RosamonT: bear Zt\lT '"^1^ ')''' ^'''''' ^' '"''^kes it easier to repia xt^bu H^'f ^^ father was sorry, and wished to make S i;i ' .u- ^ '^''^' ''''^ ^^'''"g« <^he facts, nor the will. 1? Xwou'l7 Y '' '" ^'"'/"/ ^"•^ ^■^^""•^^ S^^^ i' '« «»« ««- 11 you would. You are not of age, you see ' t^Wiir^ ""^^ t'' ^"«^«»«"d asked, ' that even if you would take the money, I cannot give it back till I am twenty-one 1 ' almfsf aigSy 'f' "°* ''^""' ''''''' ' '"^^ ^^^ '-^--'^^ *I can ; I will I know there is some way, and I'll find it r™»di:/i;ff.5 "^^^ *' -- -" ' '«■"' ^- - — '» ^ - She was losing all patience with Everard for what she deemed o^tburstT' ^t',^''^ ""'' "^^^"S ^-^^^f""y' and after this outburst uhe sank down again upon the couch, aiid burying ber face in the pillow told him to go away and nU come a^ai? tfl Ros?,;; nf ^' t '"''^'^ '"°^ *° do. It was not oS tha Rosamond was hus moved, and Everard smiled in spite of him oelf at her wrath, but went out and left her alone as she d^ ' I- CHAPTER XX THE HEIRESS. SHE looked like anything but an heiress the next mornino when she came down to breakfast, with her swollen face ana red eyes, which had scarcely been for a moment closed in Bleep. Everard was far brighter and fresher. He had accepted the situation, and was resolved to make thn b^af. nf i, „.,.! though the memory of his father's bitter anger rested he'aWIv »Bhui heart, it was softened materially bj what Rosamond h» FORREST HOUSE, 141 u)id him, and contrary to his expectations, he had slept sound- y and quietly, and though very pale and worn, seemed much like himself when he met Rossie in the breakfast-room. Not a word was said on the subject uppermost in both their minds : ne carved, sitting in his father's old place, and she poured the coffee with a shaking hand, and Bee did most of the talking, and was so bright and merry that when at last she said good-by, and went to her own home, Rossie's facs was not half so sorry- looking, or her heart so heavy and sad, though she was just as decided with regard to the money. She had not yet talked with Lawyer Russell, in whom she had the utmost confidence. He surely would know some way out of the trouble,— some way by which she could give Everard his own ; and she sent for him to come to the house, as she would not for the world appear in the streets with this disgrace upon her,— for Rossie felt it a disgrace— of having supplanted ll-verard ; and she told the lawyer so when he came, and assur- ing him of her unalterable determination never to touch a dollar of the Forrest money, asked if there was not some way by which she could rid herself of the burden and give it back to Everard. She told him what had occurred between herself and the judge, and asked if he did not think it had reference to the will. The lawyer was certain it had, and asked if Eve- rard knew this fact. Yes, Rossie had told him, and though he seemed glad in one way to know his father had any regrets for tlie .ash act, he still adhered to his resolve to abide by the will, •' ' But he cannot; he shall not; he must take the money. 1 give It to him ; it is not -nine, and I will not haVe it,' she said, impetuously, demanding that he should fix it some way. Mr. Russell had seen Everard for a few moments that morn- ing, and heard from him of his firm resolve not to enter into any arrangement whereby he coul^ be benefited by his father's lortune. 'Father cast me off,' he said, 'and no arguments can shake iny purpose. Rossie is the heiress, and she must take \';hat is thrust upon her ; but make it as easy as you can for the child : let her choose her own guardian, and I trust sHa wjll «h""" you. I know you will be trustworthy.' All this the lawyer repeated to Rossie, and then, as she still persisted m giving back, as she expressed it, he explained Us il 142 I ! FORREST HOUSE. ^^I'oldiri^^iteTjL^^^^ -^--^«J for th, .od eager and s Wrnot Z shSreS .1"' "'' ^''' "^ ^"S^' mg back fromaproDositioTwiri ,?',*''°"'"«««o''s*»"n^^ giSs with blushes' aKlIit^ "^^^^^^ covered some hearted girl, who never h*v?n^ • .T'^ "^^^ * simple- panions of her own a^e had n£ ^T'/^^^ ""'^^ ^^^^^ ^^^m- lovers and matrimon/ 'and Xe7 tV'^ ^^ "^"'^ «"«^ ^''^ marrying Everardshe^'ookedunoni/ ^^^>'«\P'•oposed her action,-a means of gVvinf hi h ! ^ '^^ ^' * ^?^"^«« ^^^"«- to do with it, nor didTfof J ,^J . ^' ^^''^ ^'^^ nothing would be annW out of ?h« • "^ °1'" *° ^^^ ^^at therf he was sure she was as mn,iZ a ' Whatever it was .ow.born child, and 1".^.^"'^ Se'r- '"'"' '°' '■"'°«"' - ' 1 ve no doubt of it I would if t U«, • i.- , ^ -Yes, just a, l^^l ZZTr^il^'^ t^T' 'f'"" ^ He was sitting in^SLrSir'rltJ^'""'''^-'"'^! sorting some papers and letters hnth,. il ^ «mngi„g and and asked what he coafd d„ fo'r het "'''™ "''<' '^""' '» twent,K>ne ; theYlTa' S^ X IS ttTslT ^°°. "" ? "" "ve years and a half I am m™,Tft J' °? '?"« '» "■»■'.- in parenthesis, as if to conrince hil^n """' ' '"'""°"- (^" tor, to^^hat was to f^Cri' want tT Sr^liff - SonoT'iiteth": iiirz "ii^iru"" ''' ■- -^-^-''i , ana Witre is but one way out of it.--tiw FORREST HOUSE. 143 -'d for the i as bright or shrink- >red some a simple- ^ith com- illed with posed her less trans- 1 nothing hat there be should t)Ie. She njoyment IS : — 1 at her, ^er it was ent as a here had replied : m Bering ady past do, and nite wa» finding idiately. :ing and came in 'trying iH I am wait,— ■ (ThU Drepara- My. ] it,— th< • Yes, that would havo to be done, and, — heaven forgive me if I am wrong — but I almost believe I would rather be poor and work for her, — the is living in Holburton,— than be rich and live with her here. And then, if I must be supplanted, I am glad it is by Eossie. She takes it hard, poor oliild ; how was she when you left her 1 ' ' Over the faint, but crying bitterly, and she bade me tell you to come to her,' Beatrice replied, and Everard went to Rossie's room, where she was lying on the couch, her eyes swol- len with weeping, and her face very pale. She was taking it hard, — her sudden accession to riches, and when she saw Everard she began sobbing afresh as if her heart would break. * Pleaf-e go away,' she said to Beatrice, ' I want to see him rlone.* Beatrice complied, and the moment she was gone Rosamond oegan to tell Everard how impossible it was that she should ever touch the money left her in a fit of anger. ' It is not mine,' she said. ' I have no shadow of right to it, and you must take it just the same as if that will had never been. Say you will, or I believe I shall go mad.' But Everd,rd was immovable as a rock, and answered her : ' Do you for a moment think my pride, if nothing else, would allow me to touch what was willed away from me 1 Never, Rossie. I would rather starve ; but' I sliall not do that. I am young and strong, and the world is before me, and I am wil- ling to work at whatever I find to do, and shall do so, too, and make far more of a man, I dare say, than if I had all this mo.'iey, I am naturally indolent and extravagant, and very likely should fall into my old expensive habits, and 1 don't want to do that. I am so glad you are the heiress ; so glad to have you mistreps here in the old home. You will make a dear little lady of For- rest House.' He spoke almost playfully, hoping thus to soothe and quiet her, for she was violently agitated, and shook like a leaf ;' but nothing he said had any effect upon her. Only one thing could help her now. She felt that she had un\ fittingly been the her •urvrxnctincf w. .....^A trrong was righted, and his own given back to him. • i'll never be the lady of Forr**8t House,' she said, energ*^ 144 M FORREST HOUSE. twuble, I mean. Lawyer Russell says if vou ir >rrv m« of colour or sign of self co„acio"^i«J ""^ '''8'"'" "'""6'' «d''ci?d'7orfri:en:;rsra^£^^rr^^^^^ f xedJv than he tWri aT\f f startled, or stared at her more would Lave spoken to a cl.M or a ?u„aHc ""^ «'=""^' " •" ^J;rar4:srK;td ^::,"eti;:°d' -tu-'-^ exit Eriell^S 'Tif' -■'jl, - -either &M nor «ket Jie'repwr" "-" "> -^ ">»' '» mef^Ev^ard ii^thin\' :&'sr tie s;s.^— » ' -" '- c«m;rornf :hTrers'li„n'r'r'*"-'-'"' '^''^ ""' »' "n w... placing herselflf irshoulT'be ktwrri.'"' "A""'" ?'«' I7 if they knew it S. ll '"™'™';?. ^^ "-"""en especial- /hem, thVwal She asked? °°' ""'"^ ■"" ""'■' "> -^ -^t^v^llSjrtCe'r.dlwSoW'"" i"""'."" -'P' «on of the cons ruction Thich Zi J .' ' ™"? " P^'t" «.d the blood-red fl™" "«±i"i!'l'..''° P"! °P°° he' words, MT. iiverard, I did not mean it as ,ou migia martv Mis, B™ FOKREST HOUSE. 145 trice or somebody you loved. I did not mean anvthing exceot a way out I wa3 not going to live here at all ; only m^rr™ so you could have the mon^y, and then I go awa/and do for myself. That's what I meant Yon knov^ I do not lo-ryou n a marrying way, and that I'm not the brazen-faced thinJtS TIIZ'a '^ ^^''^i ^^ ^ '^^'^S^^ y«" «°"ld believe that of me I should drop dead at your feet, and I almost wish that I could flow, for very shame of what I have done ' Ag she talked there had come to Rossie more and more the great impropriety and seeming immodesty of what, TS in! nocence of purpose, she had done, and the knowled^" almost crushed her to the earth, making her cover her burning^^^^^^^ a'^wl^n ^"f^"' U^ ^^^"«f«^'"i"^' 1^- -t. once from JS into a woman, with all a sensitive woman's power to feel and suffer She did not wait for him to speak, but went on rapidly You cannot despise me more than I despise myself, foi I see It now just as you do, and I must have been an idiot or crazy. You will loathe me always, of course and I cannot blame you ; but remember, I did not mean i for love or tSink to s^ay with you. I do not love you that umy • such I th n^ would be impossible, and I would' not marry^Va now fo f thousand times the money.' She had used her last and heaviest weapon, and without a gance at him turned to go from the .oom, b^t he would It suffer her to leave him thus. Over him, to^, as she talked a XT 'iT^' ^f '"'"^^^^ ^' ''^ '^' transformation taking \eToh!u T ^;T ^^'^^'Sthe sweet, old-fashioned gu ?e^ less child, who had been so dear to him. She was lefving 4fe ' iTt^r"' ^""^ »", her place there stood a full-fledged woman! ^ite with a woman's instincts, quivering with nassion anr unTsLth """^""'^•^"''^ ^"'^^' thafir^td^nrat'onfe TnrZ .u ' ^^\ \ ^"^"^ ' "^"^'^ generally understatxl when a girl tells them she has no love or liking for them.' There was something peculiar in his voice, as if what she said hurt him a little, and Rossie detected it, and, in her eac-er- ness to set hira right, involuntarily laid her hand on his arm and flashing upon him her brilliant, beautiful eyes, in which the tears were shining, said to him : 'Oh, Mr. Everard, you must not mistake what I mean. 1 do hke you, and shall for ever and ever ; but not in a marryinc. way, and I am so sorry I have come between you and your in" hentance. You have made me see that I cannot now help myself but when I am twenty-one, if I live so long, so help me heaven! I U give you back every dollar. You will" remember that, and knowing it, may help you to bear the years of poverty which must intervene.' ' Again the long, silken lashes were lifted, and the dark bright eyes looked into his with a look which sent a stran-e' sweet thrd through every nerve of the young man's body! Kosamond had come up before him in an entirely new charac- ter, and he was vaguely conscious of a diflerent interest in her now from what he had felt before. It was not love: it was not a desire of possession. He did not know what it was • he only knew that his future life suddenly looked drearier than ever to him if it must be lived away from her and her influence bhe had risen to her feet as she was speaking, and he rose also and went with her to the donr anrJ Ut iior «nf „«j •^-y-A her as she disappeared down the stairs, and then went back to Im task of sorting papers, with the germ of a new feeling stir 1 : j 148 FOBREST HOUSE. nng jver so lightly in his heart,-a sense of something which might have made hfe very sweet, and a sense as well of bS Full of shame and mortification at what she had done Rosaie resolved to go at once to Elm Park and confess the whorto Beatrice, whom she found at home. She was thinkinrof the Forrest House and the confusion caused by the fooS w 11 o1 an angry old man. while Rossie was announced ad skHnJ down^at her feet, plungU into the very mids^fher' "Lltb^ 'Oh, Miss Beatrice, I have come to tell you something which makes me wish I was dead. What do you suppose ^I hat Unued, I asked Mr. Everard to marry me,-actually to many ' Wha-at !' and Beatrice was more astonished than she had ever been m her life. 'Asked Everard Forrest to marry vou 1 Are you crazy, or a ' iupose I have i Rossi e con- ally to many ;han she had • marry you 1 for her, and 'ea into your d passed be- how old she larrying the ice.' Beatrice said, it, when she i her merri- . but I never some one he I was going elf. I knew 5S, or ladies' soon as the , and np.vftr. — ■ --, ' 1 ' Beatrioi 149 1 did not tell him all that at first. I asked him t. »«. people /^™,"a„Tj: 4 TZ^l^ ^'^JZ LZu'J 1 telt like tearmg my hair and shrieking aloud an?l T «L ' And what did he say to the offpr « THA u^ fuse, •Beatrice asked an'd Eo'ltd LpM ^'' '"''" " ■* 1 1 % I'; fiii ■■•? S t •! 160 FORREST HOUSE. in hor opinion, and said he would go a<^.«'>«V*o J^fP^'^'fJ^ tilling her of his father's death and will, ask her to help him hu dip a home where they might be happy. He was not to Bhow her how he shrunk back and shivered even while taking her for his wife. He was to put the most hopeful construction on everything, a, d see how much good there was in Josey. 'And I am sure she will not disappoint you/ Beatrice gau . infuti^gsome of her own bright hopefulness into Everard m nd so that he did nd feel quite so discouraged when he said ZinTgl t to her. telling her that he should start on the_ nex morning's train for Holburton, but asking her not to tell Rossie of Josephine until she heard from him. ■IH If CHAPTER XXL A MIDNIGHT RIDE. IT was after midnight when Everard reached Albany, the ^ reconddayafter^e had left Rothsay. There the^ram divided, the New York passengers going one way, and the Bos- ton pas engers another. Everard was among the latter, and as several people left the car where he was. he felicitated himself upon laving an entire seat for the remainder of his j.mvney and had settled himself for a sleep, with his soft traveling hat drawn over his eyes, and his valise under his head, when the dooT opened and I ^avty of young people entered talking and iaughing and discussing a concert which they had that evemn^j at ended As there was plenty of room Everard did not move but lay listening to their talk and jokes until another party of two came hurrying in just as the train was moving. The gen- teman wa tali dne-looking, and exceedingly attentive to he lady a fair bloAde, whom he lifted in his arms upon the plat- form and sat down inside the car, saying as he did so :^ ^^ "'"' There, madam, 1 did get you here m time, ii.ougn i aju.osi broke my neck to do it ; that last ice you took came near being oar rain.' FORREST HOUSE. 151 • Ice indeed ! Better bay that last glass you took,' the lads retorted, with a loud, boisterous laugh, which made Eveiard Bhiver from head to foot, for he rocogiii/ed Josephine's \ oice, and knew it was his wife who took the unoccupied seat in front of him, gasping and panting as if wholly out of breath. 'Almost dead,' she declared herself to be, whereupon her companion, who was Dr. Matthewson, fanned her furiously with his hat, laughing and jesting, and attracting the attention of everybody in the car. For an instant Everard half ro I I h •r 162 FORREST HOUSE. ing iiil she ditl. Su many had left at Albany Aiitl so few taken their iilaccs that not more than lialf tlie Kcats were occupie shoulder of Dr. Matthewson, whose arm encircled the sleeping girl and adjusted the shawl about her, for it was growing cold and damp in the car. Just then they stopped at a way station, and taking his valise Everard left the train, which after a moment went whirl- ing on, leaving him standing on the platform alone in the November darkness. There was a little hotel near by, where he paased a few hours, until the train, bound for Albany, came along, and carried him swiftly back in the direction of home and Rossie, of whom he thought many times, seeing her as she looked stand- ing before hina with that sweet, pleading expression on her face, and that musical ring in her voice, as she asked to be his wife. How her eyes haunted him,-- those brilliant black eyes, so full of truth, and womanly softness and delicacy. He could see them now as they had confronted him, fearlessly, innocently, at first, but changing in their expression as the sense of what she had done began to dawn upon her, bringing the blushes ol shame to her tear-stained face. ^ ' Dear little Rossie ! ' he thought ; « if I veere free, I believe I'd say yes— not for the money, but for all she will be when she gets older.' And then there crept over him again that un- definable sense of something lost which h,i had felt when Rossie said to him, ' ' would not marry you now for a thousand timet, the money.' He WHS jrowing greatly interested in Rossie, and found him- ?elf very impatient during the last few hours of his jonrneey. What had "been done in his absence, he wondered, and was she more reconciled to the fortune which had been thrust upon her, and how would she receive him, and how would she look ? She was not handsome, ho knew, and yet her face was very, very sweet ; her eyes were beautiful, and so was the wavy, nut-brown uair, wnich she wore so becoiniiigiy in her ueck, — and at the thought of her hair there came a great lump in Everard's throat M ' remembered the sacrifice the unselfish girl hud made for hit jWo vears before. FOEREST HOUSE, 155 e girl who, il ouse, wiTa the would go or le kept qwiet, 3d her golden rested on th« the sleeping growing cold d taking his t went whirl- alone in tho passed a few » along, and and Rossie, ooked stand* 1 on her face, > be his wife. eyes, so full le could see , innocently, ;nse of what lie blushes oi ree, I believe ivill be when jain that un- when Rossie Dusand timeh i found him- lis journeey. and was she ist upon her, e look ? She .8 very, very Y, nut-brown —and at the rard'fl throat ud made for • In all the world there is no one like little Rossie,' he said tn himself, and felt his heart beat faster with a thrill of aaticipa fcion as the train neared Rothsay and stopped at last at the sta- tion. Taking his valise, which was not heavy, he started at once for the Forrest House, which he reached ast as it was growing dark, and the gas was lighted in the dining-room. CHAPTER XXa THE NEW LIFE AT ROTHSAY. HIS first impulse was to ring like any stranger at a door not his own, but thinking to himself, ' I will not wound her unnecessarily,' he walked into the hall, and depositing his satchell and hat upon the rack, went to the dining-room, the door of which was ajar, so that the first object which met his view as he entered was Rossie, standing under the chandelier, but so transformed from what she was when he last saw her, that he stood for an instant wondering what she had done ; for, instead of a child in short frock and white aprons, with loose flowing hair, he saw a young woman in a long black dress, with her hair twisted into a large, flat coil, and fastened with a comb. The morning after Everard's departure, Rossie had gone with Beatrice to order a black dress, which she insisted should be made long. ' I am through with short clothes now,' she said to Beatrice. *I feel so old since I did that shameful thing, that for me to dress like a child would be as absurd as for you to do it. I am not a child. I am at least a hundred years old, and you know it would never do for an heiress to be dressed like a little girl. How could I discuss business with my lawyer in ahor'u clothes and bibs,' ar.d she laughed hysterically as she trie 1 to force back her tears. mit to bo the nominal owner at least of the Forrest property, and aho had made up her mind to certain things from which 156 PORBEST HOUSE. ^i; Jpr nnW ?' ^"'""I- ^°' ^■''^ ^«"g ^'•«««^''' and She cardofl - n,K i'.^ -^''T °'^?? concerning «ome minor details with a quiet determination which astonished Bee, who had hitherto WnlnT 1 "^''^fl'^^^^ and yielding of girls. The dress had been sent home on the very afternoon of Everard's arrival and witnout a thought of his coming, Rossie shut herself in her room and began the work of transformation, first by twisting np her flowing Imir, winch .dded, she thought, at least two vears to her appearance though she did not quite like the effect, it was o unhkeherse f But the long dress was a .access, ^ndX hiif •' T'i "^ t>^«^^^?.'^"g skirt on the carpet, and looked at herself in the glass more than she bad ever done before in her life at one time, and felt quite satisfic] with the taut ensemble when tnt 1 /' t'""'' ^""-^^^ dining-room, where she was stand- ing when Everard came m. She had been very lonely during hk absence, and she was woLdering where he had gone, and when he would return, when the door m the hall opened, and he was there before her For a moment she stood regarding him just as he was 'study- ing her ; then, forgetting everything in her joy at seeing him again, she went forward to meet him, and giving him both her hands, while a beautiful flush dyed her cheeks, said to him • I am so glad you have come back ; it was so lonesome h^re, and 1 was just thinking about you.' Her greeting was so much inore cordial than Everard had ex- pected that It made him very happy, and he kept her hands in his until she drew them away with a sudden wrench, and step- ping back from him, put on the dignity she had for a moment dropped But the action became her and her long dress, and Kverard looked closely and admiringly at her, puzzled to know juet what It was which had changed her so much. He euessed sh. was thinking of that scene in his father's room, but' he meant to ignore it altogether, and, if possible, put her on her old familiar footing with himself; so, looking at her from head to toot, he said : /What is it Eossie? What have you done to yourself? Pieced down your gown, or what, that you seem so much taller and grander every way, quite like Bee, in fact 1 Yes vou have got on a train, sure as guns, and vour h'.i\v that part I don't like ; the other chang^ is rather becoming, but I would rather gee you soi' and playfully pulling the comb FORREST HOUSE. 157 from her Lead, he let the wavy hair fall in masses upon hei neck and shoulders. « There, th-tt'd better ; it gives me littl* iJossie again, and I do not wish to lose my sister.' He was trying to reassure her, and she knew it, and wai very grateful to him for the kindnoss, and said laughingly, she put up her hair because she thought it suited the long dresses which she mecnt to wear now f^atshe was a woman of business, but it he liked it on her necK it should b? worn so; and then she asked him of his journey, and if he was not tired and huogrjr. 'Tired? No; but cold as a fng and hungry gs a bear! What have we for dinner?' And he turned to inspect the little rotind table laid for one. ' Nothing but tor.st and tea. Why, that would starve a cat. Did you dine in the middle of the day V Rosamonu coloured painfully as she answerfcd : ' I had lunch, as usual. I was not hungry. I am never hungry now, and just have tea at night.' * Rossie,' and Everard laid both hands en her shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes, 'Rossie,' are you practising economy, so as not to use the money you think belongs to me ?' He devined her motive, for it was the fear of using the For- rest money need'efcbly which was beginning to rule her life, and had pronapted her to omit the usual dinner, the most expen- sive meal of the day, and have, instead, plain bread and butter, or toast and tea: and Sverard read the truth in her telltale Face, and said : 'That will never do, and will displease me very mu ' ; I wish you would live as you ought, and if it is on my account you ara trying tha bread and w=:!er system, I am here now and hungry as a fish, so you can indulge for once and order on everything there is.' There was not much, but a slice of cold ham was found, and some cheese, and jam, and pickles, and Axie made a delicious cup of coffee, and brought more bread and butter, and offered 10 bake him a hoe cake if he would wait ; but he was too nearly starved to wait for hoe-cakes, he said, and he took his father's place at the table, and was conscious of a great degree of comfort in and satisfaction with his surroundings, especially with the Bight of the young girl who sat opposite to him and Eoured bis coffee, and once or twice laughed heartily at some of i» Xuuny remarks. He set-.^d in exoellent spirits, and though w 168 FORREST HOUSE, 8E 1 I. much of it was forced for Rossie's sake, he really was happtei than he had been since his father's dtath. His future, so far as Josephine was concerned, was settled. He should never at- tempt to live with her now. yVll the evening he sat with Rossie, and piled the wood upon I he fire until the flames leaped merrily up the chimney, and infused a genial warmth through the large room. And Rosa- mond enjoyed it thoroughly because it was done for him. She would never have added another superfluous chip for Ijerself, lest it should diminish what was one day to go back to him j hut for Everard she would almost have burned the house itself, and felt she was doing her duty. The next morning he spent with Beatrice, to whom he told tlie story of fclie midnight ride from Albany. ' After aeeing and hearing what- 1 did, I cannot ask her to live with me lest she should consent,' he said, and Beatrice could not say a word in Josephine's defence, but asked what he pro- posed to do. Was he going away, or would he remain iu Ruth- say 1 A few days ago Everard would have answered promptly, ' No, anywhere but here, in the place so full of unpleasant memories;' but now matters had somehow changed. That coming home the previous night, that bright fire on the hearth, and more than all, the sweet young face on which the firelighi- shone, and the eyes which had looked so modestly at him, had made him loth to leave Rothsay, and go away from the shadowy firelight and the young girl with the new character and the long dress. He might liave left the child Rossie in the hands ol Beatrice and Lawyer Russell, knowing she would be well cared for, but to leave Miss Hastings was quite another thing, and when Bee questioned him of his intentions, he hesitated a mo- ment and was glad when, in her usual impetuous, helpful way, she said : ' Let me advise you before you decide. I saw Lawyer Rus- sell in your absence, and had a lonp; talk with him, and he thinks the best thing you ca>i do is to stay in the office where you are, and accept the guardianship of Rossie and the administration of the estate. That will bring you money which you certainly can have no scruples in taking, as it will be honestly earned, and must go to some one. You can still go on with your study of law and write your essays and reviews, and so have plenty of menus to satisfy Josephine, if money will do it. I do uot sap* FORREST HOUSE. 159 y was happiei future, so fat ould uever at- he wood upon chimney, and I. And Rosa- for him. She lip for )ierself, back to him j e house itself, whom he told lot ask her to Beatrice could 1 what he pro- main iu Koth- red promptly, of unpleasant mged. That on the hearth, h the firelighi ly at him, had 1 the shadowy sr and the long I the hands ol I be well cared her thing, and esitated a mo- 5, helpful way, r Lawyer Rus- and he thinks where you are, administration I you certainly tly earned, and your study of have plenty ol I do not sup' pose you will live at the Forest House, that might not be best ; but you will be in the village near by, and can have a general oversight of Rossie herself as well as her affairs. What do vou think of my plan ? * The idea of remaining in Rothsay and having an oversight u{ Rosamond wAs not distasteful to the young man, and when ho left Beatrice he went directly to his father's office, where he found Lawyer Russell, who made the ssme suggestion with re- gard to the^uardianshipand administration of the estate which Beatrice had done. Of course it was necessary that Rosamond herself should be seen, and the two men went to the Forrest House to consult with her on the subject. They found her more than willing, and in due time Everard was regularly installed as guardian to RosAmond and adminis- trator of the estate. And then began a conflict with the girl, who manifested a decision of character and dignity of manner with which Everard found it difficult to cope. She insisted upon knowing exactiy how much the Forrest property was estimated at, where the money was invested, and when interest on .uch investment was due. This she wrote down in a book of her own, and then she made an estimate of the annual ex- penses of the household as it was at present conducted. ' Don't you think that a great deal V she asked. 'Father did not find it too much, and he was as close about expenditures as one need to be,' Everard replied; and Rosa- mond continued: ' Yes, but I propose to reduce everything.' ' What do you mean, Rossie ? ' Everard asked, greatly puz «led to understand this girl, who seemed so self-possessed and assured in her long drets, to which he charged everything new or startling in her conduct. 'Rosamond hesitated a moment, and then replied : 'You have convin<;ed me against my will tha I am at pre- sent the lawful heir of your father's property ; 1 have tried hard not to accept that as a iii^t, but I am compelled to do so. You .Hay that I am really and truly the mist ^ of Forrest Housr and don't mistresses of houses do as the) ake about the arrai;- ; menfc of matters in the house f ' Everard said ' Generally, yta, and Rossie went on : ' Well, then, this is wjiat I mean to do. First, I shall keep a strict account of the income and a strict account of the ontgoj ^m\^^ til \\%u 160 FORREST HcfuSi SO far as that out»o is for me personally. Yon know i h»v» two thousai!(l dollars of my owi.', and l .^iuiil ivvj tly-.t Sre* , yuJ by the time that is gone T hope .^o be abl« to take care of xny- self. I am g'ting to hor c some nice, midule-aged lady in the house as corap uiion and. ti ^A^her, and eshall study hard, so that in a year or Lvvci at most 1 a hall be able to g.- out as govcrni "s or teacher in some school. My . ^ind ? . quite raad'^. up. There are some things I -annot d:\ and there aic some thing>j I can, and this is one of them. I shall hfive ihe teaclu and get an education, and meanwhile shall h.ve aa eoononiicali}' as pos'^Jble ; and I wish you io sell the horsea and carriage, too ; T shall ne.;tT use fiiem, and horses cost so much to keep. I like to wsik, and have good strong feet and ankles, — great big ones }oi used to say,* and she tried to ; nile, but there was a tear on her long eyelashes as she referred to a past which had been 80 pleasant and free from care. 'A part of the land is a park,' she went on, 'and does not need much attention except to pick up and prune, and cut the gi ass occasionally. Uncle Abel told me so. I have talked with him ever so much, and he says if I give him three dollars more a month he can do all there is to be done on the grounds, if lie does not have the horses to look after, so I shall keep him and his little grandson, Jim, to do errands and wait on the table and door, and Aunt Axie to work in the house, and send the rest away.' 'Why, Eosamond,' Everard said, staring at her in amaze- ment, ' you don't know what you are talking about ; Aunt Axie cannot do all the work.' ' Nor will she,' Rossie said ; * I am going to shut up most of the house, and only use two rooms upstairs, one for myself and one for the teacher, and the dining-room down stairs, and little sitting-room off, for any calls I may have. I can take care of my own room, apd the teacher's, too, if she likes.' She had settled everything, and it only remained for Everard, as her guardian, to acquiesce in her wishes wheji he found that nothing which he could say had power to change her mind. She had developed great decision of ch'^racter, and go clear a head for business in all its details ti'at Everard told her, laughingly, that it would be iuipossi^ r him to cheat her in Bo much as a penny without bei" > Urtected. He was in- teiv;;/ interested in this quc< ^'i-i, as be styled her to him- M^, .' \d ao far as was consister > wiia iier good, did everyfeMug mow i hvfk care of xny- L lady in the lard, so that as govern. «a *i up. There hingjj I can, and get an y aspos^'sible; coo ; I shall ;p. I like to eat big ones re was a tear ich had been nd is a park,' on except to lally. Uncle so much, and he can do all lot have the ' , did not know At aH ivhAi'. Via meant and Innlro^ at Viiin lt«4te eriugly as she took the proflFered chair, and said, ' What of things t What do you mean t ' tCA FORREST HOUSE. WT ' 1 lujan the higli and mighty air you have put on towarc :nc. Why, you are so cold and dignified that one can t touch you with a ten-foot pole, and this ought not to bo. I have a right to expect something different from you, Rossie. I dare Bay I can guesH in part what is the matter. You are always thinking of tb ., aay ^ .u came to me in father's room and said what you did. But for Heaven's sake forgot it. I have never thought of it as a thing of which yon noed fw\ asliamcd. You had tried every way to give me the money, and when that idoa was suggested, you seizoegan to meet me in snch a form.d way, with tha^ prim, old du(;nna always )rosent, as if she was afraid I was going to eat yoi up. Mrs. Markham is very nice, no doubt, "mt I d'^i't like 'lat in her It may be English propriety, but :c is not American. I'm not going to hurt yoi , and I* want sometimes to see you here alone and talk freely and cozily, as yf" r A to talk,— about you'- oats, if you like, I don't care vvuat, if it brings you back u; me, for you don't know howl long for the child whom I used to te^ao so niuch.' He stopped talk'- ,, and Rossie was u'lnost beautiful, with the bright co;our lu her cheoks and the R..ft light in hei eyes, which wer.- ' of tears, as she said, imi)ulsively, ' You shall hare the ch .to? > again, Mr. Everard. I am glad you have Md me whi- /ou ,,. ve. It will make it aomucli easier now to tee you. I vas always thinking of 'hat, and feeling that you uiiub you sre U- am II.- i'j- i._ 1 tBTAVWk fhlvilrii-kni e\9 if 4-^a av.^} T not I don't wish to bfl stiff and dietaui. with you, and yoa put on towarr. one can t touch r> bo. I have a Rossi e. I dare Yon nvc always 1 room and said I have never ishamod. You wlien that id*^a ought of harm, n away, and so ak, and he con- ou, and I don't u did not mean ly. I am your ic(! you can re- 18 very dear so it her.' you haven't. Iiicli shone like on those lone; way, with that s afraid I was nice, no doubt, propriety, but *4''«S 174 FORREST HOUSE. Mrs. Mor ' Oh dear, no ! something cheau'or, much cheaper, ton aasped , and then the clerk knew that the faded, countrified- looking woman whom he had not at all considered as belonging to Miss Belknap, was the real customer, and his face changed its expression at once as he put back his high-priced si ks with an injured air, and said : ' you will find what you want farthei down. We have nothing cheap here.' ' I think you have,' Beatrice said to him. Show me some- . thing r\t four dollars a yard.' ' Certainly,' and again the clerk was all smiles and attention and began to exhibit his goods, • while Mrs. Morton whispered nervously, 'But Miss Belknap, you don't understand. Ive only forty doPirs ; I cannot afford it,' 'I can,' Beatrice replied. 'I have more money than I can spend. Let me give you the dress. I'll take it as a great favour, and you can use the forty dollars for something else. There were tears in Mrs. Morton's eyes, and her face was very white, as she said : mi. 1 1 'No, no ; that's too much from you, a stranger. Theo would °°« rn make it right with Theo. I'm not a stranger to him,' Bee answered, and so the silk was bought, and velvet to trim it with, and then they moved to another part of the store for something for the children, and met a whole regiment of ladies, Mrs Gen Stuckup with Mrs. Sniffe, who were delighted to see Bee, but looked askance at her companion, wondering if it was some poor relation of wliom they had never heard, and com- miserating Bee, who must feel so mortified. ^ , , , , She was mortified not one whit now, though she haa been at the start, but she despised herself thoroughly for it and was very attentive to her companion, and when Mrs. bmffe, who was frightfully envious of her, had never fail ca to stmg her if she could do it, asked her in an aside, with a roll of her eyes ; ' Who is that frump of a woman, and how came she tas- tenedto youT she answered readily, 'It is Mrs. Theodore Morton, wife of a returned missionary, whoae name you must have seen if you ever read the papers. He is very highly es- teemed by the board as a Christian and a gentleman.^ Some • ««n«aPt.mn of Gov. Morton, of Massachust its, 1 believe. '*Oh yes, and you are doing missionary worn m /uui •wu way. I see. I^'s quite like you,' Mrs. Sniffe «ud, aa sb. FORREST HOUSE, 176 ow me some- paasod oa to tho laoes and left Bee and Mrs. Mortou to them* selves. ' That woman made fun of me and called me a frump,' Mra. Morton falteringly said, with a quivering lip, but fire in hv.i eye, as she looked after the retreating bundle of velvet, and silk, and ostrich feathers. ' Never mind. You don't care for her. They say she used to work in the factory at Lowell, and married a man old enough to be her father, but he had a million, and died, and left it to her, and now she is Mrs, SnifFe, and leads a certain class of simpletons,' Bee replied, and so Mrs. Morton was reconciled to Mrs. Sniflfe's snub, and more than reconciled to her husband's first love when she saw how kind and generous she was, spend- ing her money so freely, and doing it all as if it were a great favour to herself rather than an act of charity to the poor woman, who returned to her board ing-.Vouse laden with more dry-goods for herself and children than she had seen during the entire period of her married life. It was two days before Beatrice went again to her family on Eighth street, and then she found Mrs. Morton alone, and very much depressed, on account of a letter that morning received from her father. And she gave Beatrice the letter to read ; I will give it to my readers. It was as follows : * My Beloved Daughter :— Many thanks be to God for having brought you safely to America, and given us to believe that we shall see yova- face again, and that of the little ones, our grandchildren, I cannot tell you how glad we are, your mother, and myself, and Aunt Nancy, too, though I think she dreads the litter and the grease spots the children are sure to make, her life has l)een so quiet, you know. For myself, I long to t ee the bairns and hear their young voices. It will make me young again, though the years are beaiing me down now so fast. Sixty-eight is nigh on to three score and ten, our allotted time. • And now about your coming here for the summer. Of course you art welc< ni« as the blossoms of May, but I should b* keeping back something if I did not tell you just the situar tion of things in the old parsonage. Your mother is down with nervous proBtratiOu, mud rtM bceii for uiuuUis, and as ahu is ♦ery weak I occupy « teparate room from hers. Your Aunt 176 FORREST HOUSE. Nancy uaa another, and that only leaves your own oW room foi you and Theodore and the three children. Of course, 1 don t count that place over the woodshed, where we can have a bed for a girl or a boy. You cannot have three children in your room even when your husband is away, it is so small, and Nancy would as soon have a woodchuck in with her as a chud ; so at first it was a question how to dispose of you. But providence provided, as He always does. Your mother and \ made it a Bubiect of prayer, asking in our blind way that (^od would in- cline Nancy either to change rooms, or to have a ittle cot set up in hers, and feeling confident He would hear the prayex of faith He did hear and answer, out in His own way, which was not ours. Ue did not soften your Aunt Nancy, but He sent your cousin Julia to us to say that she would gladly take one of the little girls for a while. You know she is rich and has no children, and it will be a nice home for the child and Nancy says, 'Let her have the one that will be hkely to hll our house the fullest and make the most to do,' whatever that may mean. , . i n i 11 'And now, having stated the case as it is, we shall be gU\(j to see you any day, only on Nancy's account you may as well let us know, as everything will have to be scoured witn soap and sand. 1 hear her now at the kitchen table, which somo- body has spilt a drop of milk on. ' Your mother joins me in love, and prays tor you. • Affectionately your father, * Cyrus Brown.' •What a nice letter, and what a good old man he must be,' Beatrice said, as she finished reading. ... , ' Yes ' Mrs Morton answered, hesitatingly ; ' 1. is nice, and he is go'od, and mother, too ; but the idea of losing one of the childi^n is dreadful to me. There is always some thorn in my rose. I have thought so much of going back to the old house under the apple trees, and having my little ones with nie ; and now you see what he says,— one must go to Cousin Jnha H»y- * In Mrs. Morton's roses there would always be thorns, fancied or real, but Bee did not tell her so ; she nierely asked : Who IB Mrs. Hayden ? !• she fond of children i vviii sne dc xinu to then t 1(1 room foi rse, 1 don't have a bed •en in your , and Nancy ;hud ; so at I'rovidence 1 made it a >d would in- little cot set lie prayer of way, which icy, but He gladly take 3 is rich and e child, and likely to fill hatever that shall be glad may as well ed with soup which Homo- for you. s Brown.' he must be,' it is nice, and ig one of the 3 thorn in my the old house vith me ; and in J'llia Hay- horns, fancied asked: 'Who ii Bu6 DC XiuU FORREST HOUSE. 177 • She is my cousin on mother's side,' Mrs. Mortoa said. ' She is the great woman of Bronson, and the richesti and lives in the grandest house. She never had any children of her own, and I do not think her very fond of them. She would be kind in a certain way, but very exacting. She does not understand them. She used to teach school, and was very strict, indeed. She could not make allowances for the differences between her- self and little folks. She is Aunt Nancy's own niece.' * And who is Aunt Nancy ? ' Bee asked, and Mrs. Morton replied, ' Mother's old maid sister, Nancy Phillips, who has always lived with us. She is the neatest, most particular per- son you ever saw; and because she is strong and willing, and mother is feeble, she has run the house so long that she thinks it is her own, and orders father as if he were a dog. But she has many excellent traits, and they could not live without her. She was always kind to me, and I'd rather trust my children with her than with Cousin Julia Hayden. It is very hard, and makes me so nervous.' ' Yes, I can fancy it all,' Bee said ; and then, recurring to the letter, she added : ' You are to give up the one which will fill the house the fullest and make the most noise. Now, which is that ? ' Instantly the eyes of both went over to the window, where Trixey was combing and brushing Bunchie's hair, pulling and snarling it awfully, and talking all the time as fast as her tongue could fly. Yes, there was no mistake. Little Trix would fill the house the fullest and make the greatest to do, and Mrs. Hayden would never understand her, or make allow- ance for her busy, active ways ; and Beatrice wanted her for herself, and said at last to Mrs. Morton : ' Will you let me have Trixey for as long a time as Mrs. Hayden would keep her 1 I know I can make her happy. You can trust her with me.' Mrs. Morton was sure of that. During the few days she had known Miss Belknap she had received from her too many kindnesses to think of her as other than a friend, and one to be trusted. At first she had looked a little suspiciously upon the elegant woman who had been Theo's first choice, and who was so unlike herself, and she had m( e than once thought, ^ How could ho have chosen me after knowing her I ' She did not Rav ' Invo ma ' fnf ciItu hnA k««.-. • „11. il *.viA;:n oSkij became Theodore Morton's wife there was not much love on 178 FORREST HQi' SB. his side at least. She had loved him for yeara, and been picked out for liis wife since she was a little girl. His father and grandfather had been clergymen, and he had been her father's Eupil when the Rev. Mr. Brown taught a small school for boys, y way of ekeing out his salary. Theo had said then he meant to be a missionary, and she had said she meant to be one, to<>, and wise ones predicted that they might go together. But tbe young man wandered very far away from quiet Bronson, and its staid, old fashioned people, and went to Europe, and fell in with Bee Belknap, and forgot the plain, angular Mary Brown, in the homo under the apple-trees, who had mended his clothes, and studied Latin and Greek, and talked enthusiastically of a mi^isionary's life as the happiest and best a man could choose. He had never quite believed it possible that a bright, gay creature like Bee, with hundreds of thousands at her command, would go with him to those islands in the far-oflF Pacific, but he nevertheless asked her the question, and her answer, giveu tearfully and sadly, and rather as a refusal of the Feejees than of himself, scattered the sweetest dream of his life, and with a new-made grave in hij heart he went back to Bronson on a matter of business he had with Mr. Browiu That he should take a wife with him seemed a necessity, and as Mary was ready, and more than willing, and he cared little now who it was, so that she was good and true and pure, he married her with no love in his heart for her, only a great respect, and a registered \ow that she should receive from him everything but love, and if it were possible, should never feel the absence of that. And she had not, for he had kept his vow religiously, and only when he gave the name to Trixey, had she experi- enced a little prick of jealousy, and felt curious with regard to the original Beatrice. If he did not choose to tell her of the lady, she would not ask, and so knew nothing till she met her in New York, and was dazzled and bewildered, and troubled, and a very little annoyed at first, and finally won by the sparkling, brilliant woman who had done so much for her, and who now stood offering to take Trixey oflF her hands and save lier from Mrs. Hayden. She knew she could trust her, and that Trix would be safe with her, but she shrank from parting with the helpful, motherly child, who did s » much for her and the baby, and she hesitated in her answer, and said at last »he tvould see what Theodore would say FORUEST HOUSE. 179 I been picked s father and { her father's lool for boys, [len he meant > be one, to<>, ler. But tlie Bronson, and e, and fell in Vlary Brown, id hia clothes, astically of a could choose, i bright, gay ler command, F Pacific, but mswer, giveu I Feejees than e, and witli a Bronson on a bat he should as Mary was e now who it e married her respect, and a m everything 3I the absence m religiously, id she experi" i^ith regard to ,ell her of the II she met her and troubled, won by the h for her, and ands and save irust her, and : from parting jh for her and aid at last eiie Theodore approved the plan heartily, i*' Trixey must gu some ivhere to be out of sick grandmotiier'a and Aunt Nancj's way. But now there arose trouble in an unexpected quarter. Trixey herself demurred. She loved the pretty lady, and wai interested to hear about the dolls and dresses, and the cats and kittens, and pretty little tea-set and table, and wash-tub, and flat-iron, which should all be hers in that new home in Ohio. The wash-tub, and flat-iron, and tea-set made her waver a little, till she glanced at Bunchie, when h quivering lip, she said ; * What good to have ver so , sings, and Bunchie not with me to see me use the flat-iron and was-tnb, and sit at the other end of the tabb whim I makes the tea "i ' This was the ground she took. Bunchie would not be there to share her happiness, and she did not ^swerve from it until her father appealed to her sf^nse of right, and told her the real reason why she should go. Grandpa's house was very small, and he was poor. Grandma was sick, and Aunt Nancy could not have so many children round. ' But I eould help her lots. I'd rock baby brudder to b^ep, and wipe the dishes ever so many times, and be so good and still as Bunchie,' pleaded the little girl ; but she was persuaded at last to go because it was right, and God would love her if she did, and take care of Bunchie and baby brother, and in the summer she should come and see them in the old home ; and so it was quite settled that Trixey wjw to go with Beatrice, who fe'lt more and more the wisdom of the decision when that very afternoon she met Mrs. Hayden herself in Mrs. Morton's room, and had an opportunity of judging what manner of per- son she was, and what^ Trixey's chance for happiness wouhi have been with her. She was a tall, large, finely-formed woman, with great black eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a growth of hair about her wide mouth which gave her a more masculine appearance even than did her figure and size. She spoke loudly and decidedly, as one used to her own way, as well as to dictate the way of others. Her dress was very rich and showy, but not New- Yorkey a bit. Bee decided, after a rapi V ^^»^:> V»> oyl IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 150 '""^ ■^ 1^ I.I IS: 1^ '- u II 1.25 1 1.4 1 25 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation V // // *5 . ^O V .^ #^ UsT Cjcf^ :/ < «:/^ M WM ^ €^ ,\ \ :\ %^ <^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716; 872-4503 ■ i !:■- '.< U' II 180 FOBREST HOUSE. ftnd oatmeal to bring her up again, while her mother, who had ^n sick so long needed effort and energy. She could get up If she only thought so. Nervous prostration was not a disease • bed-ridder*^' '^ indulged in, would end in one's being • I've made it a rule to guard against nervousness in everv form and what is the result. ^ I have never been sick a dav in my life, and have no idea how it feels to have the headache, oi the toothache, or the backache, or in fact, any ache, and that is the way it should be.' She looked the woman never to have an ache or a pain, or if she had to strangle it at once, and Beatrice shrank from her involuntarily as from an Amazon, whi:e poor, sick Mrs. Mor- u- of her offer, et, but asked i to her to be here flashed ago, rnd, in ;ed, and whw li.ey never were engaged, but he liked her,' Mrs Morton .r.swered famtly wlule a throb of neuralgic pai^ shot tK"h her head, and a bnght red spot burned on^e? cheeks ^ than wr?hf/hT"'f * ^^^^' '^ i"'' ^^"^« ^Ipa^a dressi„g.go.vn than was this blunt woman m her velvet and silk • and so Hp« tnce thought when she came in, immediately arr'heriden^Uv with Theo's first love had been Droved Mra Ho,?^ »aentity trw'tir' ^^^^^^ ^^^ -Pe^r t, tjsa'ltTgE^^ that M^s fieiknap was somebod^^, and an m^or^an^ sor^ebodv too and thought to stamp herself as somebody, by taTkin^ of her house and grounds, and servants, and the wat^ern. Sees she frequented and the people she had met. She was now Btoppmg on Madison avenue with Mrs. Sniffe, who wa M Haydens cousni ; probably Miss Belknap knew Mrs sTiffeo; at least had heard of her. She attended Dr. AdaL' chu^h and was quite a loader there. ^uams cnuwh, ; ^^ you know her 1 ' she asked squarely ; and Bee replied : Yes, I have some acquaintance with Mrs. Sniffe. I meet her occasionally at parties.' Something in the tone made Mrs. Hayden look suspiciouslv at Beatrice, as she wondered whether it was Mrs. Se wS, "^ITil ^^^ °"'^ "^ g^"^^^' P*^ti««> or Miss Belknap herlel while Mrs. Morton felt emboldened to say- ^ ' •Mrs. Sniffe,— that's the woman we met at Arnold's who I believe she was there for a short time, but hone, V labour does not hurt a person in this country ' Rp?wTJ-'%^f^'? ''^.^''- ^"'^''^ g'"^°'l^«r and style, until Bee was tired of it and arose to go, promising to call next day fnto thfhMf '"A"''^-' ^'r^^- ^'■'^- "^/^- followed tr nto the hall, and, begging her pardon, asked her who made the dress she was wearing. ' Mademoiselle Verwest made it and sent it to me. Her ad- dress IS No. -— , Rue St. Honore, Paris,* Bee replied. And, somewhat discomfited, Mrs. Hayden bowed her thank- norUr'n?/ '^ t'% '""'"'' ""^"^ '^^ '^^'Ig^r^d about her weak nerves, and want of energy, until the poor woman burst into *n uncontrollable fit of weeping, and cried herself sick. 182 FORREST HOUSE. "ii Beatrice found her in bed next day, and as tlie little room S^ Lf wS^lW^^^^^^^ ^''^ dayortwodUteS ner^eii wno ly to the child, who was kept in such a etatfl nf Burpnse and bewilderment that she did Lt once crvfo^thl mother down on Eighth street Beatrice bough h7r a doll nearly as large as herself, and bought her a kitchen, with wash tub and stove, and a China tea-set and table, and b autifu H.rfni i^ ^//^°n''r'' ^''''^ ^^"^ excitement of so many won- derful things. Mr. Morton was at the dep6fc, but Trixey Td not see him It was thought better that she should notlo he ooked his farewell from a distance, but said good-by to Bea! trice and held her hand closely pressed in his ?wn as he sSd God bless you, Bee, for all you have done for n^ We nevt; TsoS^ou !:i'^;^ '- -^"' ^^ — ' -^- - mZ .:^psf:^i^^ S'o ^;s tn^ ^-; ^i seemed m some way a wrong to herself ' Bee knew such feelings were foolish, and as often as thev Xlther'&t '^V"fJ" ^^^ lapand"kiShTr,tj . talked to her of the mother they were leaving so far behind and whose eyes looked at her through the child's save that It was late m the afternoon when they ed Rothsav and wei-e dnven to Elm Park. Bee had telegr. J to Aunt Richel that she was coming with a little girl, sJ everything w^sTn readiness for them, and Trixey was made much of arfdTSed l:kTn'up tots!' ""'' ^'^ '^^^" '^ "°^ - ^- ^^-' -^ - ThI^b\T-?,i"A^''T^1 « '"f "^ *^ ^^^ ^^'^ ^ith Rosamond. see her ClrT'^ 1 ^l'' 'f "'"' ^'^^^ ^^*«"«d ^^ «nce to see her. Everard was looking about the same as when Beatrice saw him last, except that he was perhaps a little thinner He wa^ working pretty hard he said, and^arning some money ture unon'hilif"'' ?"« ''^ '7?^^''^ ^^' ^««J^1««« ^S TwiifgleXC h^-" "" ''"' '"^^'''^' "" ne was now quite at home at the Forrest House, and was there nearly every evening, and Beatrice felt something likTa tlie little room d Trixey away or two devoted such a state of nee cry for the ght her a doll lien, with wash- , and beautiful the train before ' so many won- but Trixey did ould not, so he ood-by to Bea- wn as he said : na We never ivrite to Mollie f because the iT nerves, and often as they cissed her, and so far behind, Id's, save that ression. I Rothsay, aud o Aunt Rachel ('thing was in of, and talked ihair, and was th Rosamond, led at once to ivhen Beatrice thinner. He some money, kless expendi- i^osephine was ause, and was nothing like a FORREST HOUSE. 183 throb of fear when she saw his eyes resting upon Rossie, as 11 loth to leave the fresh young face, which bad grown bo bright and attractive during the last few months. She was growmg very pretty, and her figure looked graceful and womanly when at last she arose to go, and stood while Everard folded her shawl around her, drawing it close up about her neck so as to shield her throat, which was a little sore. Something in that shawl adjustment and the length of time it took, sent anothei thrill through Bee's nerves, and the moment they were gone she went to her room, where Trixey lay sleeping, and bending over the child, wondered if in all lives things got so terribly mixed as they were in her's and Everard's. CHAPTER XXIV. IN THE SUMMER. TRIXEY did ? ot thrive well in her new home, though everything which human ingenuity cculd devise was lone to make her happy and contented. But in spite of every- thing, Trixey could not overcome her home-sickness. Many times a day she disappeared from sight and was gone a long time, and when she came !jack, there was a mysterious redness about her eyes, which she said, by way of explanation, were ' kind sore, she dessed. Maybe she had got some dust in *em.' This went on for weeks, until at last, in a fit of remorse, lest ghe had been guilty of a lie, the conscientious child burst out : • Tain't dust, 'tain't sore that makes 'em red ; it's wantin' to see papa, and mamma and Bunchie, and baby brodder. Was it a lie, and is I a naughty dirl to make breeve it was dust ?' Then Bee fe.'t that it would be wrong to keep her any longer, and wrote to Mrs. Morton to that eflfect Mrs. Morton and Bunchie were still in Bronson, but Theo araa annnlirinor a va/>anf. niilnif. in Rnafrin anA nnltr aa-ar \\ia ^— ' — rt"J '"s ~ 1 — I — "■■ } " 'J ••<-•"• ••«■' wife once in two or three weeks. There was room in the par- •onage now for homesick Trixey, for the sickly baby had died 184 FORREST HOUSE. 1 ^'iH it Vermont. ^® **''^'* "^»^ ^"^ey might be sent to ^r^^T^t'^^^^^^^^^^^ 'or .n, yon you met inNewYork w'shester'" *!?? J^^^^^"' ""^^^ gi^d to entertain you at her o'v^o 1 ^'^* '^' ^"' ''^ ^^^^ or though our acquaintance ?s7o ee^i vouT ''"l ""' ^T^"' an h!7r or t^.l^on tK^ ^ f "^ ^J^'^' -^ -t with her for brightly. Tlnstirie her"SSe?n'^'"^""'^""^^«^^-^ '^arJy June nigl,t was warm a„d hTJ ^I'^wl to adjnast, forth! dampness in the air Tnd fI. i ^'v''"^ ^^'^'^ ^^s a slight should take cold or c;,ntr uf n "^^f ''^'"'"^« ^''^ Rosamo^nd extreme. TwoorthrT"[; ,^,'1 '?''.'' i'lf "'f "^^^ceable in the about her neck, and akedi.r^^ '^'' '^""^ "^ ^^r"" >^"ol once he let his' hand res of ,t XXff ""'"^^^^^^^^ while he sat looking at her wfJh In ®^''"^'^?^ ^^^ some minutes Josephine might Im-e resented h?dT'''''°"- °" ^'' ^^'^ ^^i^^ her strong sense of rLht a„d wron^' '''"^''-^ "^"^ ^'' ''''^ rather for Rosamond whom ^Jr^;/^'""^^"^ '^ ^^^ h«r, or out a protest. So when Zv tl ?^ T^ ''^ '^""''^'^^ ^^ifch- aw-ay from Kossie^ and when surTsh^ ^° \T'' '}"' ^'^ ^^^^^^d to him, earnestly I '""" '^^ ^«"^'i "^t l>e heard, said ' abSoTam'o^dfhrith' '^^1? ^.^'^^^^'^^^ ^^ -l-^toue is capable of doW t^n.] *u^' '^'^ ^^ ^^^self. She mnstlt pass. TH'r h^VrplT^ ^'^ "^ ,^T^« ^^ cruel to her. ' •*PproacH. It would be very t f ] b b ;ter which car. iglit be sent to 'or will you you, though ut there is a ayden, whom 3 will be verv ou will come, 1 to me like a may do me >f my baby.' tter, deciding It wliich had ifch alarm for with her for was shining ^just, for the was a slight t Rosamond •eable in the Berlin woo] Jrtable, and ne minutes s face which id Bee with for her, or ificed with- led Everard lieard, said ' ) solicitous ■self. She 'ounds you i be very he spoke, ing more ; ise, do yofc FORREST HOUSE. 186 He spoke bitterly, and showed plainly how gladiv he wr.nl,* free himself, if possible, from the bond whkhS 11 J 1 As far as she could see them in the moonlight Beatrice watched wmT?/;^?"'''" ^' they walked slow) J down he avenue winch led to he street, and when they were out of LhTshe said to herself:^ He ought to acknowledge his marrS an„' he must^ even if he does not take his wife, whi^TigK "the better thing to do. There must be good in her -SthimJ tn tJ'^f!^^^^^'- '^?"Sh^ *^« °'ght before she read Mrs Mor whi^h was to tak« tII t ^""^^ ,P"'P°«^' *^« fi'-st step of wmcn was to take Tnxey to her mother. Poor little Trixev iiecpmg chiw, whose conscientiousness and sweet faith »nJ rl"„"rv but":.V 'C^'"'^'' '"'» ^^y' »'« had o„ ^i'ow' jM^tHti,r,s„^rwSut ball'S:: te ?J » -ft -™- sunshine under the r„„w! h««se;-wiS i^rZir, Z^LtZLT^ the ktZ'and tie great hox-like beams in the corners of the roomV-fo; tt. 4 1 ii! 186 FORREST HOUSE. I' 4' '. '«,, " old house claimed t<) have seen a hnndred ye.irs, and to have heard the guns of the Kevolution. But it was very cheerful and homelike, and neat as soap and sand and Aunt Nancy's hands could make it. Aunt Nancy was the first to welcome Miss Belknap, looking a little askance at her siyle and manners and wondering how they could ever entertain so fine a ladv ®''?i»7'' %/*''' ^*'""' ^^^- ^^'''^on was sick with a headache, and Mrs Brown was still down with nervous prostration, hav- ing stoutly resisted all Mrs. Julia Hayden's advice about mak- ingan ettort, and hints which sometimes amounted to assertions ^ that she could get up if she liked, and would diet on oatmeal and barley. In her ast letter to Mrs. Morton, Beatrice ha^ declined Mrs. Hayden's offer, and said she should feel more in- dependent at the hotel for the short time she should remain in Bronson but withm half an hour after her arrival at the par- sonage Mrs. Hayden was there also, in her handsome carriage drawn by her shining black horses, and driven by a shinine black coachman, in gloves and brass buttons, and she insisted so hard upon Beatrice stopping with her, that the latter finally accepted the invitation, but said she would remain for the day where she was and see if she could not be of some comfort and help to Mrs. Morton, who seemed better from the moment she came and laid her soft hands on her head. 'Nothing can help her or her mother, either, unless they "'J u^'Vf'^'i' ^'^' ^^•'^y^^" '^^'^' ^^*^ a toss of her head, and a Hash ot her black eyes. ' Spleeny and notional both of them as they can be ; call it nervous, if you like ; what's nervousness but fadgets 1 1 was never nervous ; but if I'd eive up every time the weather changes, or I felt a little weak, I might have prostration, too. There's Harry, my husband, would have died long ago if I had not kept him up just by my own energy and will I make hm- slftp wtth the windows open, and hi takes a cold bath every morning at six o'clock, and eats oatmeal for his breakfast, with a cup of hot water instead of coffee or tea ' And does he thrive on that diet ? Is he well and strong ? ' Bee asked, and Mrs. Hayden replied : 'Well and strong 1 No : he could not be that in the nature of things, he comes from a sickly stock ; but he keeps about, which 18 better than lying in bed and moping all the time ' ...,„ „„.^.„g ana tun VI iiiu airs, xiayaen was. and so unsym- pathetic that Beatrice did not wonder Mrs. Morton shivered FORREST HOUSE. 187 ftii.l slirank away tven from the touch of her large, powerful ' I am sometimes wicked enough to wish she might be sick herself, or at least nervous, so as to kuow how it feels,' Mrs. Morton said, after her cousin had gone. 'She thinks I can do as she does, and the thing is impossible. My health is destroyed, and I sometimes fear I shall never be well again.' • She had failed since Beatrice saw her, and her eyes looked so large and glassy as she lay upon the pillow, and her cough was 80 constant and irritating, that to talk of effort and oatmeal to her seemed preposterous and cruel. What she needed was rest, and nursing, and care, and change of thought and occupa- tion, and these she could not have in their fullest extent at the parsonage, with poverty and a sick mother, and bustling, irrita- ble Aunt Nancy to act as counter influences. She must be taken entirely away, and amused, and nursed, and petted, and Beatrice began to see the first step of that vague plan formed in Kothsay, and which she meant to carry out For a day or two she stayed in Bronson, sleeping and eating m Mrs Haydens grand house, and feeling all her sympathies enlisted for shrivelled-up Mr. Hayden, who in the morning came shivering to the table from his cold bath, and swallowed his oatmeal and hot water dutifully, but with an expression on his thin, sallow face which showed how his stomach rebelled against It, and craved the juicy steak and fragrant coffee with which his blooming wife regaled herself, because she was stroncr and could bear it. Once Bee ventured to suggest that steak and beef-tea might be a more nutritious diet even fo? iyspep- tic than oatmeal and bariey, varied with dry toast ana baked apples ; but Mrs. Hayden knew. She had read up on stomachs, and nerves, and digestion, and knew every symptom of dyspep- sia, and Its cause, and what it needed, and how a person ou-ht to feel ; and her husband submitted quietly, and said, ' Julia was right,' and grew thinner, and paler, and weaker every day with cold baths and starvation ; but he kept the respect of hih wife because he tried to be well, and that was a great thing to do, for in his estimation she was a wonderftil woman and r© presented the wisdom of the world. ' _.. _..., ..„,..,, ,,,„j. .LfT7ai,.iiv;c icit uiuiison, TO ioOK, SHO Said, fot «ome quiet, pleasant nook, where she could spend a few weeki durmg Llie hot weather. She found such a place in Holburtoa 188 i ll V FORREST HOUSE. at iti'Lf ' T^' "*"" r^'"^ ''"'>^ afternoon, when the town w'n, because it l„„ko,. .o cool and i.fC tTng „mW he w afi^'^fT"' unes which covered one side of it, "^ ""^ ''"I' The day was warm, ami Mrs. Flr.nin.^ in l,.- „i. calico gown, sat sewing on the door ;tenr wHk . "" '""'i't . deep pasteboard bonnet on her hid' concealiZT" "f'"" VarnLTitrpi;nj^^-«^ -- - ^t childrl t"^^^^ ^'^'^ ^'' h«r««If and a friend with two ^■^t^TM;i:fiTZ'S'^ "■r^"-'" ..oconsirration tbiSg /he stidT °'°""'"'' ''"""« "'■'"'■ ^'"' ^^'^"■'^'J <- be thrai°I do'^noLff' ^ ™? aocommodate you with three rooms week or so to Oak Sinffs'.lVl:!.!:""^-,''?'' J"'^ «?"« f™' « peeled daily. ' ' * '^ Oj friends, and waa w. FORREST HOUSE. 189 The pnoB named for the three rooms, though hiL'h for HoJ. burton, did not seem unreasonable to Beatrice, and the barL'ain was closed wiih the understanding that Beatrice was to take immediate possession. •It will be a change for Mrs. Morton; a relief to Aunt Nancy; a possible benefit to Evorard, and an amusement to me Beatrice thought, as she hurried back to Bronson, where she founa the Rev. Theodore himself, handsomer, more elegant in appearance, because better dressed, than when she saw him last, and very glad to see her, as an old friend who was kind to his wife and children. To the Holburton plan he listened approvingly. It would do Molhe good, he said, for two sick people in one house were quite too many for the comfort of either. But Mollie demurred : Bhe could not sleep in new places unless everything were ridit and she presumed there were swarms of crickets and tree-toads and possibly bull-frogs, there among the mountains, to make the night hideous. , a v, wi/j^A?'"^^^-® impossible to portray the scorn and disgust which blazed in the black eyes of Mrs. Julia Hayden, who was present when Mollie uttered her protest against Holburton. Crickets, and tree-toads, and bull-frogs, indeed ! She'd like to see the bull-frog which could keep her awake, even if it sat on her pillow and croaked in her ear ; it was all nonsense such hdgets. Just use your will and a little common sense, and yo^ will sleep through everything.' This was Mrs. Hayden's theory, which made Mollie cry and Beatrice angry, and Theodore laugh. He had to stand be- tween them al , and keep them from quarrelling, and he did it adminibly and smoothed everything so nicely, and made the trip to Holburton seem ?-> desirable, that Mollie began to want to go, especially as he a ; j ed her he could well afford it, as the church m Boston paid hmi liberally, and had .st given him a hundred dollars to do with as he liked. Beatrice had intended to meet the expenses herself, but could not press the matter without hurting more than she did good. It was just possible that Mrs. Hayden might follow them with her husband, if good rooms and board could be found for her, for she had taken a great hking to Miss Belknap, who stood even higher in her ~~ '"" • -'"^E^M a'"^ '-""woc ooquaintance sne readily «aw would do her more real good in a social point of view. So r if 190 FOUREST HOUSE. ^R8 /Inally arranged that Mollie and the children should «a to Holburton for the summer, and word to that effect was for- warded to Mrs. Fleming, with instructions to have the rooms lu readiDOM by the middle of July. K.:M CHAPTER XXV. MH& FLEMING'S BOARDERS. IT was a lovely summer day when the party arrived at Hol- burton and were driven to the brown house on the common wiiero they found everything in readiness for them, and Mrs! Fleming and Agnes waiting to receive them. Josephine was not visible, for she had resolutely set her face against them. She did not want a lot of womon in the house any way, she said ; they were a nuisance, and made as much trouble again as men. They were never satisfied with their bojird were always in the kitchen washing out their pocket-handker- chiefs, heating flat-irons and making a muss generally. For her part, she liked to be free to do as she liked without the fear of being torn into shoe-strings by some meddling, jealous old wo- man. If they must have boarders, take gentlemen ; there were plenty who would be glad to come. She would rather have clerks, or even mechanics, than the fine lady described and a' sick woman with her brats, and blue as a whetstone undoubtedly, inasmuch as she was a mission--^ 's wife. She'd be wanting family prayers and a blessing at the table, and be horrified to know there were two packs of cards in the house a.id that they were used, too 1 This was Josephine's opinion, but her mother had her way in spite of it, and went on with her preparations, while Jose- phine sulked, and declared her intention of avoiding them en- tirely, and never, in any way, coming in contact with them. Still, there was a consolatiou in the fact that the small room ihe was compelled to take was down stairs, and so far removed from the boarders that they would not know how late she win FORREST HOUSE. 191 en should go Sect was for- ^e the room* ived at Hol- he common, n, and Mrs. sophino waa ist them. e any way, ich trouble heir bof*rd, et-handker- ly. For her the fear of )us old wo- len ; there •uld rather f described whetstone ife. She'd 3le, and be the house d her way I'hile Jose- ; them en- nth them, mall room r r«nioved « she WM OLt on the street with admirers, of which "h« had 8eve;^^L Iked the kmd of I.fe she was leading at present. No lad via town dressed better than she did, and though she knew hu people commented upon it, and wondered where she g^t he Tnu^'yT^ ^f ''^'^'. '^""-« ^'»«»^ "« real modest woman would like to have laid to her charge, she did not care so Ions as she knew it was all right, and that sonie day every thL'w.hl be explained, and she stand acquitted before the Lrldt which weri^no brS?'f ^'''' ^?'^''^ ^er just the same as if the'e be noM?. r -^ -J T'P'"'"" ."Attaching to her name. She muid fouuh tlwn • fT"" ".«"' i '^^''"'"" '» «"y q»^rter she tought It ""^^ ^here was no ?£ A * P^'"t" ^^'^'^^' ^''*' millionaire, had long known this, and yet. as the moth flutters aroun stand her id arranged ) ones and t once, but matched the 3ry compli- bright, gay her better theless, re- uestion : exclaimed, irt, but she d her face i she said : igo ; but I iave made they shall ack to the were in- line in o.T. o — rough the half-closed uhutters, deciding that Mrs. Morton was a dowdy country woman, and that Miss Belknap was very elegant even in her plain travelling dress, and that, perhaps, she was some- body whom it would be policy to cultivate. But she would not present herself that afternoon ; she was tired, and wished to keep herself fresh for evening, when she expected a call from a young man from Albany, whose mother had taken rooms at the hotel for the summer, and whom she had met at a picnic the day before. The next day was Sunday, and though breakfast was servod later tuan usual, Josephine was later still, and the meal was nearly hai'f over when she entered the room, attired in a bhie cambric gown, with gohi pendants in her ears, and a bit of honeysuckle &t her throat. There was a very sweet, apologetic expression on her face as she w * up to h§r mother and kissed her good morning, saying coaxii.^ y : ' Late again, as usual, marama, but you must excuse me. I am so sleepy ; ' then,, with a graceful recognition of the stran- gers, she took her seat at the table by the side of Trixey, whom she patted on the head, saying : > And how is the little girl, this morning 1 * Mrs. Fleming was accustomed to all manner of moods and freaks in her daughter, but the kissing was something new^ and surprised her a little, especially as there were no gentle- men present to witness the pretty, childish scene, !She passed it off, however, naturally enough, and introducing her daughter to the ladies, went on serving the breakfast. Agnes waited upon the table, and so there was no kiss for her, only a gracious nod and a ' good morning, sister,* as if this was their first meet- ing, when, in fact, Agnes had been in and out of Josephine's room three or four times, carrying hot water and towels, and soap. But Agnes was accustomed to such things and made no sign, except as a slight flush pa? ed across her pale face, which was unobserved by Beatrice, who was giving all her attention to the young beauty, sipping her ooflfee so leisurely, and saying pretty things to Trixey. How beautiful she was, with those great, dreamy blue eye«, those delicately chiselled features, and that dazzling complexion, ™u:-.u D 4.U u*. „* a. 1 „_*.;c,... .1, lu rrsxa i ...,J white and smooth. But she was mistaken, for Josephine*! vomplexion had never known powder or paste, or wash of any 'I.} 194 FORREST HOUSE. kind. It was very brill and innocent, 8 was a must have become iantand frosh, and slie Iook> lieve ch,;jd.Hke,t,,atSH;'STCd :ed SO young, Jglifc of mu] musi nave become morbidlv"«Pnl;f°'' '^T^'^ '".''^'■' ^''^rsira have, and Bee's tl'ouX« IY.'?! ! ri..'.^ '"^l ^^"Jt« ^^^ ™igl^t to be- ird once busy with what she to do for this estranged couDir ^Z'"""^ ''["' ^^'^'at she meant in her. Surdy that'foce'Z'^tho.l' "" ^l^ i'h K'/ ''''' fchngly at you. could not cover a baffirfc wi'l 1"* '■"" and faulty she mi ^"^ vain, womanly,'as EveraTd believed a dlt;^^^^^ come there to see and judge fm ".erself P. '' ""^^'^ '^'' ^^^ fectly lady-like. everv movfminl i , ?^,^''^ ^^^'«" ^^s per- and low, Ld veTLTriTt Sr.^^^ ff '^'' ''''''' «^'^««-^^ ments they talked torn, p'f! *^'J"''Jand during the few mo- fascinatedCshe trn ver be7n h^^^ ^'''j' ^'^' ^^'-'f As she was tired, and had I sS^ ,!^'7 ^^ ^7 ^i»"^'^" being, church that mornin" but saw 1- ^^f.'^^^'f «''« did not go to watched her out of s%lUwJtrf '{^^''P'""^ leave the housef and Could thisbethe to^t wltm f"^^^ o wonder and perplJxity disgust? the JoeF^em ".. w om^r^'r*^ fu^'l^^ ^^^'^ «« "^"«h No? wa^ her wonder™ a iUiZnl' i''\'^'^t^ «« detestable 7 • found Josephine in the .a de^ - 'i^ ""5""' ''^ ^^^^'•"«»". ^he >n her lap and Trixey aT her s df 1 ^^''^^^'^^ ^^^^h Bunchie toldthem^hestoryoT^tes'anftJ^ It before, but t gained new nnw«r ol i • f -^ hey had heard Josephine's dramatic way an^Thevhnnf '''"'' ^^^" '^^^ ^« when it was done beg 'ed her fo7« n.? °" f"'"^ ^°''^' ^"d iT^ore of the angel thanlhe tend ITv I' ■ ^"'"'^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^« charmed in spite of herse f w1 h 'th ^TK'^'i ^?"' «^^ ^1«^". despise. ^ ^*' "^'^^ ^^e girl she had expected to th^K^^ht fdmtt;::li^ ^^^^^^^^ «>- finished her storiesTnd b ^L to ta/f f^'f '' ''\'I' '^'^^^^Phine had received an impression ?h«f At t^^,*'^'- ^'«' ^^^^^^S ^ork, and Josephhie be^an to n , r'' ^^"'"^P ^^« ^''«"^ New if sh. had always lived fhere ^ ''^'" ^''' '^ '^'' ^^^3^' ^^^ing ^^ri^7Z':y\tZ\lZVS^^ I waseducatedm ernOhio.' ' '^^"^ '" ^'^^^say, a little town in south- ur in ner face, but otherwise aae was yeiy FOEREST HOUSE. 195 kecr so young, t hard to be- 1". Everard ts she might ' at she meant luch of good oked 80 con- ik, and vain, "ous and un- glad she had ion was per- oice was soft the few mo- ' felt herself iman being, d not go to house, and perplexity, ith so much rletestable ? ernoon, she ith Bunchie r while she '■ had heard lien told in word, and Y here was sat down, xpected to aken,' she Josephine i. Fleming rrom New ity, asking lucated in I in south- there waa was reiy eahii, and lier voice was perfectly, natural as siie repeated the word fiothsay, evidently trying to rt^call something connected with that place. At last she succeeded, and said, ' Rothsay — Rothsay in Ohio. Why that's where Mr. Forrest lives. Mr. J. Everard Forrest, Jr. He boarded with mamma two or three years ago. He was in college at Amherst. Probably you know him,' and the blue eyes looked very innocently at Beatrice, who, warned by the perfect acting to be cautious and guarded, re- plied, *0h, yes, I know Everard Forrest. His mother was a distant relative of mine. She is dead. Did you know 1 ' ' I think I heard so. Everard was very fond of his mother,' Josephine said ; then, after a pause, she added ' Judge Forrest is very wealthy, and very aristocratic, isn't he ? ' < He was always called so, and the Forrest property is said to be immense,' Beatrice replied, quieting her conscience with the fact that, so far as the judge was concerned, she had put him in the past tense, and spoken of what he was once rather than what he was at present, but Josephine paid no attention to tenses, and had no suspicion whatever of the truth. She was really a good deal startled and shaken, mentally, notwithstanding the calmness of her demeanor. Here was a person from Rothsay who knew Everard Forrest, and who might be of great service to her in the future, and it behoved her to be on her best behaviour. * Is Everard married yet ? ' she asked after a moment. ' Married ! ' Beatrice repeated, and she felt the colour rising in her face. ' Why, he has not his profession yet, but is study- ing very hard in his father's office.' ' Ah, yes, I remember, he intended to be a lawyer. I liked him very much, he was so pleasant and gentlemanly,' Josephine said, and there was a drooping of the heavy lashes over her blue eyes, as if with regret for the past, when she knew and liked Everard Forrest. ' But is there no one to whom he is particularly attentive 1 ' she asked. * He used to bo very fond of the girls, and there ihust be some one in Rothsay suitable for him, or is his father BO proud that he would object to everybody 1 ' Beatrice knew perfectly well what Josephine meant, and an- would resent a marriage which he thought beneath his son, ' but» if the woman was good, and trnei and pure, And did hai 196 '.I I r ■' i i'^!' fl K. ^ m i ■I I FORREST HOUSE. f>est, I think It would all be well i„ time ' sh« «.1 ]«i now ? ' ^" Srown by this time. Is she there ten, I K-lieve, thougKe L ° > ' ^ "'• '''''" " ''""■ and the hnpreUiun feft on Tep in™ ZTo f-"''"'" '^'^ ft child, in whom Everard ^nni i f u " ^^ ^^^^^^^ ^as of ceptinabrothJny way ^ ""' ^' ^''^^^^^^^ interested ex- lest thS^st:lt:tSo:;i; t r' *r ^^^ ^-^ ^^«"' a retreat, whnn the Lu, d of " i f "f ' ''"^ ^^« meditating moment 'after a tdl Tntr yoX "'"t T''^^^ ''''''' '^^ ' down the walk flourisl.in . hfs^ h>fi " ' ' J'T ^^^"<^>'' «an^« the half-fledged boy,"i^w!rb .^ , l^^}^^^^^^^^^^ PJ-nly dence and superiority of a mu, «" " , ® mdepen- trice, to whom he was in rod .^.ti" « m"'"^' ''">' ^"^ ^^ Bea- he told Josephine h?L7com«fn l^'" ^''^'^ ^'^"^ Albany, horse. ' You Tre ari3ai, fu'"' *^-^^""^ ^^''' ^^'^^^ little recreation ' he said i.t ^'^".'""^"'"g. and deserve a who, sure that Ms Befknap wo.d J T' ^^ '^^"^^^ ^^ ^^sey! fclt that she, too, 1st 3e o sL '7^' " hke invitation little reprovingly ' ' '° '^'^ "'^^^ ^^ry sweetly and a SoL?o\tr'dra;¥:hSrS^^^^^^ "^^ «^^- "^-n Sunday, faat horse.s but'nowyoutu^rul^l-^^ ^"' '^'^ ^ ^^'« - played euchre with him u til^lutl7ms^ !5 P'''''""/ T^^^^' ^^^^ another half hour at the olfl , '^"P^."^ ^^^^^en. and then stood though she hadrtym^alirgeCr"' ''^^^"° "^^^ ^'-' ile was not accustomed to be thwarted s,nA K. i he was annoyed, and answered loftilv ' ^' ''^'''""^ ^^^^ Certainly do as vou think hpc^ 'if I must find somebody who wi^^^^ IJ you won't rde with me, ladies.' ^ ° ^'^^ ^ ^ish you good afternoon; Touching his hat vervnnl.+.ol,.»,« ^..iu-^ . ^ FORREST HOUSE. 197 eonquest and she arose and followed him, and walked with him to the gate, and said to him apologetically : ' I want to go awfully, but it will never do with a mission ary's family in the house.' • Bother take the missionaries,' he said. * I wanted to show you how fast Dido can trot.' • Yes, I know : but there are other days than Sunday, ano there are lots of girls aching to go with you to-diiy,' Josephine said, as she fastened a little more securely the bouquet in his buttonhole, and let her hands rest long(;r on his coat-sleeve than necessary. I But 1 shan't take 'em. I shall wait for you,' he answered, quite soothed and molified. Then he bade her goc»d-by, and drove off, while Josephine returned to Beatrice and said laughingly : • What bores boys of a certain ag<- are, and how they always fasten upon a girl older than themselves ! This Gerard cannot be over twenty. He reminds me a little in his dress of Ever- ard Forrest when he first came here, so fastidious and elegant, as if he had just stepped from a bandbox.' •He is very different to that now,' Beatrice replied, rousing up at once in Everard's defence. ' Of course he can never look like anything but a gentleman, but he wears his coats and boots and hats until they are positively shabby. It would almost seem as if he were hoarding up money for some particular pur- pose, he is so careful about expense. He neither smokes, nor chews, nor drinks, and it is said of him that he has not a single bad habit ; his wife, should he ever have one, ought to be very proud of him.* Beatrice was very eloquent and earnest in her praises of Everard, and watched closely the effect on Josephine. There certainly was a different expression on her face as she listened to this high encomium on her husband, whose economies she well knew were practised for her, and there was something like a throb of gratitude or affection in her heart when she heard that the money she had supposed was given him by his father was earned or saved by himself, that she might be daintily clothed. "■ I am delighted with this good account of him, and so will niomrna Qha oa iA . tUi was very extravagant and reckless when we knew him, but I liked him exceedingly/ i 198 FORllEST HOUSE. second gallant wgo had c'olTtfuL he™ o'ridf ' o?'" "" elie could not 20, and so th. ua^.^ '°.™*- Of oourae Walter Gorarl drove baek/h«°« "'"'' 5'^"' «■'"> her, and parlour tied his hoSIto t, e fe„S a" dVme^ ''T«''". '" "» the air of one sme of a welcome «a™'er.ng in with Agi,ra!i„Vitrirreiii'^"'*."? ^°' B""'"- »" «e?ved in th?re, a"^d feU sreatfv Lit"? ''"/^•"" '"" "">" .ho heard the cbck strike twXebSh ' ^."f^ "^"^ voice, and laughter ceased Tnl'';SCrd''5?e°rr'^ were driven rapidly away. F**""iir, ana the two buggies ^^ ill ii.ri CHAPTER XXVL JOSEPHINE'S OONFIDBNOlt &.« and am tell him the truthrand brave fh^.T^' ^°u'- ^uT^ ^^"^ father, follow. But then I W ^ou woZh"^^'^ ^ '"PP°^« ^«"W ceeding, and so I cive it n/?n 7 ^® ^"^''^ ^' «»ch a pro- I do ik to plea:enou-ld''rf,f^^v!?„ I^i^J patientl/for > of her' iri«nd«l.ir tul";" "?.'"' -^^^^n^P »« ii'-», tnal comet. Inendship when the time of FORREvST HOUSE. 199 before th« to meet the Of course til her, and her in the ing in with eatrice saw e trio were isted when suppressed fro buggie« eal letter she had ^ mother, dear hua- le house, y. e crying told me, position iverard ? and am r father, 9 would h apro- itly, for is hore comet. She is very sweet and lovely, and I wonder you did nob prefei her to your unworthy but loving Josey.' Beatrice also wrote to Everard that day, and told him where «he was, and why, and said of Josephine, * there must be good in her, or she could not seem so sweet, and amiable, and affec- tionate. A little vain she may be, and fond of attention, and why not % She cannot look in the glass and not know how beautiful the is. And her voice ;s so soft and low, and musical, and her manners so lady-like. You see I am more than half in love with her, and I am quite dispensed to advise a recognition on your part of her claim upon you. Of course I shall not betray you. That is not my business here. I came to see what this girl is, whose life is joined with yours. I find her quite up to the average of women, atid think it your safer course to ac- knowledge her, ami not leave her subject to the temptations which must necessarily beset a pretty woman like her, in the shape of admiration and attention from every marriage- able man in town. It ii your safer way, Everard, for remember there is a bar between you and any other face which may look to you inoxpreaaibly fair and sweet, and all the sweeter and tiurer because poasoaaion is impossible.' These letters reached Everard the same evening, and he found them in his office on his return from the Forrest House, where ho had eat with Kossie an hour on the piazza, with the moonlight falling on her face and softening the brilliancy of her great black eyes. How beautiful those eyes were to him now, and how modestly and confidingly they looked up occasionally in his face, and droope«l beneath the long lashes which rested on the fair cheeks. She was so sweet and loving, this pure, fresh young gill; and her face and eyes haunted Everard all the way down the avenue and tiie long street to his office, where he found his letters — one from Beatrice, one from Jose- phine, and thia last ho saw first, recoiling from it as from a serpent's touch, and remembering with a bitter pain the face seen in the moonlight, and the pressure of the hand he had held in his at parting. Then ho took Bee's letter, and turned it over, and saw it was postmarked at Holburton, and with a start of fear and tipprehension tore it open and read it eagerly. 'But I shall never do it,' he said, as he read Bee's advice with regard to recogniising Josephine. ' The gooddess is not there ; and m Bee will discover if she stops there long enough.' 200 FORREST HOUSE* meant by 'that otlieF face so fnt ' ^u^, ^""'"^^ ^^at she It was Roasie's. and he io^^^^^^^^^ and sweet.' of the bar which made S i f f-^^ *°8f 'h^'' ^^ he thought that face, fast buddinl nto rlT ^"? ^'l ^"°^ *°^ ^^^n upon fco ^,«/and /at> fo/hTs own n '"^^; ''^^ ^« «'^°"'^ find i? told himself that RosamonS waf '? !" "^ "^- ^nd then he whom he must nectsarHy have^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^' ^^^d, in was too fastidious, and dz\l not trn.? u'^*®^''^' ^^^^'^^ He was not in lov'e with^k^o^ nt n^lf l^^^^^^^^^^^^^ int?s"e5:,rh?crhnor?lit'^ ^e tore JoseysUter not believe in her or nteni to .n ^^f «;basket. He did thought of her now, ft was as he s.wT' f ' /"' ^^^"«^«r he the car, sleeping onbr. Matthawson'Iarm H«'' "'I^^^^^xf' '"^ nee, however, within a few daT ^tn^'- ^\T'">te to Beat- what she had done-and tdlint^h '?v,f' "« ^'' ^ "'"P"«« ^t tween Josephine a.id himself wis uLl^ ^Y V^t'^f^rence be- long in Holburton. she wruld prob b v V"^ 'u*^ ''' '^' '^"^^ regard to the young lady P^^^^bly change her mind with buftot'Sel'ttltVnd^^ -ached Hoi- voice, so soft and flute-Hke and w^l k ^'^ J^^^^ed that the themselves, had another rinVwherin''*-''?u'°/.^ "^^^««««d Agnes, who drudged from^nTn.!." ''"m '" ^he kitchen with usuany large housei:oMmShtbT"eVl"^^ *^^^ *^« - boarders now in the house for mI T^i- & , ®^® ^®''® ^ore had come to Holburto^ honTn5"' ^u"^'* ^*^^«° *°d husband Hayden. who liked he^uierSeasanfr ^'"'? ^^^^^^^^ M'"' from the hills, which was no ' q uhe 1 l^'"'"' ^'^^ ^^' ?"- ^ir blew down from the mounWns\ronnr?R ^^''"^ ^V^'' ^h»«h occupied the parlour below greatlv Jo fhr''°' ^^' "^^^^^^ Josey, who was thus competed to^L..^ annoyance of Misa either in the diningrocm^ or on thrb„ l^'' ''"'"«'*^"« «*"« horse-block near the gate ^^''^ P'^^^*' <>' on the tin!eVrd7h?rnatfs>^^^^^^^^^^^^ three admire™ at a amiable and civil, t^ougreacliT^^^^^ t' '^ ^^^^ ^^«°» «" wondBrp,^ wi,„i,.'— "^"®*'".^ "ated the other corrJinlli, a^A ^ FORREST HOUSE. 201 the blood in 'd what she and sweet.' I he thought ' often upon ould find it ^nd then he is ward, in Beatrice good sense, f becoming sey's letter b. He did lenever he idnight, in te to Beat- irprise at ■ereuce be- t' she staid nind with Jhed Hol- i that the addressed hen with t the un- ^ere more husband lefit Mr. I pure air at which Haydens of Miss ous calls r on the erg at a hem all lllv anA was not . wanted. Night after night Mrs. Morton nx\i] Mrs, Hayden were kept awake till after midnight, by the low hum of voicea and occasional bursts of suppressed laughter which came from the vicinity of the horse-block, and when Mrs. Morton com- plained of it in the presence of Josephine, that young lady was very sorry, and presumed it was some of the hired girls in town, who had a groat way of hanging over gates with their lovers, and sitting upon horse-blocks into all hours of the niglit. But Mrs. Julia was not deceived. Iler great black eyes read the girl aright, and when she saw a female figure steal cau- tiously up the walk into the house, and heard the footsteps of two or three individuals going down the road, she guessed who the ' hired girls ' were, and Josephine suspected that shn did, and removed her trysting-place from the horse-block to the rear of the garden, where she was out of ear-shot of the * old muffs,' as she styled Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Hayden. And here she received her friends, as she called them,— and laug'ied, and flirted and played with them, but was very careful not to over- step certain bounds of propriety, and thus give Everard an excuse on which to base an action for divorce, should he ever bring himself to consider such an act, which she doubted. He was too proud for that, and would rather live with and dislike her, than repudiate her openly, and bring a stain upon the Forrest name. It was impossible for her to understand his real feelings towards her. Indifferent he was, of course, and sorry, no doubt, for the tie which bound them ; but she was so thoroughly convinced of her own charms and power to fascinate, that she had little fear of winning him back to some- thing like allegiance when she once had him under her influ- ence again. He could not resist her ; no man could, except the old judge ; and secure in this belief, she went on her way, while Beatrice watched her narrowly, and began at last to be- lieve there was no real good in her. ' The most shameless flirt I ever saw, with claws like a cat,' Mrs. Hayden said of her,—' why, she has actually tried her power on Harry, and asked him so insinuatingly and pityingly if he really thought oatmeal agreed with him as well as a juicy steak or mutton-chop.' Bee laughed merrily at the idea of Josey's casting her eyes upon poor, shri veiled, dyspeptic Harry Hayden, whom, to do her justice, she did pity, for the cold baths he was. compelled 208 FOKREST HOUSK. I' 'i "ut. doubt, or he won I n« L r • 'l" ^''" "«snce coaxed out by the to Holbur- e, ehe was phine came • work, and ud the life nother and *ce. I am 1 and have Ttunity to dy, a Mrs. enough to received a ith her to id leaving i; and eu- ' her as if f link be- appeu to then she Re letter 1 of great 1 to take vith her. 0, and I ivnticipa- soul in- usehold. Jhine aa "ed bins- ler final • no, ana made him nnderstand that she nuant it. But fth« held his hand in her's, and there was one of her tears on hu boyish face when at last he said good-night and walked away somewliat soothed and comforted with the thought that he wa« to be her friend of friends, the one held as the dearest and best in her memory when she was far over the saa. The news of the intended journey made Everard wild with di'iight, for with the ocean between them, he felt that he should [ ij^u^ u r® *^*^" ' ^^"^ ^'° ^^''^ ^®'" a hundred dollars, and told her he hoped she would enjoy herself, and then, intoxicated with what seemed to him like his freedom, went up to see Rosa- mond, and stayed with her until the clock was striking ten, and Mrs. Markham came into the room to break up the tHe-k-tiU. It was the last day of August that the Nova Zr-.nbla sailed out of the harbour of Boston, with Josephine on b -ard, her fair hands waving kisses and adieux to the two men on the shore watching her so intently,— young Gerard and old Captain bparks, who had followed her to the very last, each viein" with the other in the size and cost of the bouquets, which filled one entire half of a table in thd dining saloon, and stamped as somebody the beautiful girl who paraded them rather ostenta- tiously before her fellow-passengers. For two days they adorned the 'table at which she sat, and hlled the saloon with perfume, and -..-ere examined and talked about, and she was pointed out as that youn^^"W Bible. He had ass'um d Ue eLS ^^ ^'^""^^^.^^^ '^e pretended was pending in the rnnr «^ ^ ^'? °'^"' ^^^^h he husband's cause" and fs^ed Wnond IfT^'i^/'P^"^^"^ '^^^ And she had answered decidedly : ^ abomie^btTvo'tT^^^^^^^^^^ him. I (iod will never forgivelt' ^ '''''^- ^^ '« ^^^^d. and ^^^^^^l^n^:^^^^ I? \^^\lo take „p >ng to leave it there. Che did w ^^u ^^'' '^««t' hop- Rothsay to find Rossie sweeter fW ?Ln"^ ^' '"?« ^^^ '« nedly glad to see him thar'or an ho. r I '"""' t'"' ^^'^ **»^'«^»g- ^Imppinessof themoment,ld5e^t:r t^^;::^' "^ ^ ^-ng, and which no oneself Lrt^L^' i^ i^^ L" ll; FORftPST HOUSE. 206 OUSC led to Roth- ho could uu- 3tiimat]a8t le had never nt'utuat'on • ission ofhi'j lood, which t he deter- > and, amid 'gon try to jlled hotly sily obtain wie woufd led by the which he iusin^ the >t think it i him. I >ked, and P take up est, hop- I back to •" anfeig. f f' up to ^ vrong, eks, and ul in its mIid its He (hd not toll her ho 1 red her; l„if, he told her how nt had nriissed her, and how she alone had brought him back sooner than ho had meant to come. A.i.l with a shynesS whioh sat go prettily on her, and a drooping of ihe eyelids, she listened to him, and though she said but little, the mischief was done, and never again would her eyes meet his as frankly and readily as bt'fore. bometlnng in the tone of his voice and the unwonf d cen.lernsss of his manner kindled a fire in that young ht-a.^ .V oh many waters could not extinguish, and to Rossie if. cam<- with a thrill, half fearful, half ecstatic, that she loved Everard torrest, not as a sister loves a brother or friend loves friend, but as a true, good woman loves the one who to her is the only man in all the world. But could she have followed him back to liis room she would scarcely have known the white-faced, ha-gard man whom the dawn found with his head resting up..r. the table, where it had lain most of the night, while ho fougl. the demon trying so hard to conquer him. He must not love 1 .osa- mond Hastings ; he must not let her love him ; and to prevent It he must tell her the whole truth, and this was what he was trying to make up his mind to do. Possibly his resolution to confess the whole to Rosamond was in a measure prompted by a sudden fear which had come upon him lest the knowledge of his marriage should reach her throiigli 8om3 other channel. On his return from Oregon, and before he went to the Forrest House, he had found several letters which had come during his absence, and which had been forwarded One was from Josephine, who was still abroad and perfectly happy if her word was to be believed. She had found Mrs Arnold everything that was kind, and gererous, and consider-' ate ; and made many delightful acquaintances ; had learned to speak both German and French, and had come across Dr Matthewson, who was at the same hotel wi^,h herself, the Vic- torian, m Dresden. This letter did not particularly affect Everard either way Dresden was very far off, and Josephine might remain abroad another year, and into that time so much happiness might be crowded that he would take the good offered him, and not cross the river of difficulty until he fairly reached it. But on his re- turn from the Forrest House he found two more letters on hia clesK c.ie post-iiiariscd at Dresden, the other at Holburton, and ttii8 he opened first. It was from Agnes, and had been some 206 FORREST HOUSE. ,p I tnne on the load, and told him that Mrs. Fleming had died sudclenly, ade: an illness of two days only, and Agnes was left a one There was still a mortgage on the house, she said, and after that was paid, and a few debts they were owine, there would be but btt e left for her, and this little she must, of course divide with Josephine. She offered no complaint, nor a^ked for any help. She said she could take care of himself, either as housekeeper, cooli, or nurse, and, on the whole, she seemed to be in a very resigned and cheerful state of mind for a person left so entirely alone. The other letter proved to be trom a Cincinnati acquaintance, witJi whom he had once been at school, and who had recently married and gone abroad, and was in Dresden at the Victoria Hotel, where, he said, there were many pleasant Americans, both from Boston and New York and Everard felt morally sure that the pleasant people from' Boston were Mrs. Arnold aqd Josephine. And his friend. Phil Lvarts was just the man to be attracted by Josey, even if ho had a hundred wives, and Josephine was sure to meet him more than half-way and find out first that he was from Cincinnati, and then that he had been in Eothsay, and knew Judge Forrest's lami'y and then— a cold sweat broke out all over Everard's face as he thought Wta/ theni while something whispered to him Then you will reap the fruit of the deception practised so \onJ and you deserve It, too.' " '""g. Everard knew he deserved it, but when one is reaping the whirlwind, I do not think it is any comfort to know thit he has sown the wind, or this harvest would never ! ^ been It certainly did not help Everard, but rather added to ciu, torments he endured as he thought of Josephine, enraged and infuriated ' swooping down upon him. bristling all over with injured iv- nocence, and making for herself a strong party, as she was sure to do. But worse than all would be the utter loss of Rossie or she muld be lost to him for ever, and possibly turn against TrJf ^f d"PJi«ity, and that he could not bear ^ 1.-^ 1 • ^1 ^/^''.^o.morrow, so help me Heaven !' he said, as he aid lus throbbing head upon his writing table and tried to think liow he should commence, and what she would say He knew how she would look— not scornfully and anamv iT.«~„ ^u'T """■''' °" "«»Ppy"itua, ana tnai would hurt urn worse than her contempt. How fair and sweet she seeml' to him. as he went over all the past as connected with h«, n FORREST HOUSE. 207 ng had died i Agnes was ise, she said, owing, there she must, of mplaint, nor 3 of himself, 3 whole, she of mind for iroved to be once been at )ad, and was there were New York, people from friend, Phil. even if ho et him more Cincinnati, ge Forrest's 'erard's face ed to him, 3ed so long, reaping the ow that he >3 been, li Hi torments , infuriated, injured in- le was sure of Rossie, irn against said, as he ed to think Qd angrily ivould hurt she 8eemeresolve just as the autumnal morning shone full into his room, and he heard across the common the bell from his boarding-house summoning him to breakfast. But he could not eat, and after a vain effort at swallowing a little coffee, he went back to his office, where, to his utter amazemjBnt and discomfiture, he found Rosamond herself seated in fos chair and smiling brightly upon him as he came in. , , i /. i.i. ». When he was with her the night before, she had forgotten to speak to him of a certain matter of business which must be attended to that day, and immediately after breakfast, which was always early at the iorrest Houee, she had walked uOwn to the office, and telling the boy in attendance that he need not wait until Mr. Forrest's return, she sent him to his breakfast, and waa there alouo when Everard came in. I ili I I p. i;i 208 FOBREST HOUSE. ' Oh, Rosf ie, Rossie,' he gasped, as if the sight of her un- nerved him entirely, * why did you come here this morning 1 ' She did not telJ him why she came, for she forgot her errand entirely, in her alarm at his white, haggard face, and the strangeness of his manner. ' Oh, Mr. Everard,' she cried, for she called him ' Mr. Eve- rard' still, as she hnd done when a child. You are sick. What IS the matter ? Sit down, and let me do something for you. Are you faint, or what is it 1' and talking to him all the time, she made him sit down in the chair she vacated, and brought him some water, which he refused, and then standing beside him, laid her soft, cool hand upon his forehead, and asked if the pain was there. At the touch of those hands Everard felt that he was losing iill his selfcommand. Except as he had held them a moment in his own when he met her, or said good-by, he had not felt those dainty fingers on his flesh since the weeky of his sicknesr after his mother's death, when Rossie had been his nurse, and smoothed his aching brow as she was doing now. Then her hands had a strange power to soothe, and quiet him, but now they made him w ild. He could not bear it, and, pushing her almost rudely from him, he exclaimed: ' Don't, Rossie! I can't bear that you should touch me.' There were tears in Rossie's eyes at being so repulsed, and for an instant her cheeks grew scarlet with resentment, but before she could speak, overcome by an impulse he could not resist, Everard gathered her swiftly in his arras, and kissing her passionately, said : — * Forgive me, Rossie. I did not mean to be rude, but why did you come here this morning to tempt me. I was going to write and tell you what I ought to have told you long ago, and the sight of you makes me such a coward. Rossie, my darling; — I will call you so once, though it's wrong, it's wicked, remem- ber that. I am not what I seem. I have deceived you all these years since father died, and before, too- long before. You cannot guess what a wretch I am.' It was a long time since Rossie had thought of Joe Fleming, with whom she jelie red Everard lead broken altogether ; but Bbo rememuered him now, ami, at once attributing Everard's trouble to that source, she said, in her old, child like way • • It's Joe Fleming again, Mr. Everard, and I hoped you wwm done wilk him for evur FORREST HOUSE. 209 >f her un- orningi' lier errand , and the Mr. Eve- 2k. What J for you. the time, i brought ng beside i asked if v&a losing i moment 1 not felt is sickness lurse, and Then her , but now shing her e! I can't ulsed, and tnent, but could not id kissing but why i going to ; ago, and larling; — , remem- d you all g before. Fleming^ her; but vay • you iri**f She was very pal« and her eyes had a startled look, for tUa ludden caress and the word 'my darling,' had shaken her nerves, and aroused in her a tumult of joy and dread of she scarcely knew what ; but she looked steadily at Everard who answered her bitterly : * * Yes, it is Joe Fleming,— always Joe Fleming,— and I am going to tell you about it ; but, ^ossie, you must promise not to hate me, or I can never tell you. Bee knows and does not hate me. Do you promise, Kossie ? ' * Yes, I promise, and I'll help you if I can,' Rossie said, with- out the slightest suspicion of the nature of the trouble. She never suspected anything. The shrewd, far-seeing ones, who scent evil from afar, would say of her that she was neither deep nor quick, and possibly she was not. Wholly guileless herself, she never looked for wrong until it was thrust in her face, and so was easily deceived by what seemed to be good. She certainly suspected no evil in Everard, and was anxious to hear the story, which he would have told her had it not been for an interruption in the shape of Lawyer Eussell, who came suddenly into the office, bringing with him a stranger who wished to consult with both the old lawyer and the youug. That, of course, broke up the conference, and Rosamondwas compelled to retire, thinking more of the hot kiss which she could still feel upon her forehead, and the words ' my darling,' as spoken by Everard, than of the story he had to telL And all that day she flitted about the house, warbling snatches of song, and occasionally repeating to herself 'my dar- ling,' as Everard had said it to her. If, indeed, she was his darling, then nothing should separate them from each other. She did not care for his past misdeeds,— or for Joe Fleming. That was in the past. She believed in Everard as he was now, and loved him, too. She acknowledged that to herself, and her face burned with blushes as she did so. And, looking back over the past, she could not remember a time when she did not love or rather worship him, as the one hero in the world worthy of her worship. And now 1 — Rossie could not give expression to what she felt now, or analyze the great happiness dawning upon her, with the belief that as she loved Everard Forrest, so waa she loved in return. She was very beautiful with thiij new light shining over her face, and very beautiful without it. It was uov two years since she went uuabaahed to Everard and asked m 1 210 FORREST HOUSE. II m 3 1:H (o be hia wife, Then she was fifteen and a-half, and a mero ekild, so far as knowledge of the world was concerned, and in some respects she was a child still, though she was seventeen and had budded into a most lovely type of womanhood. Her features were not as regular as Bee's, nor her complexion as soft and waxen ; but it was very fresh and bright and clear, and there was something inexpressibly sweet and attractive in her face and the expression of her eyes, while her rippling hair was wound in masses about her well-shaped head, adding some- what to her apparent height and giving her a more womanh appearance than when she wore it loosely in her neck, 1/ Rossie thought herself pretty, it was never apparent in hei manner. Indeed, she never seemed to think of herself at all, though, as the day of which I am writing drew to a close, she did spend more time than usiial at her toilet, and when it was finished felt tolerably ;Satisfied with the image reflected by her mirror, and was sure that Everard would be suited, too. He would come that night, of course. There was nothing else for him to do after the events of the morning. But Everard did not come, and about noon of the next day she received a few lines from him saying that a business matter, of which Lawyer Russell and the stran^^r with him were the harbingers, would take him for a week or more to Southern Indiana. He had not time to say good-by in person, but he would write to her from Dighton, and he hoped to find her well on his return. That was all. Not an allusion tc the confession he was go- ing to make, — not a sign that he had held her for a moment in his arms and kissed her passionately, while he called her hia darling. He was going away on business and would write to her. Nothing could be briefer or more informal, though he called her his dear Rossie. And Rossie, whose faith was noi easily shaken, felt that she was dear to him even though he disappointed her. She would hold to that while he was absent, and though her face was liot quite as bright and joyous as the night before, there was upon it an expression of happiness and content which made wc^tchful Mrs. Markham think that, as »h« expressed it to herself, ' something had happened.' MM FORREST HOUSE. 211 and a mer« jrned, and in ^as seventeen nhood. Her omplexion as it and clear, attractive in rippling hair adding some- ore womanh 3r neck. 11 parent in hei herself at all, a close, she and when it age reflected te suited, too. nothing else the next day siness matter, him were the ! to Southern erson, but he d to find her )n he was go- a moment in called her his ould write to Ell, though he faith was noi en though ho le was absent, joyous as the lappineys and ik that, as «bff CHAPTER XXVIIL SOMETHINO DOES HAFPKN. IT had rained all day in Dresden, — a steady, persistent rain, which kept the guests of the Hotel Victoria in-doora and made them so tired, and uncomfortable, and restless, that by night every shadow of reserve was swept away, and they were ready to talk to any one who would answer them in their own tongue. Conspicuous among the guests assembled in the parlour was Miss Fleming, — * Miss Josephine Fleming, Boston, tj. S. A.,' she was registered, and she passed for one of those Bostonians who, whether deservedly or not, get the reputation abroad of being very exclusive, and proud, and unapproachable. Just now this character suited Josephine, for she found that she was more talked about when she was reserved and dignified than when she was forward and flippant ; so, though they had been at the Victoria some weeks, she had made but few acquaintances, and these among the English and most aristo- cratic of the Americans. And Josephine had never been so beautiful as she was now. And she had the satisfaction of knowing that she was always the most attractive woman in every company, and the one most sought after. Of her poverty she made no secret, and did not try to conceal the fact that she was Mrs. Arnold's companion. But she had seen better days, of course, before papa died and left his affairs so involved that they lost everything, and mamma was compelled to take a few boarders to eke out their income. This was her st'^ry, which took well when told by herself, with sweet pathos in her voice and a drooping of her long lashe? over her lovely blue eyes. Every one of her acquaintances of any account in America had been stepping-stones in Europe, where she met people who knew the Gerards, and John Hayden, and Miss Belknap, who was her very heaviest card, and one she played most frequently, and with the best success. The New Yorkerb ali knew BtsaUice, and were iticliued to be very gra- caous to her friend. Occasionally she had come across some graduate from Amherst, whom she had met before, but uevur 212 FORREST HOUSE. till tlie rainy day witfc which this chapter openo had slie seen any one from the vicinity of Rothsay, or who knew her husband personally. She was in the habit of looking over the list ol arrivals, and had seen the names of « Mr. and Mrs. Philip Evarts, Cincinnati, tJ. S. A.,' and had readily singled out the now- ooraers at table d'hote, divining at once that the lady was a bride • but no words passed between them until the evening of the rainy day ; then Josephine entered the parlour faultlessly gotten up, and looking very sweet and lovely in her dark-blue silk and velvet jacket, with her golden hair caught up with an ivory comb. Nothing could be prettier than she was, and Phil Evarts who, as Everard had said, was just the man to be attracted by such a woman as Josephine, ana whose wife was sick with a headache in her room, managed to get near the beauty, who took a seat apart from the others, and met his advance with a swift glance of her dreamy ^eyes, which made his heart beat faster than a man's heart ought to beat when his wife is up- stairs with a headache. It was her business to speak first, and she said, very modestly : * Excuse me, sir, but do you know if there has been a mail* since lunch 1' •1 don't,' he replied, 'but I will inquire. I am just going to the office. What name sihall I ask for 1' & & She told him, and during the few minutes he was gone he found out who Miss Fleming from Boston was, and all about her that the English-speaking clerk knew. But there was no letter for her, for which he was very sorry. She was sorry, too ; she did so want to hear from home and sister. She did not say mamma, for she knew her mother was dead, and had known it (for a week, and kept it to herself until she could de- aide wnether to we?,r black or not, and so shut herself out from any amusements they might have in Paris, where they were going next. Naturally the two began to talk of America, and when Mr. h>arts spoke of Cincinnati as his home, she said : * I have a friend who was once at school thera Everard Forrest, of Kothsay, do you know him ? ' She had no irlea that he did, and was astonished at the vehe- mence with which Up. resnonded : •^- *Ned Forrest, of Rothsay ! Of course I know him. We were at school together. He's the best fellow in the world. Ajad he is yoiur friend, too t ' _ had she seen ' her husband ^er the list of Philip Evarts, )Ut the now- ' was a bride ; 'ening of the tlessly gotten bhie silk and 'ith an ivory 1 Phil Evarta, attracted by 3 sick with a beauty, who vance with a is heart beat s wife is up- ry modestly : ! been a mail ni just going was gone he ind all about there was no IS sorry, too ; She did not ad, and had she could de- self out from 'e they were d when Mr. :a Everard at the vehe- w him. We 1 the world FORBEST, HOUSE, 213 ' Yes,' Josey answered, beginning at once to calculat«v how much knowledge of Everard she could confess. * I knew him when ho was in college at Amherst. We lived in Holburton, then, a little town over the line in New York, and he wan some- times there, but I have n^^t seen him for a long time. I hope he is well.* * He was the last time I saw him, which was three or four months ago, perhaps more,' Mr. Evarts replied. • He was in the city for a day, and I saw him just a moment. « He is work- ing like a dog ; sticks to his business hke a burr, which is so different from what I thought he'd do, and he so rich, too.' ' Is he t ' Josephine asked ; and Mr. Evarts replied : * Why, yes ; his father must have been worth half a million, at least, and Ned got the whole, I suppose. There are no other heirs, unless something was given to that girl who lived in the family. Rosamond Hastings was the name, I think.' * Is his father dead f ' Josephine asked ; and in her voice there was a sharp ring which even stupid Phil Evarts detecteii and wondered at * Dead 1 Yes,' he replied. * He has been dead I should say nearly, if not quite, two years.' Josephine was for a moment speechless. Never in her life had she received so great a shock. That Judge Forrest should have been dead two years and she in ignorance of it seemed impossible, and her first feeling, after shebegan to rally a little, was one of incredulity, and she asked : * Are you not mistaken 1 ' * No, I ata not,' Mr. Evarts replied. * I saw Everard in Cov- ington a few weeks after his father's death, and talked to him of the sickness, which was apoplexy or something of that sort. Anywa,y, it was sudden, and Ned looked as if he hadn't a Iriend in the world. I did not suppose he cared so much for his father, who, I always thought, was a cross old tyrant. I used to visit at Forrest House occasionally years ago, when we were boys, but have not been there since the judge's death. Ned does not often come to Cincinnati, and as I 'hav« bwu, gone most of the time for the last two years, I have heard but little of him.' ' liovv long did you say, has hia father been dead f ' Josephin* Mked ; and Mr. Evarts replied : * It must be two years in November, or thereabouts.' w 214 FORREST HOUSE. * And this Rosamond Hastings, who lives there, how old la ihe, and is he going to marry her ? ' Josephine nsked next : while Evarts thought to himself: * Jealous, I do believe,' but he answered her : * Miss Hastings must be seventeen or eighteen, and when 1 saw her, five or six years ago, was not so very handsome.' ' Yes, thank you,* Josey said, and as she just then saw Mrs. Arnold c aiing into the salon, she bowed to her new acquaint- ance, and walked away, with such a tumult in her bosom as she had never before experienced. It would take her a little time to recover herself and decide what to do. She must have leisure for reflection ; and she took it that night in her room, and sat up the entire night thinking over the events of the last two years, as connected with Everard, and coming at last to the conclusion that he was a scoundrel, whom it was her duty as well as pleasure to punish by going to America at once and claiming him as her husband. In the first days of her sudden bereavement, Agnes' kind heart had gone out with a great yearning for her young sister, to whom she had at once written of their mutual loss, saying how lonely she was, and how she hoped they would henceforth be more to each other than they ever had been. And Jose- phine had been touched and soltened, and had written very kindly to Agnes, and had cried several times in secret for the (lead mother she would never see again, but whose death she did not then see fit to announce to Mrs. Arnold ; but she would do so now, and make it a pretext for going home at once. No- thing should keep her from wreaking swift vengeance on the man who had deliberately deceived her for two years, and who, she had no doubt, was faithless to her in feeling, if not in act. Of course there was a woman concerned in the matter, and that woman was probably Eossie Hastings, who, Mr. Evarts said, was living at the Forrest House, whither she meant to go in her own person as Mrs. J. E. Forrest, and so rout the enemy, and establish her own claims as a much-injured wife. She did not mean to be violent or harsh, only grieved, and hurt, and forgiving, and she had no doubt that in time she should be the most popular woman in Eothsay, not even excepting Beatr ice, whose silence with regard to tlie judge's death she could not understand, inasmuch as she could have no reason forkeeDina it » secret *^ ® FORREST HOUSE. 215 I, how old u «sked next; and when 1 idsome.* 1 en saw Mrs, lew acquaint- ler bosom as If and decide and she took ight thinking vith Everard, 5 a scoundrel, ish by going ,nd. Agnes' kind young sister, 1 loss, saying Id heticeforth . And Jose- written very secret for the se death she )ut she would it once. No- {eance on the tars, and who, if not in act i matter, and , Mr. Evarts ! meant to go It the enemy, ife. She did nd hurt, and should be the ing Beatr ice, she could not n for keeping It may seem strange that as a friend of Everard's Phil Evart had not heard of the judge's will, but, for the last two or three years, he had led a wandering kind of life, and spent ir.ost of his time in Rio Janeiro, and as Everard had never spoken of his affairs on the few occasions they had met since the judge's death, he was in total ignorance of the manner in which the judge had disposed of his property. Had he known it, and told Josephine, she might have acted differently, and hesitated a little before she gave up a situation of perfect ease and com- parative luxury for the sake of a husband whom she did not love, and who had nothing for her support except his own earnings. But she did not know this, and she was eager to confront him and the jade, as she stigmatized Kosamood, and she packed some of her clothes that night that she might start at once. Fortunately for her plans the next morning's mail from Paris brought her another letter from Agnes, who thought she might be anxious to know what she had decided to do, for the pre- sent, at least, until they could consult together. But Josephine cared very little what Agnes did. She was going to the Forrest House, and she was glad that Dr. Matthewson, who had been with her for a time at the hotel, had started for Italy only a few days before. He might have opposed her plan, and she knew from experience that it was hard to resist the influence he had over her. Utterly reckless and unprincipled, he seemed really to like this woman, whom he thoroughly understood, and in whose nature he recognized something which responded to his own. Two or three times he had talked openly to her of a divorce, and had hinted at a glorious life in Italy or wher- ever she chose to go. But Josephine was too shrewd to consi- der that for a moment. Dr. Mattliewson lived only by his wits, or to put it in plainer terms, by gambling and speculation, and intrigue. To-day he was rich, indulging in every possible luxury and extravagance, and to-morrow he was poor and unable to pay even his board ; and much as she liked him she had no fancy to share his style of living. She preferred rather to be the hated wife of Everard Forrest and the mistress of his house j Bo she took Agnes's letter to Mrs. Ainold, and with a great ghow of fselinr" told her her mother wsis dead a.nd her sist-sr Aggie left all alone, and wanting her so badly that she f«li il her imperative duty to start at once for America^ 216 FORREST HOUSE. ( ! II an unnecessary expense.' "necure. 1 am oaly Mrs. Arnold knew that to some extent this was tniA Tn.« frightened, bewildero.l. .nd so^mucl afra d of ^^^^^^ r^Y^c. officers though she "SnotS^^^^^^^ .:: donna bought for mamma before she kne^w she was dead^ at I •'' t t, n .orentiemen stood bv h^p ri.ooo.,«;^» u.^ ; . ^^^?\ *' - .« i,«r througl,. «,d », ■? i r 218 FORREST HOUSE. u8band. She laid great stress on tliat word and gave Agnes to understand that he had written to her of his fathers death, and that it was at his request she had crossed the sea to join him. 'Eut won't he come here for you 1 Seems to me that would have a better look,' Agnes said, and her sister replied : ' He IS quite too busy to waste his time that way, for we can go alone ; he knows I am accustomed to travelling. We will start aO once ; I am so anxious to be there. We can shut ap th« house for the present, until matters are adjusted, when Vou or I can come back and see to the thingn.' FORREST HOUSE. 219 >wn the stair« lack-bordered E. Forrest.' ies Haatinga/ \m, who twice jlatives V she r. E. ForreBtt, Bzt question, kin' as if she I the four big acts as ef bhe in't there no ut she's sick.' liss Hastings o see her if )out 'm, only in the house she knew of ime to Kosa- le rooms the down to tlie king in upon ly, and had Forrest was JO at once to a that word, a to her of had crossed 5 that would lied : , for we can ?. We will ^e can shut lilted, when Could Agnes have had her choice, she would hare preferred remaining where she was, for she dreaded change of any kind But go she must, for her presence would add weight and re- spectability to Joscphim;, who was very kind to her, and made the leaving Holburton as easy as possible. To a few or her old friends Josephine told the secret of her marriage, show- ing her certificate, and saying, now her father-in-law was dead, there was nothing in the way of publishing the marriago to the world, and that she was going to her husband. Of course all Holburton was excited, some believing the Btory, others discrediting it, but all remembering the play and the mock marriage which had seemed so solemn and real! But Josephine was not popular, and few, if any regret^ were sent after her when she started for the Forrest House, which she reached on the chill November day, when everything was look- ing its very worst. Even the grounds had a bare, gray look, but. they were very spacious and large, and Josephine felt a throb of pride as she rode up the avenue, looking eagerly out at the great, square, old-fashioned building, which, though massive, and stately, and Pretentious, was not quite what she had expected to find, 'here was about it a shut-up, deserted air which made her ask the hackman if there was any one at home, or why the blinds were all closed except in the wing. The hackman was a negro who had once been in Judge For rest's employ, and he replied : * Miss Rossie's dar whar you see de shutters open, but de rest she keep closed sense old marstor died.' There was something like a flash of indignation in Joseph- ine's eyes as she thought how soon she would change the ad ministration of the household, and make Miss Eossie know her place. They had reached the side entrance by this time, and Jo- sephine waited in her seat an instant in the hope that her truant lord might come himself to see who his visitors were. In that case she meant to be forgiving, and put her arms around his neck, and kiss him, and whisper in his ear : • I know eveiy- thing, but I come in peace, not in war. Let us be friends, and do you leave the explanation to me.' She had decided upon tills plan since leaving Holburton, for the nearer she drew to KoUisay the more she began to dread and Wr i V 220 FORREST HOUSE. tear th(? man who slieknew had outlivod all love and respect.fot lier. But onlj' Aunt Axie's broad, black face looked out into the rain, and beamed a smile on Luke the driver, who was a distant relative. Springing b'ghtly from the carriage, Joseyran up the steps into the hall, where sha stood while Agnes joined her, and Luke deposited the heavy trunks and claimed his customary fee, and a little more on the plea of ' so many big boxes tote.' But Josephine refused him sharply, and then followed Aunt Axie into the cold reception-room, where no fire had been made that day, for Rossie had never abandoned her deter- mination to upe as little as possible of the Forrest money, and nothing superfluous was cxpcnJeJ either in fuel, or eatables, or dress. So far as her own income — a matter ot one hundred and forty dollars or thereabouts — was concerned, she was gen- erous and free ; but when it came to Everard's money, as she called it, her economies were rhost painful at times, and wrung many a remonstrance from old Axie, the cook. With a shiver and a quick, curious glance around the cheer- less room, Josephine turned to Aunt Axie and said : 'Is Mr. Forrest at home, — Mr. Everard Forest?' ' No, miss. He done went away quite a spell ago, but Miss Rossie's 'spectiug him every day. He don't live here though, when he's home ; he stay mostly in de town.' Josephine did not understand her and continued : ' He will come here, I suppose, as soon as he returns ? ' Yes, miss, he's sure to do dat,' and Axie nodded knowingly. Of course she had no suspicion who this lady was, walking about the room and examining the furniture with a critical and not favourable eye, and asking, at last, if there was no fire where she could warm herself after her cold ride ? On being told there was a fire in Miss Rossie's room, she took from her purse one of her cards she had had engraved in Paris, and bidding Axie take it to Miss Hastings, sat down to await the result. To Agnes she said, in soinetbing of her old dicta- torial tone : ' Fray don't look so nervous and frightened, as if we were a pair of burglars. It is my husband's house, and I have a right here.' • Yes, I know,' faltered Agnes ; but it looks as if they did not expect you, — as if he did not know you were coming, or h.0 FORBEST HOUSE. 221 id respectfot ked out into •, who was a he steps into r, and Luke lary fee, and :e.' [lowed Aunt e had been I her deter- money, and " eatablos, or •ne hundred he was gen- )ney. as she , and wrung d the cheer- l: ;o, but Miss ere though, irnsi knowingly, as, walking critical and was no fire m, slie took ed in Paris, vn to await 'T old dicta- ' we were a [ I have a if they did ming, or h» would have been at home, and it's all so dreary : I wish 1 wa« back in Holburton,' and poor, homesick Agnes began to cry But Josephine bade her keep quiet. 'You let me do the talking,' she said. You need not speak or It you have to you must assent to what you hear me say! even if it is not all quite true.' ^ Josephine had expected Eosamond herself, and had taken a Tery pretty attitude, and even laid off her hat so as to show her golden hair, which, in the dampness, was one mass of waves and curls and little rings about her forehead. She mean- to astonish and dazzle the girl whom she suspected as her rival and who she imagined to be plain and unprepossessing, and when she heard a step outside she drew herself up a little but had no intention of rising. She should assert her superiority at once, and sit while she received Miss Hastings rather than be re^ceived by her. How then was she disappointed and cha, grined when, instead of Eossie, there appeared on the threshold a middle-aged woman, who showed that she was every whit a lady, and whose manner, as she bowed to the blnnde beautv brought her to her feet immediately. ^' * Mrs Forrest V Mrs Markham said, interrogatively, con- sulting the card she held, and then glancing at Josephine who answered her : o r > »" ' Yes, Mrs. J. E. Forrest. My husband, it seems, is not here to receive me and explain matters, for which I am very sorrv ' Even then Mrs. Markham had no suspicion of the truth Ihe husband referred to was of course, some distant relative" re lied^ ^^^^^ ^" advance of his wife, and she «No, there has been no gentleman here, but that does not matter, except as it may be awkward for you. Miss Hastings will make you very welcome, though she is sick to^ay and in bed. Your husband is a relative of Mr. Everard Forrest ' I presume. ' ' A relative 1 My husband ie Mr. Everard Forrest,' Jose- phme said. We were married four years ago last simmer and, at his request, I have kept it a secr.t ever since But my sister.' and she noHrlfiH fnwarria a^..«„ < _. ' . , and I have my marriage certificate in my bag. Agnes cive m« my satchel, please,' and she turned agaiJ to Agnel, who kn^w [Jf FORREST HOUSE, now that they were there unexpected and unknown, and hef face was very white as she brought the satchel for Josephine to open. Mrs. Markham was confounded and incredulous, and she showed it in her face as she dropped into a chair and stared won- deringly at her visitor, who, from a little box fastened with lock and key, abstracted a paper which she handed her to read. * I know just how I must seem to you,' Josephine said. ♦ You think me an adventuress, an impostor, but I am neither. I am Everard Forrest's lawful wife, as this certificate will show you ' Mrs. Markham did not reply, for she was readmg that at Holburton, New York, on the evening of the 17th of July, 18—, Mr. James E. Forrest, of Rothsay, Ohio, was united in matrimony to Miss Josephine Fleming, by the Rev. Dr. Matthewson. There could; be no mistake apparently, unless this paper was a forgery and the woman a luna-tic, and still Mrs. Markham could not believe it. She had a great respect and liking for Everard, and held him as a model young man, who would never stoop to decention like this, and then— there waa Rossie 1 and the kind-hearted woman felt a pang of pity and a throb of indignation as she thought how Rossie had been wronged and duped, if t^is thing were true, and this woman confronting her bo calmly and unflinchingly were really Ever- ard's wife. ,, . , , ^, . *. ' I cannot believe it. I will not believe it, she thought • and as composedly as it was possible for her to do, she said : ' This is a strange story you tell me, and if it is true it bears very heavily against Mr. Forrest, who has never been suspected of being a married man.' ^, -r i. j-j « I knew it ; I guessed as much. Oh, Josey, why did you come before he sent for you 1 Let's go away. You are not wanted here 1 ' Agnes exclaimed, as she came swiftly to her sister's side .and laid her hand on her arm. But Josephine shook it off fiercely, and in a tone she knew so well how to assume, said commandiiigly, as if speaking to a child : , , ^^ J A. « Mind your business, Agnes, and let me attend to my own n> • T I 1.„^4. ^,-,it^^ \,-inn onrwiaVt • foiir VftarS of UeCleCt anairs. i nave a.cpu rj^-.-.....- --..j, o- - "r~: - , . v ■ would try the patience of any woman, and if he does not choow CO recognise me as his wife I shall compel him to do bo. Yow FORREST HOUSE. 223 )wn, and hei Josephine to ous, and she d stared won- 'astened with d her to read. le said. • You m neither. I ate wiU show ading that at 17th of July, ivas united in he Rev. Dr. rently, unless and still Mrs. it respect and mg man, who en — there waa ig of pity and ssie had been id this woman re really Ever- ahe thought • lo, she said : is true it bears been suspected , why did you You are not swiftly to her tone she knew [ speaking to a Bnd to my own ears of neglect does not chooM to do so. Yon WW me married; you know I am telling the trt.th. Speak. Agnes, did you not see me married to Everard Forrest f k„f f-ii J \?^L^°^ ^'"''g^^^ ^^' was Agues' meek reply but stiU Mrs. Markham could not believe he?, and was sifent while Josephine went on : . *> oncui. • I do not wish for any sceue or talk, or excitement. I am Everard Forrest's wife, and wisJi only to be known as such! 1 noTmine Dn ^ ^T' ['' "^T^' "'"^^ ^'« ^^ ^"^^ '^ 4' ^in not mine Do 1 understand he is not in town, or not at home Possibly he IS in his office, in which case I wil seek him the^e ' d-W on r'-'" *"^"' ^''- ^^'^^'"^ «^id; 'he we^t toin- urned hIT" "^Tv'^^u ' ^f ^ "^o, and has not yet re- turned. He does not live here when he is at home • he boards m the village. Miss Hastings lives here ; this T her house perhaps you know that Judge Forrest died, and ' ' ' •rf'j J ,' -^P^^Phine interrupted her, beginning to eet beSd a doT ^-/f-™«^and as she siw that sheVas fo beheved, 'I do know Judge Forrest is dead, and has been for two years or more; but I learned it accidentally, and as Jwas the .^IT^"^" '" 'rl 7^ "^ ?^ recognition as Everard's wife, I came at once, as I had a right, to my husband's house.' ' But this 18 not his house,' Mrs. Markham replied. ' It be- longs to Miss Hastings. Everything belongs to her Judal Forrest left it to her by will. Didn'f you kfow thaU ' ^ hf::ri- ;^^twrr.We ^^^--^^^^^^^^^^^^^ nnl J f^^i^TI ''^J •^' ^^^ ^^'' ^''' Markham replied, ' I know only that he did, and it is strange Mr. Forrest did not write tha^ ^^ou. M you must, of course, have been in correspondence wiTh She spoke sarcastically, and Josephine knew she was looke(' upon with distrust, notwithstanding^he certificate which she .h'f hi?f ''7711 ^^If"^^ ^" ^«"^' ■' ^"d that added to what tokii 1 f ^ '^V'" disposition of the Forrest property, pro Yoked her to wrath, and her eyes, usually so dreLy and blue ^^n^^' -' --^ - -- ^ kindTw'fe QuenJ^or °u]r^T°?'ir ""^ t^"^ ^"'^«"^ ^^« »«* b««n ^^U fre- quent or ^ull. I told you I did not hear from him of his fath- M, 1 fflr--' 224 FORREST HOUSE. er's death j he never hinted at such a thing, and how was I to know that he was disinherited 1 If I had, it might have made a difference, and I should have thought twice before crossing the sea and giving up a life 1 enjoyed, for the sake of coming here to find myself suspected as an impostor, which, under the circumstances, is natural ])erhaps, and to find also that my hus- band is a pauper, and the home I had confidently expected would one day be mine given to a stranger.' Josephine was almost crying when she finished this impru- dent speech, in which she betrayed that all she really cared foi was the home and money which she had expected to find. Mrs. Markham saw this, and it d'd not tend to increase her re- spect for the ladv, though she did pity her, if, as she affirmed, she were really Everard's wife, for with her knowledge of hu- man nature, she guessed that if there had really been a marriage it was a hasty thing, repe^ted of almost as soon as done, by Everard at least But she did not know what to say until Josephine, who had recovered herself, continued : *I should like to see Mias Hastings, if possible, and apologize for my intrusion into her house, and then 1 will go to the hotel and await my husband's return ; ' then she answered quickly, ' Miss Hast- ings, I am sure, will say you are welcome to remain here as long as you like, but I do not think she will see you to-day, and if you will excuse me, I will go to her now, as she must be anx- ious to know who her visitors are.' With this Mrs. Markham arose, and bowing to Josephine left the room, and went directly to Rosamond. CHAPTEK XXX. HOW ROSSIE BORE THE NEWS. CHE did not bear it well at all, although she was in some wl degree preparcu luim uy tnr vaiii nms^: i»«.^- ^ — her. ^ . , 1 •Mi«. J. E. Forrest,— Mrs. J. E. Forrest,' she repeifcted m how was I to ;hthave made efore crossing ike of coming ich, under the ► that my hus- sntly expected sd this impru Bally cared for ected to find, acrease her re- s she affirmed, )wledge of hu- een a marriage n as done, by t to say until ' I should like r my intrusion and await my , 'Miss Hast- remain here as ^ou to-day, and le must be anx- y to Josephine he was in doma > A vto Virr.iinrVt jhe repeated M FOllREST HOUSE. 225 ifte examined the card, while something undefinable, like th. j^adow of coming evil, began to stir her heart. ' Who can sht be and where did she come from ? You say she has a maid !' Yes, or siiffin like dat,~a quar-lookin' woman, who has a lame band I noticed the way she slung the lady's satchel „over It, and it hungsJ.'msey like.' 'How does the lady look, and what did she say t Tell me everything Rosamond said ; and Axie, who began to have a suspicion that the lady was not altogether welcome, replied : She done squabblo fust thing wid the driver, who ax more for fetchin and liftin' her four big trunks, an' she hold up her gown and walk as ef the groun' wasn't good enough for her, an' tLl7^ IT'^ "l" '"''T ^'"^ °* «"'ffi"' I'ke, wid her ^ose turned up a bit as she axed me was thar no fire. But my, she be very handsome' and no mistake. All in black, with such nice B^a"tri^ce'' ^'^"^ *^^'' "^'^ ^^"^ ^'^*' ^''"^ ^^'^*®'' ^'^^ ^''^ Rossie could deny herself everything, but she was never in- different to the comfort of others, and though she could not help feehng that this woman, who called herself Mrs. J. E. Forrest, would m some way work her harm, she could under- stand just how cold and cheerless the house must seem to her on ti.au rainy day ; and she ordered Axie to build fires in both the rooms below, as well as in the chamber where Everard oc- casionally spent a night, and which was the onlv guest-room »hekept in order. There was aiso a consultation on the im- portant subject of dinner, and then Rossie was left alone for a few moments to puzze her brain as to who this woman eould be and wonder why her heart should feel so like lead, and her pulse beat so rapidly. She did notihave long to wait fir a solu- tion of the mystery before Mrs. MarkhamJame in showing at onoe that she was agitated and distressed. • What IS it. Mrs Markham t Is she any relation to Mr Everard V Rossie asked eagerly. It would be wrong to keep her in suspense a moment longer than was necessary, and going up to her, Mrs. Markham ro- 'She says she is Everard's wife; and 1 have seen the certi- facate. They were married more than four years a^o, before his ».o...eruieu aau sne,— on, Ros«ie, my zhild, my child, don't give away like that ; it maj— it must be fklse,' she added, w ? II liF r , 226 FORREST HOUSE. tlarra, as she saw tlie death-iike pallor which spread over Ros Kie's face, and the look of bitter pain and horror which leaped ijto her eyes, while the quiveiing lips whispered: > Everard's wife 1 No, no, no ! ' ' Don't Rossie,— don't 1 ' Mrs. Markham said again, «B she passed her arm round the girl, whose head dropped upon her shoulder, in a hopeless kind of way, and who said :^* You saw the certificate ? What was the name^ Was it ' * Fleming— Josephine Fleming, of Holburton,' Mrs. Markham replied, and with a shiver Rossie drew herself away from Mrs. Markham's arms, and turning her face to the wall said : 'Yes, 1 know. I understand it all. She is his wife. She is Joe Fleming.' , i. n* After that she neither spoke nor moved, and when Mr? Markham, alarmed at her silence, bent down to look at hoi, she found that she had fainted. The shock had proved too great for Rossie, whose mind, at the mention of Josephine Fleming,^ had with lightning rai)idity gathered all ihe tangled threads of the past, and comprehended what had been so mysterious at times in Everard's behaviour. He was mamet?,— hastily, no doubt, but still married ; and Joe Fle?jning was bis wife, and he had never told her, but suffered her to believe that he loved her, just as she knew now that she lovsd him. It was a bitter humiliation, and for an instant there g\thered round her BO thick a horror and blackness that she fancied herself dying ; but it was only a faint, and she lay so white and rigid that Mrs. Markham summoned Aunt Axie from the dining-room, where she was making preparations for kindling a fire in the grate. ' Be quiet,' Mrs. Markham said to her as she came up the stairs. * Miss Rossie has fainted, but don't let those people know it ; and bring me some hot water for her feet, quick,' Axie obeyed, wondering to herself why her romig mistress should faint, when she never knew her to do SK»ch a thing be- fore, and with her ready wit connecting it in ?ome way with the strangers whom Mrs. Markham had design* t,ed as * those people,' and whom the old negress directly set down as * no 'count folks.' It. was some time before Rossio came back to consciousness, and when she did her first words >7ere : ' Where is she 1 Where is Everard's wife 1 Don't let her •ome in here ; I could not bear it nowt' FORREST HOUSE. 227 ead over Ro» • which leaped again, as she iped upon her ^id : * You saw Mrs. Markham way from Mrs. ill said : 'Yes, 3. She is Joe md when Mr? tx) look at hv'^i, roved too great phine Fleming, gled threads of so mysterious irried, — hastily, ig was bis wife, believe that he him. It was a lered round her I herself dying ; and rigid that le dining-room, ing a fire in the he came up the let those people ■ feet, quick.' Tourg mistress Mch a thing be- , fM)me way with ^nr^ed as 'those eC down as * no :o consciousness, I Don't l«t her ♦£veiard's wife ! Mass'r Evt'iard's wiu' ! ' Axie u im-..u-., 'osBing her turbaned lioad and rollinjr !.p lier eyes in astonish- ment. ' In de deah Lord's name, what do de chile mean ? Dat amt iMarsr Everard's wife?' and she turned to Mrs. Mark- ham, who, now that Rossie had betrayed what she would have kept until Everard came to confirm or deny the tale, replied • ' She says she is ; but we must wait unti'l Mr. Forrest comes before we admit it. So don't go talking outside.' ' Catch me talkin',' was Axie's rejoinder. ' [t's a lie. Mars'r hverard hain t got no wife. I should have knowed it if he had. Don t you b'liev. ,it, honey,' and she laid her hard black hand caressingly on the head of the girl whom she had long since singled out as Everard's future wife, watching shrewdly the growing intimacy between the two young people, and knowing better than they did just when the so-called brother merged into the lover, and would not for a moment believe in another wife and a secret one at that. 'No, honey,' she con- tinued, 'dont you b'lieve it Mars'r Everard hain't got no wite, and never will have, but you.' * Yes Aunt Axie,' Rossie said, 'this woman tells the truth She w his wife, and Everard ought to come home. We must telegraph at once. He is in Diirhton, still.' ^ Mrs. Markham accordingly wrote on a slip of paper : * To J. E. Forrest, Dighton :-Come immediately. * S. Markham.* And Axie's grand-daughter, Lois, who lived in the house, was commissioned to take it to the office. A fire had beer k-'udled by this time in the chamber Josephine was to occupy, and she was thei^ with Agnes, and had rung for warm water, which Lois took up to her before going on her errand. As the child wa^ ieaving the room Josephine said to her : ' Is there a paper published m town V ^ ^ * Yes'm, the Rothsay Star,' was the reply ^_'^When does it come out ? ' was the next question, and Lois * Saturday, — to-morrow.' ' Very well. I wish you to take a notice to the office of the Atar tor me to-nieht. and T will aive ^t^., « ^.,„^f^- » Iwenty-five cents seemed a fortune to the little negro dn. whoTe^'lifr. '"^'"^''"'''^ ^th the beauty of the l^ly, anhe conld.not see her, and a message to that effect that she ras too weak and sick to talk with strangers was taken to Josephine, who hoped Miss Hastings was not going to be seriously ill, and offered the services of her sifter, who had the faculty of quieting the most nervous persons and putting them to sleep. But Rossie declined Agnes too, and lay with her face to the wall, scarcely moving, and never speaking unless she was spoken to And Josephine lounged in her own room, and had her lunch brought up by Axie, to whom she tried to be graci- ?T^ T "^' ^^^^ "'^^ ^^^ ^'"^^^^y ^^^- ^^'^ ^i^ "ot believe in Airs. J. E. Forrest, and looked upon her presence there as an affront to herself and an insult to Rossie, and when about two clock the Rothsay Star was brought into the house by hei husband, John, who was in a state of great excitement over the marriage notice, which had been pointed out to him, she wrung from Lois the fact that she had carried a note to the Iditor, and had been paid a quarter for it by the lady up-staiia. bhe put the paper away where it could not be found if Rossie chanced to ask for it. But she could not keep it from the world as represented by Kothsay, for it was already the theme of every tongue. The editor had read the note which Josephine sent him before Lois left the office, and had questioned her as to who sent her with It. Lois had answered him. 'De young lady what corned from the train wid four bie trunks and bandbox' 'And where is she now V he asked, and Lois rftnUpd; «TTn ita'rs in Mas'r Everard's room. " ^ This last was proof conclusive of the validity of the marriage^ .i I.'' I '•■ fll 2ft2 FORREST HOUSE* irhich the editor naturally thought wi* a hasty affair of Ere. rard's college days, when he had the reputation of being rathei wild and fast, and so he publislied the notice and in another column called attention to it, as the last great excitement. Of course there had been much wondering, and surmising, and guessing, and in spite of the rain the ladies who lived near each other got together and talked it up, and btdioved or dis- credited it according to their several natures. Mrs. Dr. Rider, a chubby, good-natured, inquisitive woman, declared her inten- tion of knowing the facts before she slept. Her husband at- tended Rosamond, and she had a syrup which was just the medicine for a sore throat and influenza, such as Rossie was Bufiering from, and she would take it to her, and perhaps learn the truth of the story of Everard's marriage. Accordingly, about four o'clock that afternoon, Mrs. Dr. Rider's little phseton turned; into the Forrest Avenue, and was seen from the window by Josephine, who tired and ennuyeed, was looking out into the rain. That the phroton held a lady, she saw, and as the lady could only be coming there she resolved at once to put herself in the way of some possible communication with the outer world. Glancing at herself in the mirror she saw that she was looking well, although a little paler than hor wont, but this would make her more interesting in the character she meant to assume, that of an angelic martyr. As the iay was chilly, a soft, white wrap of some kind would not be out of place, and would add to the effect. So she snatched up a fleecy shawl of B-rlin wool, and throw- ing it around her shoulders, took with her a book, and hurry- ing down to the reception-room, had just time to seat herself gracefully and becomingly, when the door opened, and Mrs. Dr. Rider came in. Aunt Axie, who was a little d* if, was in the kitchen busy with her dinner, while Lois was m the barn, hunting for eggs, and so no one heard the bell, which Mrs. Rider pulled twice, and then presuming upon her long acquaintance with the house, opened the door and walked into the reception-room, where she stopped for an instant, startled by the picture of the pretty blonde in black, with the white shawl, and the golden hair rippling back from the beautiful face. Here wag « stroke of what Mrs. Rider esteemed luck. She fair of Et«. being rathei ill another tement. 1 surmiaing, lo lived near ieved or (lis- 9. Dr. Rider, }d her inten- husband at< vas just the i Rossie was leriiaps learn n, Mrs. Dr. ue, and was nd ennuyeed, je lady could lerself in the outer world. was looking 1 would make t to assume, a soft, white id would add il, and throw- , and hurry- I seat herself and Mrs. Dr. Icitchen busy ing for eggs, pulled twice, ith the house, room, where of the pretty golden half d lack. She FORK EST HOUSE. 233 had afcumbled at once upon the very person she had come it inquire about, and as she was not one to lose any time, she shook the raiu-drops from her waterproof, and drawing near to the fire, turned to the lady in the easychair, and saidf— 1 beg your nardon for. my very unceremonious entrance. I hard • ventured to come in, it was raining so Josephine admitted that it was raining hard, and remarked that she expected to find it warmer in Southern Oiiio than in Eastern New York, but she believed it was colder, and with t 'rr' t^ '^T,.^'; f^'*""^ ^'■°"'^*i h^*- sJ'ouluers, shook back her hair, and lifted her blue eyes to Mrs. Rider, who re- sponded : — » «- ' You came from the east then 1 ' 'Yes, madam, from Holburton. That is, I am from there Mjst now, but It is only two weeks since I returned from Lurope, where I have been for a long time.' Here was a solution in a part of the mystery. This wife had been in Europe, and that was why the secret had been kept so long and little Mrs. Dr. Rider flushed with eager ex- citement and pleasurable curiosity as she said : ' From Europe I You must be tired with your long journey. Have you ever been m Rothsay before? From your having come from the East I sunpose you must be a relative of Mi Forrest, who was born m f'oston?' Josephineknev. ue did not suppose any such thing, and that in all prolxvb.lity she had seen the notice in the Star and liad come to spy out the land, but it was not lier policy to parade her story unsolicited ; so she merely replied that she was not a re ative of Mrs. Forrest's, though her mamma and that lady ,ad been friends m their girlhood. To have been a friend of the late Mrs. Forrest stamped a person as somebody, and Mrs Rider began at once to espouse the cause of thii woman, to whom she said : •I hope you will excuse me if I seem forward in what I am about to say. I am Mrs. Rider, wife of the family physician, ind a friend of Everard, and when I saw that notice of his marriage in the Star I could hardly credit it, though I know such things have_ been before ; but four yearn is a Jong Kuie Eo K«ep au aiiair of that kiad a secret. May I ask if it u true, and if you are the wife T * " " w i 234 FORREST HOUSE. * It is true, and I am his wife, or I should act be here,' Josey said very quiotly. * Yes, certainly not, of course,' Mrs. Rider replied, hardly knowing what sha was saying, and wishing that the fair blonde whose eyes were looking so steadily into the fire would say something more, but she didn't. She was waiting for her visitor to question her, which she presently did, for she could never leave the matter in this way, so bhe said : 'You will pardon me, Mrs. Forrest, but knowing a little makes me want to know more. It seems so strange that Eve- rard should have been a marned man for more than four years and we never suspect it. It must have been a private marriage.* * Ye-es, in one sense,' Josephine said, with the air of one who is having something wrung from him unwillingly. * A great many people saw us married, for it was in a drama,- — a play, — but none of them knew it was meant to be real and binding, except Everard and myself and the clergyman, who was a genu- ine clergyman. We knew and intended it, of cour.,e, or it would not have been valid. We were engaged, and did it on the impulse of the moment, thinking no harm. Nor was there, except that we were both so young, and Everard not through college. We told mother and sister, but no one else, and as the villagers did not know of our intention to be married, or that Dr. Mattliewson was a clergyman, they never suspected the truth, and the secret was to be kept imtil Everard was graduated, and after that ' She si)oke very slowly now, and drew long breaths, as if every word were a stab to her heart. ' After that I hoped to get out of my false position, but there was some fear about Judge Forrest, which kept Everard silent, waiting for an opportunity to tell him, for I was not rich, you know, and he miyht be angry ; so I waited patiently, and his father died, and I went to Europe, and thus the years have gone.' The blue eyes, in which the tears were shining, more from bteadily gazing into the fire than fiom emotion of any kind, were lifted to Mrs. Kider, who was greatly aflfected, and then said : ' Yes, I see ; but when the judge died there was nothing in iha wa}' (if acknowledging the marriage. 1 am surprised aud disappointed in Everj»"^ tUa\, i,« ehmilt^ *«.,o* i^^jj thu*.* FORREST HOUSE. 235 ere/ Josey ed, hardly t the fair fire would which shte a this way, tig a little I that Eve- four years marriage.' of one who ' A great -a play,— d binding, vas a genu- ur^e, or it i did it on was there, ot through se, and as larried, or suspected ^erard was aths, as if I, but there rard silent, t rich, you ly, and hia years have more from any kind, , and then nothing in prised aud .«i!'!; ^'^^'} sympathy was all with the injured wile wh« ' He Ko'f '"' uncomplaining, aud who're;^.er' " conversation with JoseDluife and Jlu u f ^'''^,^f "» close rectly, 'caase Mi,s Ro.'mo,,:Z ST„' ee ye ' °^ '""• ■"". and havespont mL ti.e' it"? llCStlS; ^^.'X' to le^Tgl'tTatofVr™ '" """"^^ """• ""^ I »>»1' "op* 'M. m her anxiety to berid oFwr " """ '" "* '*"' FORREST HOUSE. CHAPTER XXXII WHAT THE PEOPLE S^^ID AND DID. BEFORE bed-time half the" people in Rothsay knew ©f the marriage, and that Mrs. Dr. Rider had seen and talked with the lady, who was reported as very beautiful, and young, rnd 3tvli8h. and cultivated, and travelled, and a Bostonian, whose family had been on the most intimate terms with the Biirelows She was also a friend of Bee Belknap, who had fpent a summer with her, and probably knew of the marriage, which was a sort of escapade gotten up on the spur of the mo- ment, and kept a secret at first because Everard was not through Se! and feared his father's displeasure. But why it was not mide public after the judge's death was a question which even the wise ones could not answer ; and so the wonder and '^'thT'xt'm^^^^^^^^^^^ v^hich was Sunday, dawned clear and brieht The rain was over, and at the usual hour the Roihsay ites b3took themselves to their accustomed place of worship. Trinity church was full that morning, for though the people haJd y expected Mrs. J. E. Forrest herself, they did expect Mrs Markham, and hoped to hear something more from her Ms Markham was not there, and the large, square pew which the Forrests had occupied for many years, and which was far UP the middle aisle, was empty until the reading of the Psalms rommen^ed when there was heard outside the sound of rapidly ZZcUni wheels, which stopped before the door, and a mo. mtnt after there entered a graceful figure clothed in black, with ^enrettiest little Paris bonnet perched on the golden hair the l?crape vail thrown back, disclosing the fair blonde face, vhi^ch wi a little fluHhed, while the blue eyes had in them a t mkl bashful expression as they glanced quickly round in rst'of'the sexton! who, having fulfilled ,li^^5-Vi^! bell, n-Ai] tmne to the organ loit, lor ne was uwmci u= rr- •• ..- ----- riter «d left to Sth^rs the task of seating strangeiT. But ?o«y diSU hare to wait long, fur four men-two r^^^g. FORREST HOUSE. 237 I 111 y knew ©f the 3en and talked ful, and young, I a Bostonian, ;erm8 with the nap, who had ■ the marriage, pur of the mo- ras not through Lit why it was question which le wonder and med clear and ur the Roihsay- ace of worship, ugh the people ley did expect more from her, uare pew which I which was far g of the Psalms sound of rapidly door, and a mo« d in black, with golden hair, the ir, blonde iface, i had in them a lickly round in iities at the bell, A n 'nrr.\ 1 OCi Kol 1- strangers. But m — two yiMug, Din- middle-aged, and one white-haired and old,— simultaneously left their pews and made a mov iment toward her, the youngest reached her first and asked if she would have a seat. * Yes, thank you. Please show me Judge Forrest's pew." was the reply, and every head was turned as her long skirts went trailing up the aisle, and the air was filled with thr costly and ''plicate perfume she carried with her, and which was fresh from Pinaud's. What a long time she remained upon her knees, and how devout she was after she had risen, and how clearly and sweet- ly she sang the * Gloria,' and how wonderfully her oversJurt was looped, and how jauntily her jacket fitted her, with snch a pretty stand-up collar, and how white her neck was above it, and how beautiful the wavy hair under the lovely bonnet. All these details, and more, were noted by every woman in church who could t a new of her, while even the clergyman, go^^d, consc . 1U8 man as he was, found it difficult to keep his eyes fror ing too often to that crimson cushioned pew and tht. blacK-ioDed fi-jure whose responses were so audible and clear, and who seemed the very incarnation of piety and innocence! He had heard of Mrs. J. E. Forrest, and he guessed who the stranger was, and when service was over he came down to speak to her. Mrs. Rider, however, was there before him, and was shakmg hands with tfte lady, whom she presented to the rec- tor, and to his wife, .\nd to several others who sat near, and who involuntarily moved in that direction. And Josephine received them with a modesty of demeanour which won their sympathy, if not their hearts, at once. Not the slightest allusion did they make to her husband, but she spoke of him herself, naturally and easily. She had hoped to find him at home when she came and have him present her to I lis friends, but unexpected business had calLd him jiway, she believed. However, he would soon return, as Miss Hast^ ings had telegraphed for him, and then she should not feel so much alone. How very gentle and gracious she was, answering all ques- tions with great modesty, and without seeming to volunteer any direct remarks, adroitly managing to drop a good many scraps of information with regard to herself and her nast lifs* aH of courso highly advuntageous to herself. Of Everard 'slursaid very little, but when she did speak of him it was always a* •My husband. Mr. ForreaL' i 238 FORREST HOUSE. •f ,l!H * . Hi She could certainly expect him on the morrow, she said, nr I then she should not foel so much like a stranger, possihly »»i impostor, and she laughed a little musical laugh, and her blue eyes sparkled so brightly and her lips curled so prettily that every heart was won, and the wholo bevy of ladies fol- lowed her to the carriage telling her they should call and see her very soon, stood watching her as she drovj away, and talked to- gether of her and her recreant husband, in whom there must be something wrong, or he would long ago have acknowledged *his leerless woman as his wife. And so the talk increased, and every conceivable story was set afloat, and poor Everard stood at rather a low ebb in public opinion, when the six o'clock train came in the next day and left him standing upon the plot- form, bewildered and confounded with the words which greeted him as he left the car, and which gave him the first intimation of what he was to expect. The editor of the Rothsay iStar was standing there, and hitting Everard upon the shoulder, ex- claimed : ■ * Halo, Forrest. A nice trick you have been playing upon us, — married all this time, and not let us know.' ' Married ! What do you mean 1 ' And Everard turned white to his lips, while his friend replied : « What do I mean 1 Why I mean that your wife is up at Forrest House, and thunder to pay generally.' CHAPTER XXXIII EVERARD FACES IT, iii WHEN Everard was interrupted in his interview with Rosamond, his first feeling was one of regret, for he had made up bis mind to tell her everything. He had held her in his arms for one blissful moment, and pressed his lips to her forehead, and the memory of that would help him to bear the wretchedness of ail the after lite But before he could begin his story, Lawyer Russell cam« Jn. and the opportunity was lost. FORREST HOUSE. 239 >w, she said, iger, possibly ugh, and her d so prettily of ladies fol- ill and see her sirid talked to- there must be icknowledged ilk increased, poor Everard the 8ix o'clock upon the pbt- which greeted rst intimation hsay Sta/r was shoulder, ex- lying upon U8, ,rerard turned wife is up at nterview with ■ regret, for he 16 had held her his lips to her im to bear the le could begin unity was lost. He could, however, write, and ho fully mearjt to do so, ario after his arrival at Dighton he began two or three letters, which he tore in pieces, for he found it harder than he had expected to confess that ho had a wife, to the girl he had kissed so pas- sionately, and who, he lelt certain, loved him in return. He had seen it in her eyes, which knew no deception, and in the blushes on her cheek, and his greatest pain came from the knowledge that she, too, must suffer through him. And so he put off the writing day after day, and employed his leisure mo- ments in hunting up the laws of Indiana on divorce, and felt surprised to find how comparatively easy it was for those whom Heaven had joined together to be put asunder by the courts of man. Deoertion, failure to support, uncongeniality, were all valid reasons for breaking the bonds of matrimony ; and from reading an(J dwelling so much upon it, he came at last to con- sider it seriously, as something which in his case was excusable. Whatever Rossie might think of it, he would be happier to know the tie was broken, even if the whole world disapproved ; and he at last deliberately made up his mind to free himself from the hated marriage, which grew tenfold more hateful to him when there came to his knowledge a fact which threw light at, once upon e?me things he had never been able to understand in Dr. Matthewson. He was sitting one evening in the room devoted mostly to the use of gentlemen at the hotel where he was stopping, and listening in a careless kind of way to the coi .ersation of two men, one an inmate of the house, and the ether a traveller just arrived from western New York. For a time the^talk flowed on indifferent topics, and drifted at last to Clarence, where it seemed that both men had once lived, and about which the Dighton man was asking some questions. ' By the way,' he said, ' whatever became of that Matthewson, he called himself, though hh real name when I first knew nim was Hastings. You know the Methodist Church got pretty well bitten with him. He was alway? the tallest kind of a rasc;il. I knew him well.' Everard was interested now, and while seeming to read the paper he held in his hands, did not lose a word of aZ' — v;-j, followed next. '-Matthewson? Oh, yea, I know,- the Clarence man i^ I^bed. * You mean the fellow who was eo miraculously wsr •iss^fammmmimm * im mi t m M mmmm0m 240 FORREST HOUSE. m verted »t a canii)-raeet:2ig, and then took to preachiug, though a bigger hypocrite never lived. I don't know where he is now. He dabbled in medicine after he left Clarence, and got «' Doc- tor " hitched to his name, and has been gambling through the country ever since. The last I heard of him, somebody wrote t6 Clarence, asking if he had a right to marry a couple, by which I infer that ho has been doing a little ministerial duty by way of diversion.' • I should hardly think a marriage performed by him valid, though I dare say it would hold in court,' the Dighton man, who was a lawyer, replied ; adding, after .a moment, * Matthew- son is the name of his aunt, which he took at her death, to- gether with a few thousands she left him. His real name is John Hastings. I knew him when he was a boy, and he was the most vindictive, unprincipled person I ever met, and his father was not much better, though both could be smooth as oil, and ingratiate themselves into most anybody's favour. He had a girl in tow nome two or three years ago, I was told ; a very handsome filly, but fast as the Old Nick himself, if, in- deed, she was UQt worse than that.* Here the conversation was brought to a close, and Everard went to his room, where for a time he sat stunned and po\yer- less to move. Like a flash of lightning it came upon him just who Dr. Matthewson was, and his mind went back to that night when, with a rash boy's impetuosity, he had raised his hand against the mature man who, while smarting under the blow, had sworn to be revenged. And he had kept his word, and Everard could understand now why he had seemed so willing and even anxious that there should be a perfect understanding of the matter so as to make the marriage valid. ' Curse him ! ' Everaid said to himself. ' He meant to ruin me. He could not have known what Josey was, but he knew it was not a fitting match for me, and no tine or way for me ^o marry, if it were ; but that was his revenge. I remember he asked me if I did not fear the man whom I had punished, and said people lik'? him did not take cowhidings meekly ; and he is Rossie's half-brother ; but if 1 can help it, she will never Know how he has injured me, the rascal. I'll have a divorce now, at all hazards, even though it may do me no good, so far M Rossie is concerned. I'll see that lawyer to morrow »nd ieU him the whole •tory/ 33 MUl FOBREST HOUSE. Ug, though ) he is now. got •• Doc- hrough the 3ody wrote couple, by terial duty him valid, ^hton man, ' Matthew- p death, to- eal name is and he was et, and his s smooth as ivour. He k^as told ; a iself, if, in- nd Everard and power- on him just Lck to that ied his hand ;r the blow, 3 word, and d so willing derstanding eant to ruin )ut he knew way for me I rem. ember ,d punished, neekly ; and e will never ve a divorce good, so f»r TOW and ieil 241 ham", .If "L'^T"' "^?^' ^^^^^^'^ received Mrs. Mark- eve^vtl^h '^''*";' "l^'f '^'"^^'^ ^""^ '^ "^"'^'^ ^hat he forgot everything m his haste to return home and see if au-^lit had befallen Eosamond. It had something to do with her he was hir^^t".' "%'^."^^' *^":S 'i ^"^ ''' ^^^ -i^h Josephine enteTed h s mind, until he stepped from the car and heard that she was ?elt anJaTdlf "'J ^^ "^ ">^^^"' ^'^^ ^rain reeled, and h. W bT^ll^^' \1'""^" ™*?' ^ J^« ^«"t to claim hi^ travel. Sv^' Then, wi^.hout a word to any one, he walked rapidly 121 l^^t '^'^•''' T^^- ^ ^^'^ ^' ^hite as the few snow^ flakes which were just beginning to fall, and a feelin- lik«- death m his heart as he thought of Kossie left alone to onfront fo hin tw'iV' ^ K^"'^"- "^'i^ ^'' '^ ^'^ ""^ ^«««^ very strange to him that Josephine was there. It was rather as if he had expected It, just as the murderer expects the day when his s'n wiJl find him out. Everard's sin had found him out, and as U worst b^^ '''' ^^'^^'^' ^l[^""»i"? in his haste to know the worst he was almosc glad that the thing he had dreaded so long had come at last, and to himself he said : 1 11 face It like a man, whatever the result may be.' hnf ir? ^^I'^'^'^^'Z' "*" ^^''^"'' ^^^"^ * f«i"t light was shining, and excSr^ht^"! f f ''' ''''' f'^ ^^'"'^ '^'''' ^« "«'-v«"^ ana excited that bright fever spots burned on her cheeks, and Hstitl ' T-'^ ^T ''''' }^' ^"'"P^ «f i«« ^« ^he waited and hstened for him, hearing him the moment he struck the gravel th« frn'r"'^ ^'' i'^"^-""^' ^'' ^« P"^P«««'y turned asidf from he «ho, / fi"? '^''°'^"^ ^^ ^"^^^ '^' ^«"^« ^^ th« rear, leTi he should first encounter the woman, who, bke Kossi-^ was waiting and watching for him, and feeling^erLlt gro J S and cold alternately as she wondered wl^t he wo\?d say h.^ n..^^'T' ' u^ ""^ '"'■*^. ^' ^""^^ ««^^« ^^ that train, and mti;?/- ^^^^^^^"''r!^^^" ^« P^^^ible in her black cash- mere and jet, with the white shawl around her shoulders and ner golden hair faUing on her neck in heavy masses oul wa^ for thTi .^ French novel in her handf she sat down to S !h« ^ 5 fi'^^t sound of the carriage which was to bring him, TJtr^^ T '^r'^ ^^ ^''' ^^^^"^^^' that cold, wet nigh^ and thr .ri .r '^a" t'' '° ri"^'' ''^^ fi«"^« ^hich came so swiftly through the darkness. 8kiilL-in • Tell Miss Rossie I am here, and ask if I can see her,— ai once, before I meet anybody else.' • j ,. .v. mom 'Yes I'll tell her,' Axie said, as she hurried to the room, where, to her great surprise, she found her young mistress in her flannel dressing-gown and shawl, sitting in her easy-chair with her head resting upon pillows scarcely whiter than her face, save where the red spcts of fever burned so brightly. In spite of Mrs. Markham's remonstrance Rossie had msisi- ed upon getting up and being partly dressed. , , „„^ « I must see Everard.' she said. ' You can't understand, and I can't explain, but he will come to me, and i must see niu, alone,' FORREST HOUSK. 243 for KoBv , and put- aimed : me at last I k up sta'rs, long-tailed and say in' erard, — she man, who )een able to he replied : at her black took a rapid erard's v/'fe Family, and, g wrong, it either ; and •'* be stood by atterl' ife comed an' r away, and ver since.' a lipB, as h*» see her, — at 50 the room, g mistress in sr easy-chair, ter than her irightly. ie had insiat- ierstand, and dust see him to Aunt Axi" ^^^ *° "°""* up ; I air ready for nim,' she saiO And Everard advanced with a sinking heart, and knocked at Kossie s door just us a black-robed figure, with a white wool shawl wrapped around it, started to come up the stair*. CHAPTER XXXIV. EVERARD AND ROSSIE. THE^ voice which said ' Come in ' did not sound like Ros- mn.h fik«M *p' "•' u'^ *¥/'"^' ^'''' «'"^"S in tlie chair look much like the Rossie he had last seen, flushed with health and happiness, and the light of a great joy shining in the eyes which now turned so eagerly toward him as he came in. On he stairs outside there was the rustling of skirts an.l he heard It, and involuntarily slid the bolt of the door, and then swiftly crossed to where Rossie's face was upturned to his with a smile M TesaTd^' *° ^^''^'^ ^^"'^^ "^^""^ ^°^'' outstretched to him ' Oh, Mr. Everard, I am glad you have come ; we have wanted you so much. He had thought she would meet him with coldness and scorn for his weakness and duplicity, and he was prepared for that, but not for this; and forgetting himself utterly for the moment, he took the offered hands and hold them tightly in his own until she released them from him and motioned him to a seat opposite to her, where he could look into her face which, now that he saw it more closely, had on it such a grieved' disappointed expression that he cried out : o > 'Kill me Rossie, if you will ! but don't look at me thai way, for 1 cannot bear it. I know what I've done and what I am better than you do.' Here he paused, and Rossie said : *Iam sorry. Everard. that vnn AiA «/>f *«n i . when .t hrst happened. Four years and more, she says IVe been thinkincr it over, and it must have been that time yoa cam« (7 244 FORREST HOUSE. ''I, V .1 ! '■ 1 i ||' M ]* I home when your mother died and you were so wck afterward You were married then.' How quietly and naturally she spoke the words * married then,' as if it was nothing to her that he was married then or now, but the hot blood flamed up for a moment in her face and then lett It whiter than before, as Everard replied : * Yes, if that can be called a marriage wliich was a mere farce, and has brought nothing but bitter humiliation to me and been the cause of my ruin. I wish that day had been blotted from my existence.' • Hush, Everard,' Rossie said. • You must not talk that way and your wifo here in the house waiting for you. I have not seen her yet, but they tell me she is very beautiful.' 'Yes, with that cursed beauty which lures men, or rather fools to their destruction ; and I was a fool I ' Everard an- swered bitterly,— an idiot, who thought myself in love. Don't call her my wife, liossie. She has never been that ; never will be. But I did not come here to abuse her. I came to tell you the whole truth at last, as I ought to have told it years a"o when my mother was on her death-bed. i tried to tell her but r could not. I made a beginning by showing her Josephine's picture, which she did not like. The face was pretty, she said, but not the face of a true, refined woman, but rather of one who wore dollar jewellery,' and here Everard laughed sarcastically as he went on ; ' then I showed the picture to Bee, wlio said she looked as if she might wear cotton lace. But you Kossie, said the hardest thing of all, and decided me finally not to tell, for I liad almost made up my mind to make you my confidante: I, Everard 1 I decided you 1 You must be mistaken. When was it, Everard V Rossie exclaimed, her eyes growing very large and bright in her excitement. ° 'Do you remember I once showed you a picture of a young girl 1 ' Everard said. 'You were watering flowers in the gar- den \ and you said she was very beautiful, but suggested that toe jewellery of which there was a superfluity on her neck and arms, might be a sham, and said she looked like a sham, too How could I tell you after that, that she was my wife t I couldn't, and I kept it to myself; and mother died, and I went crazy, and you cut off your hair and sold it no pay what you ueaeveu to 'oc a gambling debt, and you wrote to Joe Fleming, and 1 did not open my lips to undeceive you. k afterward [s ' married ■ied then or lier face auJ was a mere .tion to me, y had been k that way, I have act » 1, or rather ilverard aii- ove. Don't ; never will I to tell you i years ago, tell her, bub Josephine's ;y, she said, of one who sarcastically vho said she Rossie, said i to tell, for mfidante.' ken. When 5wing very of a young in the gar- gested that ar neck and I sham, too. y wifet I and I went y what you 36 Fleming, I 11 FORREST HOUSE. 245 I will have my say out,' he continiu-d, fiercely, as Uossie put up her hands to sto,, him ; « 1 descrv., a ^'ood of, l^elh ^ and I'll give xfc to myself, for no one knows as well as I do juti what a sneaking coward I have been all those years, whenC have been believing m me, and keeping me from ^iing to Te . No, I won t swear ; at least before you, who have been my good angel ever since you knew enough to oliide me for my faults. Oh, Rossie 1 what would I give to be put back to hose old days when T was comparatively innocent, and you m your cape, sun-bonnet and long-sleeved aprons were the dearest sweetest little girl in all ^the world jus 'as Jou a ^ now. I will say it, though I am killing you 1 know and 1 am almost wicked enough not to care, for I would rather ther' rspise'me?''' '" ' """'^^ '^'" '" ^""^ '^'' ^'''^ '^ ^^^« *"'' 'No Everard, never that, never !' and Rossie again stretched towards him her pale little hand.., which he sefz.d and hel while he told her rapidly the whole story of his marriage, be^ TarelteVrhe'i: '''' ''^ ''"^ '"^^'^'^ ^^ ^^^ ^ One Item however, he withheld. He did not tell her that t was her ha f-brother who had n^arried him. nor did he give he name of the clergyman. He would spare her all paiS in that direction, if possible, and let her think as well as she couM nlvtl '^''"^^^^^^^^ "^""Id scarcely remember, and who, she be- heved, must be dead, or he would ere this have manifested some interest m her. i"<»"ne»6eu Of Josephine he spoke very plainly, and though he did not exaggera e her fauhs, he showed conclusively, in what he said hat his love for her had long since died ouf and he wSi on' InTK""n''S'° T^}'' so rapidly, that ilossie felt stunned and bewildered, aud begged him to stop. But he would not Mie must hear him through, he said, and at the close of h story she looked so white and tired that he bent over her in akrm, chafing her cold hands, and asking what he could do f^r * ^othing but to leave me now,' she said. ' I have heard so much and borne so much that none of it seems real. There's a buzzing m mv head, .inrl T h«];A,ro t „.^ „^:,,.. .- r • ,^ "*"."» or die H„. co„1d7oulo-an thi,, ™? fiS^d';™ Ti^ wi, oh, Everard, where are you ) It grows so dark and black. lU l'\ I J 'I Jt# 246 FORREST HOUSE. Aixl I'm 80 siclt ftnd faiut,' and with a sobbing, hysterical cry. Ivissie iii^'oluntarily let her tired, aching head fall upon the arm which held it so gladly, and which fain would have kept it there forever Rossie did not faint quite away, as she had done when the news of Everard's marriage reached her, but she lay still and helpless in Gerard's arms until she felt his hot kisses upon her forehead, and that roused her at once. He had no right to kiss her, she had no right to suffer it, and she drew herself away from him to the safe shelter of her pillows, as she said, with her old cliildish manner. ' Everard, you must not kiss me like that. It is too late. Such things are over between us now.' She seemed to accept the fact that he lo d her, and though the love was hopeless, and turn which way she would, there was no brightness in the future, the knowledge of what might have been was in one sense very sweet to her, and the face which Everard took between his hands and looked earnestly into, while his lips quivered and his eyes were full of tears, seemed to him like the face of an angel. • Heaven pity me, Ros&ie,' he said. ' Heaven pity us both for this which lies between us.' There was a knock outside the door, and a voice Eossie had never heard before, said : ' Miss Hastings, if my husband is with you, tell him his wife will be glad to see him when he can tear himself away. I have waited an hour, and surely I may claim my own now,' There was an unmistakable coarseness cf meaning in the words which brought the hot blood to Rossio's cheeks, but Everard was pale as death, as, with a mutterei execration, he stepjied back from Rossie, who said : ' Yes, go, Everard. She is right. Her claim is frnt. _ Say I am sorry I kept you. Go, and when I have thought it aU out, I'll send for you, but don't come till I do.' She motioned him to leave her, and with the look of one go- ing to the rack, he obeyed, and unbolting the door, went out, shutting it quickly behind him, and thus giving the woman outside no chance for more than a glance at the white-faced little girl, of whose personal appearance no impression could be formed. FORREST HOUSE. 247 iterieal cry, I upon the lave kept it e when the ay still and B8 upon her ■ight to kiss crself away said, with is too late. and though (luld, there what mighi id the face d earnestly II of tears, ity us both 3ck outside , said: lim his wife IV. 1 have iW.' ling in the [jheeks, but icration, he frst Say ought it ail k of one go- ', went out, the woman white-faced ion could be CHAPTER XXXV. MR. AND MRS. J. E. FORRKST. IT had been Josephine's intention to try and m»U ne»«i with her husband, if possible, in the hope of wi,„ .!1Z back to at least an outward semblance of harmony. vnd S aiminished in the leas smco lU xse summer days in Holburton v^rL" ^^Vlll^'^'^l^ '^ ' ''' ''y ^^'^"tif"! thing" the uni- Bhe had stu'dtd'r '^' '"• """ ''^'''''^'' "°^ ^h'an then, for n! whlh V"" ^T'- ^" '''' "^ '•♦^Hnement and high-breed- eff fn he f :;f ^^'.«"'>'^"^^- her charms, and when she saw her- Belt in the ong mirror, with her toilet complete, and the ma.le- ?e^tX:r" 1 '""'ir' ^"'^ g-ciousnUonher trshe telt almost sure he could not withstand her. bhe had heard from Lois thatEveraid was in the house and refttrTe"an7tT* '^ ^"' K'"''' "'^^ ''^^' the swee'tn s lett her face, and there was a glitter in her blue eyes, as she roSepsT''""''""^'"' '°"" '^^ chamber, listening' irrlH: to ^L^T'-^' '^® g^^.T.'^ and more impatient, she went down to the dming-roon, thinking to fuul him there; but he wasstiS with Axie in the kitchen, and so she waited until she hlard hi step as he went rapidly up the stairs. bwiftly and noiselessly she glided into the hall and followed roomTnd"/ " 51"' ''.''' '^« ^^"^^^"^ ^^ ^'^'^ door ofTsS room and hear the ending of the bolt, wv her ouick ear caught the sound of Bossio's voice as she welcomedTverari For a moment Josephine stood shaking with rage, and feeling t™;;;« 'r T u \.''\.^'.'^'' '^'''^ ^^''> *»d demand an en! TZa u""^ '^' ^''^V ^^'^^ ^° that, and so she waited and 8tramed her ear to cntcK the conversation carried on so rapidly tlVr " ''"^V"';^ «^ ^'' ^''^ her. that she couM noi hear it all, or even half. But she knew Everard was telhng *i.-, „*-. r xi . °"° Aiitjw xiverara w ine Btorv 01 the mamnao «"'' "° »-- voice naturally rose higher, until she codd hear wha Oitt not liossie s replies. Invokntarilv alenchiag her grew uiofc oarnest. nia hear what he said, fiiti^ and "A\ li 1 1 ■) .: '' i ■ 'ii ■ HI 1 » 1, ™ Li , 248 FORREST HOUSE. biting her IiK« until the blc^od came through in one place, she listenrd still more intently nnd knew there was no hope for her and felt sure that the only feelitjg she could uoir inspiw in her husband s heart was one of hatred and disgust. At Itist, when slie could endure the suspense no longer, she knoclced upon the door and claimed ' her own' and got it, foi her husband, whom she had not seen for more than two years ^tood face to face with her, a tall, well-developed man, with a vvill and a purpose m his bruwn eyes, and a firh., set expressioi. about his mouth, which made him a very different person from tlie boy-jover whom she had swayed at 'her pleasure. Everard was a tliorough gentleman, and it was not in his na- ture to be otherwise than courteous to any woman, and he bowed to Josephine with as much politeness and deference as if It had been Bee Belknap st.-inding there so dignified and self- possessed, and with an air oi; assurance and worldly wisdvvv. such as he had never seen in Josepliine Fleming. For a mo- ment he looked at her in surprise, but there was no sign of welcome in his (hce, k- token of admiration for the visible im- provement m her. He had an artist's eye, ajid noticed that her dress was black, and that it became htr admirably, and that the delicate white shawl was so knotted and arranged as to heighten the effect of the picture; but he knew the woman so well that nothing she could do or wear could move him now. When she saw that she must speak first, she laughed a litttle, spiteful laugh, and said : 'Have you nothing to say to me after two years' separation or have you exhausted yourself with her r nodding towards Rossie s door. That roused him, and he answered her : • Yes, much to say, and some tilings to explair. and apologise for, but not here. I will go with you to your roojn. They tell me you are occupyiir my old quarters.' He tried to speak naturally, and Josephine's heart beat faster as she thought that ; jssibly 1)(; might be won to an outward Beemmg of friendship after all, and it would be better for her every way. So, when the privacy of her chamber was reached, and there was no danger of interruption, she affected the lov- ing wife, ind layijig her hands on F.verard's arm, said, coaxingly and prettily j _ j • Don't l>© 80 ai i and hard, Everard, as if you were sorry 3 FORREST HOUSE. 249 le place, she lope for her, iBpire in her longer, she d got it, foi 1 two years, man, with a t expression person from e. )t in his na< lan, and he leference as ed and self- ily wisnivv. For a mo- i no sign of I visible im- :ed that her nd tliat tho to heighten 50 well that »w. When tie, spiteful separation., ig towards i apologize 'jn. They beat faster m outward ier for her as reached, ed the lov> , coaxingly ere sorry ] tainly have just cause to complain of^y^,^ t InvL kent'l" so long in Ignorance of your father's dLtl wiy ll ^u do own^o^ hirft ".tr^ "'^' f ^ •^^"^^--^' ns'sheVaw th^ riol ■ .J^^^' »"<^ guessed he was not to be coaxed • ' thl reason « m the apartment you have just quitted ' ' * 47bad:?:JsTop'^^^'^^^' ^- ^-ard^terru^ :ed her, and 'So long as you censure me for havincr kent mv fafi,.^ death a secret from you I am bound to iS, fof j^erve't' but when you assad Rosamond Hasting., you have Jne too f^^' honour, buttJnvinced me ot tt^r. "'''I ^""^ ^ "'^^ '' started home at once"and came het to InrrH \" m^ V'^'' ^ tress of the house and tl,?v J «"d that girl the mis- that truer """''' ^"•^' ^'^^^ *«" "^^^ your father's heir. Is ' I've nothing but what I earn.' he sai.l «Knf t fi • i t , proved conclusively that I can sunnort vn„ wK . '"^' ^ '^^^' to me, and I expect to do so stTh^ifT' '^^fT' '"''^^ '^'"^ myself I wish^hat 1' th^ y 'undtrloT as it^' ''"" further discussion. You could mtZ t? ' • u ^^ "''" ^'''^^« .«,,^7:-?,;fc;*T?fe''' -grily. °. Y.,, went„ver.h. I heard youT IV™ „"„'tSde TCoc'r '""° "'"■ "'^^'^ ''"'«* III !{ i f i I X m r 250 F0EET5ST HOUSE, ^1 ;! » il I M-t . , * ' Wiio said I was a lady 1' she retorted, stung by his mannei and the tone of his voice, and forgetting herself entirely in her wrath. Don't you suppose I know that it was because I was rwt a lady according to your creed that your father objected to me, and that you have sickened of me. A poor, unknown butcher's daughter is not a fit taatch for you ; and I was just that. You thought you married the daughter of Roxie Flem nig, who kept a boarding-house, and so you did, and some- thing more. You married the daughter of the man who used to deliver meat at your grandfather's door in Boston, and of the woman who for years cooked in your mother's fkmily. I knew this when you first came to us, and laughed in my sleeve, tor I know how proud you are of family blood and birth, and I can boast of blood, too, but it is the blood of beasts in which mj father dealt, not the bloe-veined kind which shows itself in hyprocrisy and dc J iterate deception of years. I told your father when I met him at Commencement, that my mother was pre- sent at his wedding, and she was, She made the jellies and ices, and stood with the oth«ar servants to see the ceremony. Wouldn't your Jady mother turn over in her coffin if she could know just whom her boy married ? ' 'Was she a woman, or a demon 1 * Everard wondered, as he replied : ' If possible, I would rather not bring my mother into t?ie conversation, but since you wiU have it so, I must tell you that she did know who you were.' ' How 1 did you tell your mother of the marriage, and have you kept that from me, too 1 ' Josephine asked, and he replied : * I did not tell her of the marriage, although I tried to, and made a beginning by showing her your picture, and telling her your name and that of your mother, whom she at once indenti- fied as the Roxy who had lived it? her father's family so long.' 'And ofcour.se my fine lady objected to such stock,' Josephine said, with a sneer in her voice. ' Josephin< and Everard spoke roore sternly than he had ever spoken to her in his life, ' say what you like to rce, but don't mention my mother in that tone or spirit again. She did not despise you for your birth. No true woman would do that. She said that innate refinement or delicacy of feeling wouW a\- ^sys assert itself, and raise ouu above the lowest and humbiest of 'MMdiaiUja Almost her Lut words to me were of you, m FORREST HOUSE. 251 his manuei tirely in her Bcause I was ' objected to r, unknown d I was just Roxie Flem , and some- m who used ston, and of s fkmily. I n my sleeve, i birth, and 5ts in which 3WS itself iu your father ler was pre- 3 jellies and e ceremony, if she could Jered, as he ler into the ell you that e, and have he replied : •ied to, and telling her ice indenti- ly so long.' ' Josephine an he had to me, but n. She did I Id do that. J would aI- 1 humbi«8t of you, in whom she Kne» 1 was interested, for I had confessed »§ much. * " If she is so good, and womanly, ajid true, her birth is oi no cons'-quence — none whatever," she said. So you see she laid less stress upon it than you do, who knew better than she did whether you are good, and womanly, and true.' Here Josephine began to cry, but Everard did not heed her tears, and went on ; ' There is in this country no degradation in honest labour 3 it is the character, the actions wh 1 tell ; and were you what I believed you to be when in my madness I conaentad to th^t foolish farce, I would not care though your origin were the lowest which can be conceived.' Here Josephine stopped crying, and demanded, sharply : ' What am I pray 1 What do you know of me ?~you, who have scarcely seen me half a dozoa times since I became your wife.' • I know more than you suppose, — have seen more than you guess,' he replied ; ' but let me begin with the morning I loft you in Holburton, four years ago last June, and come down to the preseni time.' When he hinted that he knew more of her life than she sup- posed, there instantly flashed into Josephine's mind the memory of all the love affair.: she had been concerned in, and the im- proprieties of which she had been guilty, and she wondered if It were possiMe that Everard could know of them, too. But it was not, and assuming a calmness she was far from feeling, she laid: ' Go on, I am all attention,* Very rapidly, Everard went over with the events of his life as connected with her up to the time of his father's death and his own disini,eritance, and here he paused a moment, while Josephine said : * And 80 it was through me you lost your money. I am verj uorry, and I mi^st say I think it mean in that girl to keep it, knowing as she does how it came to her.' 'You misjudge her,' Everard said, quickly. 'You know nothing of her, or how she rebelled against, it and tried to give it back to me. But she cannot do it while she is under age. and 1 would not take it if she could. I made her believe itat Ia«t, and then counselled with Misa Belknap as to my iaiixn •oune ' 1 252 FORREST HOUSE. r .! ' ,t - .0 come into our lu urXowf„?P| ft, "?!,^' ''7',*' ''"'■«• yet pretending such entire i^oral' ™ vl^: X;'- hate l,er, an\„orji,e war^hor^tillV''' ''" """ '" ^°"' cfTn-t Sh- ],».l »!,„ t . t • ' " "■" "O'e me to that msVttrrof":onT„i'7terTth">'!, 'T "'^ '"™-' «'- to go straight t^yValtj / u^Ihe tl tuth'™fo^"° yon a homo such as I could Ju I was. nr.d ig. How I !">y upon my tale-bearer, iftnt to you, me to that nr mother'a pardon vie, ■'■11 the good f'rieiu) you, trouble for ird took no lomeni she d vised mo , and offer —in short, I wife.' . roi.r high '; and he 18 Albany t began to ce unsus- i without attended 3ngh that Qed to be I entered to your- he young imagined I allowed 111 would ess from what re- enonnoiD *« strained me from knocking him down and publicly d.»v,«„v..„g you, but shame and disgust kept me silent, v h'le words and f^lances which made my blood boil passed between you two until you were tired out and laid your head on his arm as readily «a you would have rested it on min^ had I sat in his place. And there I left you asleep, and I have nevtr looked upon your face since until to-night, wli-ii I fouuJ you at Miss Hastings' door. After that scene in the car I could not think of offerinj; to share my poverty with you. We were better apart, and I made a vow that never for an hour would I live with you as my wife. The thing is impossible ; but because I dreaded the notoriety of an open rupture, and the talk and scandal sure to^ wUow an admission of the marriage, I kept quiet, trusting to chance to work it out^for me as it has done at last. And now chat the worst has come, I am ready to abide by it, and am wil- ling to bear the blame myself, if that will help vou any. The people in Bothsay will undoubtedly believe you the injured party, and I bhall let them do so. I shall say nothing to your detriment except that it is impossible for us to live together. 1 shall support you just as I have done, but I greatly prefer that It should be in Holburton, rather than in Rothsay. It is the only favour I avv, that you do not remain here,' * And one I shall not grant,' was Josephine's quick reply. ' I hke Eothsay, so far as i have seen it, and here I shall s'«,y Do you think that I will go back to Holburton, and bear all tne mahcioue gossip of that gossipy hole ] Never ! I'll die hrst I You accuse me of being fond of Di. Matthewson, and so 1 am, and I like him far better than ever I liked you, for he is a gentleman, while you are a knave and a hypooiite, and tha.- girl r ;ross the hall is as bad as you are;— I hate her,— I haU you both ! ' She was standing close to him now, her face livid wiiii rage, while the blue of her eyes seemed to have faded into a dull white, as she gave vent to her real feelings. But Everard did not answer her, and as the dinner-bell just then rang for ^le third tirae, she added sneeringly, ' If you are through with jour abuse, I'll end the interview by asking ycU to take me down to dinner. No? You do not wish for any dsar? Very well, I can go alone, so I wish you good evening, a. .i^isins voa not to fast too long. It is not good for you. Possibly you may find some crackers and tea in Miss Haatings' room, with which to refresh the inner mtin.' it 254) FORREST HOUSE. 7 is .. » And ;5weeping him a mocking courtesy she stffn?.} to leav/i the room, but at the door she met her sister, a.iid stopped a moment while she tiaid : — • Ah, Agno.'3, here is your brother, who, I hone, will U hot- ter pleased to see you than he was to ser another the covers of the dishes, and w> iiounced ihe contents spoiled. 'VVlwr's Mas'r Everardi Isn't he gomiu' T Aunt Axie aakeO, is Jo;q)b)ne Siiowed signs of commencing her dinner aione, Mra. Mark ham, who ate by rule and on time, having i'ad^tea i^ n t soid cfiicken, and gone. * Mr. Foridst has lost his appetite and is not coming,' Jose- phu.e rephed, with the utmost indifference, an.l as Agnes just then appeared, the sisters began their dinner alone. But few words had passed between Agnes and Everard. She had taken his hand in hers and held it there while she looked searchingly into his face, and said : ■' I didn't want to come, but she would have it so, and I thought you knew and had sent for her. Maybe T can persuade her to go back.' * No, Aggie, let her do as she likes,— I deserve it all. But don t feel badly, ^Aggie. I am glad to see you, at any rate, and 1 feel better because you are here ; and now go to the dinner, which has waited so long.' Agnes was not deceived in the least, and her heart was very heavy as she went down to the dining-room and took her seat by her sister, who affected to be so gay and happy, and who tried to soften old Axie by praising everything immoderately. But Axio was not deceived, either. She knew it was not ail well between the young couple, and as soon as she had sent in the dessert^ she started up stairs in quest of her boy, finding him in the chamber where his mother had died, and kneeling by the bed in such an abandonment of grief that, without WaitinC to COnsidfir wllpf.Vior aha maa nrntt^aA ^- _U_ •ofUy to his side, and laying her hard old han tjiugly on rimeraber ■^nd kissing u(i he heaid I ran lightly h.i'l waited bh her face i as nhe re- 3, aud ;>i'> AuQt Axie her dinner me, having ling,' Jose- Agnes just ;rard. She she looked so, and I >n persuade ■> all. But rate, and 1 lie dinner, t was very k her seat , and who loderately. iv^as not ail lad sent in ly, finding 1 kneeling without ic v.'vul yiugly on FORREST HOUSE. 255 bis bowed head, spoke to him lovingly and soothingW, just aa ■he used to speak to him when he was a little boy, and sat in her broad lap to be comforted. 'Thar, thar, honey ; what is it that has happened you t Suffin dreffle, or you wouldn't be kneelin' here in de cold an' dark wid only yer motM^'s sperrit for company. What is it, chile I Su'^S/*?",.*®^^ °'*^ ^^'^^ I« '^ ^^'^ that's avexin' you so ? Uh, Masr Everard, how could you do it ? Tell old Axie, won't you V ' And he did tell her how the marriage occurred, and when and that it was this which by[ caused the trouble between him and 1118 father. He said ifWhing against Josephine, excei>t that he had lived to see and regret his mistake, and that it was impossible for him to live with her as his wife. And Axie took his side at once, and replied : I In course you can't honey, I seen that the fust thing. She ham t like you, nor Miss Beatrice, nor Miss Rossie. She's pretty, with them eyes, and long winkers, an' she's kind of tet- terin an' soft; but can't cheat dis chile. 'Taint the real stuff hke your mother was. Sposin' I go an' paint my face all over with whitenin', I ain't white for all dat. Thar's nobody but ole black nigger under de whitewash, for bless your spul, de thick hps and the wool will show, an' it's just de same with no count white folks. But don't you worry, I'll stan' by you Course you can't live with her. I'll make you a fire an' fetch you some supper, an' you'll feel better in de moruin',— see if you don't.' But Everard asked to be left alone, that he might think it out and decide what to do. He could not go to bed, and so he sat the entire night before the fire in the room where his mother died, and where his father had denounced him so angrily, and where Rosamond had come to him and asked to be his wife! How vividly that last scene came up before him, and he could' almost see the little girl standing there again, just as she stood that day, which seemed to him years and years ago. And but for that fatal misstep that little girl, grown up to sweet woman- hood now, might have been his. Turn which way he would, there was no help, no hope ; and the future loomed up before him dark and cheerless, with always this burden upon him. this bar to the happiness which might have been his had he only raited for it. Surely if his sin was great, his punishment wtm 1 1 256 FORREST HOUSE. greater, and when at the last the gray morning looked in at the .vmdoyvs of his room, it found him white, and haggard and v you have been FOUR EST HOUSE. 257 ed in at the iggard, and except the d be passed she wouH 3r at once, night, but 3t slept for inj was aa le fixed so ist, but an id for her- sr feelings, s for that, which she t he loved Iream was isappoint- 80 visible sat down rth much, B thought ' to keep it, except eked and as much lavo beeo •rrong in keeping it a secret so long. She has just cause for complaint, and I want you to try to love her again. You muat support her, and it will be so much better, and save so much talk and gossip if you live in the same house with her,— in this house, your rightful home.' ' Never, Rossie 1 ' he exclaimed, vehemently, ' never can I make her really my wife, feeling as I do. It would be a sin, and a mockery, and I shall not do it. You say I loved her once; perhaps I did, though it seems to me now like a child's fancy for some forbidden dainty, which, if obtained, cloys on the stomach and sickens one ever after. No, Rossie, you talk in vain when you ask me to live with Josephine as my wife, or even live with her at all. The same roof cannot shelter us both. Support her I shall, but live with her, never I and I am prepared for all the people will say against me. If I have your respect and sympathy, I can defy the world, though the future looks very dreary to me.' His voice trembled as he spoke, and he leaned back in his chair as if he, too, were faint and sick, while Rossie continued : * 'Then, if you will not live with her under any circumstances, this is my next best plan. Forrest House is her natural home, and she must stay here, whatever you may do.' ' Here, Rossie ! Here with you I Are you crazy I ' Everard exclaimed, and Rosamond replied : ' I am going away. I have thought it ail over, and talked with Mrs. Markham. She has a friend in St. Louis who is wanting a governess for her three children, and she is going to write to-day and propose m^', and if the lady consents, I — I am going away.' Rossie finished the sentence with a long-drawn breath, which sounded like a sob, for this going away from all she loved best was as hard for her as for Everard, who felt suddenly as if every ray of sunlight had been striken from his life. With Rossie gone the world would be dark indeed, and for a few moments he used aU his powers of eloquence to dissuade hf ; from the plan, but she was quite resolved, and he understood it at last, and answered her : ' Perhaps you are light ; but Heaven pity me when you are gone 1 ' For a moment Rosamond was silent, and then she caid, in her usuai frank way ; H •5|! I'' 1* '^ 258 FORREST HOUSE. JloZh"'^"'- ' ""f""'"-"}- "' I 'I'ink I do, and it would It was the child, Eossie,— the little i/irl nf i,;= k u j who spoke with all her ' : W^^^^^ ness and love, and the dark eye^wLfuuTf 'i'^f parted lips quivered ev^n tftZ t\ °^ ^'''"''*' ^"^ ^he unhesitatingly, but when h'e sonor. But ?o thk lo . T ',^'' '"P^^^^* ^^"ch one dollarl , liuss e's mone fould etei T^X '^J^^'^^" ^'' said. He couid support her w ?h 1 i! ?"'^- '^' "^^^ *° ^^"' ^^ did not choose to us^eChat w UuX^^^^^^^^^^ f, f^«««i« accumulate on her hand , wxtnou'rdfc^ So Rosste gave that ienf. no ...,fc t..?? . , '".^^^ .'^^e. vacate the house as so V7 was ahll ?''i i'"""' '"'t** ^^''^^^ iu p.»e«i„.. and E.. „^ oll^iSr^.te':,':';:^' FORREST HOUSE. 259 lid it would i, — I mean,' leeks aa sne are for me in*i longer don't yoa, boyhood, — launer, but the face of irst tender- la, and the bk, and sat ed as she ife. And It? 'You w, but to back again ms around away, and laight kiss and it was sr kiss you it we have liglit-have- lay, it will u (ther and ile I finish tare.' compelled the future to rec( ive •ort which ted. Not to he", he if fiossie ild simply one. >ie should Josephine er so. and to say th&tslio uv.&i uxcu&o Mit3.s Hustings fium seeing hor until she was elronger, and that slie must foel perfectly at home, and free to ask whatever she liked. At first Josey listened incredulously to Everaid ; it seemed 80 improbable that Rossie would deliberately abandon her handsome home and give it up to her. But he succeeded in making her understand it at last, taking great caxe to let her know that she was to have nothing from the Forrest estate except the rent of the house ; that fur everything else she was dependent upon l.im, who could give her a comfortable sup- port, but allow nothing like luxury or extravagance. To this Josephine assented, and was gracious enough to say that it was very kind and generous in Miss Hastings, and to express a wish that she might see her and thank her in person. But to this Everard ga no encouragement. Miss Hastings was very weak, he said, and had already been too much excited, and needed perfect quiet for the present. Of course, so long as she remained there she would be mistress of the house, and Tosephine her guest. For himself, he should return to his old quarters in town, and only come to the house when it was necessary to do so on business. If Josephine was '",:,iding money, he had fifty dollars which he could give hei now, and more \^uld be forthcoming when that was gone. Nothing could have been more formal than this intervievr between the husband and wife, and after it was over Jose- phine sat down to write to Mrs. Arnold in Europe, while Ever- ar' went boldly out to face the world waiting so eagerly for CHAPTER XXXVIIL MA'J KRS ARE ADJUSTED. IF Josephine had not known herself to be woi even than Everard httd charged her with being, she might not have Bubmitt d so quietly to the line of conluct he pro))osed to pur- buk) toward her, but the consciousness of misdeeds, known only to herself, made her manageable, and willing to accept the con- dittoos offered ber Had Rosamond been allowed to give hei mi 2fi0 FORREST HOl'HE. If) * part of her income, sho w.miKI liavc taken it M eonu'thing due to her, but, as that was forbidden, she waa well satisfied "with the house and its surroundings, and the support her husband could give her. To return to Holburton, after having an- nounced publicly that she was going to her husband, would have been " terrible mortification, and something which she declared to herself she woidd ru^ver have done, and so she re- solved to make the most of the situation in Jioths ly. To stand well with the people in town was hor groat object now, and to that end every art and grace of which she was capable waa wrought into requisition, and so wi'll did she play her part that a few of the short-sighted ones, witli Mrs. Dr. Rider at their head, espoused her cause and looked askance at Everard, who kept his own counsel, with the single exception of Lawyer Russell, to whom he told his i3tory, and who assumed such an airof reserve and dignity that not even his most intimate friends dared approach him on the aiibjoct which was interesting every one so much. ' Everard knew that he was an object of suspicion and gossip, but cared little or nothing for it, so absorbed was he in liis own trouble, and in watching the progress of afi^iirs at the Forrest House, where Josephine was to all intents and purposes the mistress, issuing her orders and expressing her opinions and \vishes with far more freedom than Rossie had ever dotie. She, too, was very reticent with regard to her husband, and when Mrs. Dr. Rider asked in a roundabout way what was the mat- ter, she replied, in a trembling voice: •Oh, I don't know except he grew tired of me during the years we were separated ; but please don't talk to me about it, or let any one else, for I cannot speak of it,— it makes me •o sick.' She did act as if she were going to faint, and Mrs. Rider opened the window and let in the cool air, and told Josephine to ban on her till she was better, and then reported the par- ticulars of her inter view so graphically and well, that after a day or so everybody had heard that poor Mrs. Forrest, when asked as to the cause of the estrangement between herself and husband, had at once gone into hysterics and fainted dead away. Or course the curious ones were more curious than ever, and tried old Axle next, but she was wholly nou-committai, and tade them mind their business an'\ let their betters alone. FOllUEST HOUSE. 261 Rojamoiul waa now tlie laat hope, but who had nothing to anj whatever, except that, under the circumstances, sho felt that Mrs. Forrest at least ought to live at her husbaml's old liome, and that arrangementa to that effect hal been made. As for herself, it had been her intention to teach for a long time, and as Mrs. Markham declared her conipetont, sho was going to try it, and leave the place to Mrs. Forrest. Nothing could be learned from Rossie, who was too great a favourite with every one to become a subject of gossip ; and whatever might be the cause of the trouble between Everard and Josoy, her spotless, innocent life was too well known for any censure to fall on her, and Josephine could not liave reached her by so much as a breath of calumny, had sho chosen to try, which sho did not. With her quick intuition she understood at once how im- mensely popular Rossie was, and resolving to be friends with her, if possible, she waited anxiously for a personal interview, which was accorded her at last, and the two met in Rossie's room, where, in her character as invaliv'4, riossie sat in her easy-chaii', with her beautifu' hair brushed back from her pure, pale face, and her great, black eyes unusually brilliant with excitement and expectation. Josephine, too, had been almost aa nervous with regard to this interview as Rosamond herself, and had spent an hour over her toilet, which was perfect in all its details, from the arrange- ment of her hair to her little high-heeled slipped with the fan- ciful rosettes. Rosamond was prepared for something very pretty, but not as beautiful as the woman who came half hesitatingly, half eagerly, into the room, and stood before her with such a bright, winning smile upon her lovely face that it was hard to believe there was guile or artfulness there. Rising to her feet, Rossie offered her hand to her visitor, who took it and pressed it to her lips, while she said something about the great happiness it was to see one of whom she had heard so much. ' Why, I used actually to be half jealous of the Rossie Ever- ard was always talking about,' .she said, referring to the past as easily and naturally as if no cloud had ever darkened her horizon, or come between her and the Everard who had talked 80 much of Rossie. When Jose pi I lit J urnt. entered the rooMa Rossie was very pale, but at this allusion to herself aud Everard, there came a Hush 2G2 FORREST HOUSE. 10 her cheeks and a light to her eye which made Josephine change her mind with regard to her personal appearance. of fi f K { "^".u'^^' ^^^^ l'®'' ^ ^^^"^^'' ^'^« ^^''^d said to herself at hrst but as the interview progressed, and Rossie grew in- terested and earnest, Josephine looked wonderingly at her glowing face and large, black eyes, which flashed and shone Ike stars, and almost bewildered and confused her with their brightness, and the way t hoy had of looking straight at her, as if to read her inmost thoughts. It was impossible to suspect Rossie of acting or saying any. thing she did not mean, for her face was like a clear faithful mirror, and after a little Josephine began to grow ill at ease in her presence. The bright, black eyes troubled her a little when hxed so earnestly upon her, and she found herself wonderin- if they could penetrate her inmost thoughts, and see just what she was. It was a singular effect which Rossie had upon this woman, whose character was one web of falsehoods and deceit and who in the presence of so much purity and innocence, and apparent trust m everybody, was conscious of some new im pulse withm her prompting her to a better and siucerer life. ' Wondering how much Rossie knew of her antecedents, sha suddenly burst out with : ' 'Miss Hastings, or Rossie,-I so much wish you'd let me call you by the name I have heard so often. I want to tell IhLl^ ""T ""^i ^ V\' ^""^'^ "^y"'^^ ^°^ t^^ing that money, the price of your love y hair, and letting you believe I was a theadtui gambler, seeking Everard's ruin ' She had her hand on the 'lovely hair/ and was passing her white fingers througli it and letting it fall in curlhig m^asses about Rossie's neck and shoulders, as she went on • 'It was such a funny mistake you made with regard to me and It wac wrong m me to take the money. I would not do It now; but we were so poor, and I needed it so much, and Everard could not get it. Has he told you all about those times I wonder, when we were first married, and he did love III 6 Gi iltuG* nnl!i!^^!f^''.r^*.^°°'^ deal,' was Rossie's straightforward answer; and sitting down upon a stool in front of her Jospv assumed the attitude and manner of a child as she went on to speak of the past, and to beg Rossie to thi-t == •"■"«» her aa possible. ;:i!g s saa icuicxiiiiir at FORREST HOUSE, 263 / * Men are not always correct judges of women's actions/ she •aid, * and I do not think Everard understands me at all. Our marriage in that histy manner was unwise, but if I erred I surely have paid the severest penalty. Such things fall more heavily npoii wc na^n than upon men, and I dare say you think better of Everard this moment than you do of me.' Rossie could not say she didn't, for there was something in Josephine's manner which she did not like. It seemed to be all acting, and to one who never acted a part, it was very dis- tasteful. But she tried to evade the direct question by answer- ing : ' I have known Everard so long that I must of course think better of him than of a stranger. He has been so kind to me ; * then, wishing to turn the conversation into a channel where she felt she should be safer, she plunged at once into her plan of leaving the house to Josephine, saying that she had never thought it right for her to have it, and speaking ot the judge's last illness, when she was certain he repented of what he had done. At first Josephine made a very pretty show of protesting against it ' It is your own home,* she said, ' and though I appreciate your great kindness, I cannot feel that it is right to take it from you.' ' But I thought you understood that it was a settled thing that I am to go away, as I have always intended doing. Everard told you so. Surely he explained it to you,' Eossie said in some surprise. Josephine did not quite know how to deal with a nature like Rossie's, but she guessed that for once it would be necessary for her to say very nearly what she thought, and so for a few mo- ments the two talked together earnestly and soberly of the future, when Eossie would be gone and Josephine left in charge. ' You will only be taking what is yours a little in advance,' Eossie said, * for when lam of age I shall deed it back to Ever- ard ; and then, on the principle that what is a man's is also his wife's, it will be yours, and I hope that long before that it will be well with you and Everard; that the misunderstanding between you will be cleared up ; that he will do right, and if, — ii, — you are cou8cir>ut» of ibuy defect iu yoUi' characlei' wiiiuii ♦nnoya him, you will overcome it and try to be vhat he would 264 FORREST HOUSE* like hia wife to be, for you might be so happy with him, if only you loved each other. The great black eyes were full of tears, and Rossie's face twitched painfully as she compelled herself to make this effort in Everard's behalf. But it was lost on Josephine, who, tho- roughly deceitful and treacherous herself, could not believe that this youug girl really meant what she said ; it was a piece of acting to cover her real feeling, but she aflfected to be touched, and wiped her own eyes, and said despondingly that che time was past, she feared, the opportunity lost, for her to regain her husband. He did not care for her any longer; his love was given to another, and she looked straight at Rossie, who neither spoke nor made a sign that she either heard or understood, but she looked so very white and tired that Josephine arose to go, after thanking her again for her kindness and generosity, and assuring her that everything about the house should be kept just as she left it, and that in case she changed her mind after trying the life of a governess, and wished to return, she must do 80 without any reference to her convenience or pleasure. And so the interview ended, and Josephine went back to her room and Agnes, to whom she said that she had found Miss Hastings rather pretty, and that she was on the whole a nice little body, and had acted very well about the house, * though,' she added : *I consider it quite as much mine as he;-8. That old man was crazy, or he would never have left everything to her, and he tried afterward to take it back, it seems, and right the wrong he had done. She told me all about it, and liow his eyes fol- lowed her, and shut and opened as she talked to him. It made me so nervous to think of those eyes ; I believe they will haunt me for ever. And Everard never told me that, but let me believe his father died just as angry with him as ever. I tell you, Agnes, I am beginning to hate that man quite as mucli as he hates me, and, if I were sure of as comfortable a living and as good a posi tion elsewhere as he can give me here, I'd sue for a divorce to- morrow, and get it, too, and then,—" away, away, to my lov« who is over the sea." ' She sang the last words in a light, flippant tone, and then ■ tif iii'\ufn f^ «»T*.i*-« i-^-k T^«. HyTnii-U^... U 1 .-. I li • 1 ,.... 5, 5.-.J. „ . ..„ .^.j _^.i. iTiavtiitrrr =•„•:;, tviiUSU iJWi. iCLU ., leCCiVea before she left Europe, was still unanswered. Three Mieeks after this inter\ iew Rosamond left Kothsay for I I FORREST HOUSE 265 tiiin, if only ossie's face J this effort , who, tho- aelieve that s a piece of je touched, at che time regain her 18 love was yho neither rstood, but irose to go, rosity, and lid be kept mind after , she must leasure. back to her found Miss lole a nice , 'though,' at old man .o her, and the wrong is eyes fo)- It made will haunt me believe ou, Agnes, 1 hates me, ood a posi iivorce to- >o my love and then -, rscctVoci athsay for I St. Louis, where she was to bo governess to Mrs. Andrews* children on a salary of three hundred dollars a year. Everard and Josephine both went to the depot to see her off, the one driving down in the carriage with her, and making a great show of regret and sorrow, the other walking over from his office, and maintaining the utmost reserve and apparent indifference, as if the parting was nothing to hiui ; but at the last, when he stood with Hossie's hand in his, there came a look of anguish into his eyes, and his lips were deathly white as he said good-by, and knew that all which made life bearable to him was leaving him, for erer. CHAPTER XXXVIIL WAITING AND WATCHINO FOR ME.' IT was the first of January when Rossie left Rothsay for St. Louis, and three weeks from that day a wild storm was sweeping over the hills of Vermont, and great cl-ouds of sleet iind snow went drifting down into the open grave in Bronson church-yard, toward which a little group of mourners was slowly wending its way. Neither Florida skies nor Florida air had availed to restore life and health to poor wasted, worn- out MoUie Morton, although at first she seemed much better, and Trix and Bunchie, in their childish way, thanked God, who was making their mamma well, while the Rev. Theodore, in Boston, felt something like new hope within him at the cheerful letters Mollie wrote of wha: Florida was doing for her. But the improvement was only temporary, and neither orange blossoms nor southern sunshine could hold tin, pirit which longed 80 to be free, and which welcomed death without a shadow of fear. • I have had muoh to make me happy,' Mollie said to Bea- trice, one day, when that faithful friend sat by her holding the bl»ck hair, which now was more than three-fourths gray, though Mollie was only thirty-one. ' Two lovely children, and th« 26G FORREST HOUSE. !■ 'I kindest-,, best husband in the wor]d,--M,e man I loved and ^vanted so much, and who I think, likes me, and wil miss me some when I am gone for ever.' This she said looking straight at Beatrice, whose face was 'I am sm-e he will miss you, and so shall I, for I have kanu,.d to love you so much, and shall be so sorry ihen you ale ,u ' ^l"]^' *T'^,' ^^" ^^^ ^^ ^°^^y ^^en I am dead 1 I hardlv thought anybody «^uld be that but father and mother, and the roltr?'^^"^' T^',^^"' "^^ ^^P« ^"'^«^^'^' ^"d the great leara rolled down her cheeks as she continued : « We are alone now for the last time it may be, and I want to say to you wha^S been in my heart to say, and what I must say before I die When I was up in that dreary back room in New York, so sick and forlorn, and poor, and you came to me. bright, ^nd gay aud beautiful, I did not like it at all, and for a time I felt hard toward you aiid angry at Theodore, who, I knew, must see lie difference between me,-faded, and plain, and sickly, and old before my time, and you, the woman beloved first,-f;es:i, and young and full of life, and health and beauty. How yoi dH seem to fill the dingy room with brightness and beauty, and what a contrast you were to me; and Theodore saw it. too when he came m and found you there. But if there was a re! gret m his heart,-a sigh for what ought to have been, he never let it appear, but after you were gone, and only the deli- cate perfume of your garments lingered in the room, he came and sa by me and held my thin, hard hands, so unlike your soft, white ones, and tried by his manner to make me believe he was not sorry, ami when I could stand it no longer, and said to him : I am not much like her, Theo, am I ?" he guessed what was in my mind, and answered me so cheerily, "No Mollie not abithkeher. And how can you be, when you^ lives have been so different ; hers all sunshine, and yours full of care, and toil, and pain But you have borne it bravely, Mollie ; better. I think than f.eo would have done.-^ He called you Bee to me for the first time, and there was something in his voice as he spoke the name, wlncn t^.ld me how dear you had been to him once, it, indeed, you were not the^.. Rsit Up. ^as s-' •--••-••' — ~ kind.au.I tond,.T toward me that I felt the jealoTi^givmg''v?"y.* FORREST HOUSE. 207 loved and i miss me face was lead and >r I have n you are I hardly *, and the reat tears one now, what haa )re I die. , so sick, and gay, felt hard it see the , and old •es'i, and you did uty, and it, too, vas a re- )een, he the doli- iie came ike your slieve he i said to ed what »llie, not es have are, and better, 36 to me e, as he to him 1 - » ig wi>.y. . though thei^e was a little hardness left, toward you, and thai night after Tlu^ was sleeping beside rae I prayed and prayed that Orod would take it away, and He did, and I came at last to know you as you are, the dearest, noblest, most unselfish woman the world ever saw.' * No, no you must not say that. I am not good or unselfish • you don t know me,' Bee cried, thinking remorsefully of the times when she had ridiculed the brown alpaca dress and the woman who wore it, and how often she had tired of her society m which she really found no pleasure, such as she might have found elsewhere. '^ But she could not wound her by telling her this. Sh» could only protest that she was not all Mrs. Morton believed her to be but Mollie would not listen. "You must be good,' she said, *or you would never have ett your beautiful home and your friends, and attached yourself to me, who am only a drag upon you. But sometime in the future you will be rewarded ; and, forgive me, Miss Belknap, It 1 speak out plain, now, like one who stands close down to the river of death, and, looking back, can see what probably will be. I do not know how you feel toward Theo, but of this I am sure he has never taken another into the place you once filled, and at a suitable time after I am gone he will repeat the words he said to you years ago, and if he does, d >n't send him away a second time. He is nearer to your standard now than he was »hen. He w growing all the time in the estimation of his fel- ow-men. They are going to make him a D.D., and the pa- Atsh of which he IS pastor is one of the best and most highly eultivated m Boston. And you will go there, I hope, and be a mother to my cnildren, and bring them up like you, for that will plea.se Theo better than my homely ways Trix is like you now, and Biinchie will learn, though she is slower to imi- I' .u^'^'lTi^^ ^" '''""PPy ""'^^^ Theo,-and I am glad for him and the children ; but you will not let them forget me quite, but will tell them sometimes of their mother, who loved them so much. I hoped to see Theo once more before I died but something tells me he will not be iiere in time: that when he comes I shall be dead. So you will ask him to forget the many times I worried and fretted him with my petty cares an.l (11114 licr arras aiouud his neck ~ii; ^•:ii »nd lay« her poor bead, which will never ache a igaiti, agaiust hia 268 FORREST HOUSE. good, kind heart, and so bid him good-by, and goes away alone into the brightness beyond, for it is all bright and peaceful j and just over the river I am crossing I seem to see the distant towern of "Jerusalem the Golden" gleaming in the heavenly sunshine, which lies so warm upon the everlasting hills. And my babies are there waiting and watching for me. Sing, can't you " Will some one be at the beautiful gate, waiting and watch- ing forme?"' There was too heavy a sorrow in Beatrice's heart, and her voice was too full of tears for her to sing to the dying woman, who clung so closely to her. But what she could not do, little Trixey did tor her. She had entered the room nuobserved, followed by Bunchie, whose hands were full of tlie sweet wild flowers they had gathered and brought to their mother, who was past caring for such things now. The yellow jessam-ne and wild honeysuckle lay unheeded upon her pillow, but at tiie sound of her children's voices a spasm of intense pain passed for a moment over her face, and was succeeded by a smile of peace as she whispered again : ' Somebody sing of the beautiful gate,' and instantly Trixey's clear voice rang through the room, mingled with little Bunchie's lisping, broken notes, as she, too, struck in and sang: " Will any one bo at the beautiful gate, Waiting and watching for me ? " Dear little ones, they did not know their mother was dying; but Beatrice did, and her tears fell like rain upon the pinched' whxte face pillowed on her arm, as she kissed the quivering lips which whispered softly : ' ' Darling Trix and Bunchie,— God bless them !— and tell Theo MoUie will be at the beautiful gate, waiting and watching for him, and for you all,— waiting and watching as they now wait and watch for me over there, the shining ones, crowding on the shore, and some are there to whom I first told the story of Jesus in the far-oflF heathen land. Tell Theo they are there, and many whom he led to the Saviour. It is no de- lusion, as some have thought. I see them, I see into Heaven, and it is so near; it lies right side by side with this world, only a step between.' Her mind was wandering a little, for her words became in- .i.-.v.ncT-, KitMi -.ir-i rvitt -cuascu i;:u;gci,iicr, ana Deaince WittuiieU bar M the last great struggle went on and the soul i;>arted fro\» > FORREST HOUSE. 269 away alone d peaceful J the distant le heavenly hills. And Sing, can't and watch- id her voice oman, who ttle Trixey J, followed 'ild flowers o was past e and wild le sound of 'a moment ace as she gate,' and n, mingled ►, struck in ivas dying; 6 pinched, ering lips, — and tell .iting and atching as ning ones, [ first told Theo they t is no (le- o Heaven, tiia world, )ecame in- e watolnU Ttcd fro'oi the body, which was occasionally convulsed with pain, as if it were hard to sever the tie which bound together the mortal and immortal. At last, just as the beautiful southern sunset flooded the river and the fields beyond with golden and rosy hues, and the fresh evening breeze came stealing into the room, laden with the perfume of the orange and lemon blossoms it had ki;ised on its way, Mollie Morton passed from the vforld wh3re she had known so much care to the life immortal, where the shining ones were waiting and watching for her. And far down the coast, threading in and out among the little islands and streams, came the boat which bore the Rev. Theodore Morton to the wife he hoped to find alive. Bee's summons had found him busy with his people, with whom he was deservedly popular, and who bade him God-speed, and follovved him with prayers for his own safety, and, if possible, the recovery of his wife, whom they had never seen. But this last was not to be, and when aboivt noou the boat came up to its accustomed landing-place, and Bee stood on the wharf to meet hira, he knew by one glance at her face that he aad come too late. Everything which love could devise was done for the dead, on whose white face the husband's tears fell fast when he first looked upon it, feeling, it may be, an inner con sciousness of remorse as he remembered that all his heart had not been given to her. But he had been kind, and tender, and considerate, and he folded her children in his arras, and felt that in all the world there was nothing so dear to him as his motherless little ones. The next day they left Florida for the bleak hills of Ver- mont, where the wintry ^viads and drifting snow seemed to howl a wild requiem for the dead woman, whose body rested one night in the old home where the white-haired father and mother wept so piteously over it, and even Aunt Nancy forgot to care for the tracks upon her clean kitchen floor, as the vil- lagers came in with words of condolence and sympathy. Bea- trice was with the mourners who stood by the grave that wild January day when Mollie Morton was buried, and she gave the message from the dead to the husband, who wept like a child when he saw his wife laid away under the blinding snow, winch, ere the close of the day, covered the grave in one jjreat mouu- toin ^tiii ¥ 270 FORREST HOUSE. s^^SSSSSS I CHAPTER XXXIX. HOW THE TIDE EBBED AND FLOWED IN ROTHSAT enowi untfn.^!iV '\^P*'^'«'^*7 ^ud Josephine hacj been wise to r„ th ^ T''''"'^' ""'' "'''""' ««><"> ran 10 the window to seo when she drove by in the pretty phaton which throng Eossie, influence she h,ul manrged to get LmEvJ^rtl u her"'?/''' Fonost estate, "it is tr?e the"oS,e didno ■■ FORREST HOUSE. 271 bodv h ^h Zf' "^. »»«^^li' every wJ.ere, bowing to ever,- SaD LTl ;'' ^""^1 ^'^"'" '^'^ ^'^'^ beard tlu>,t Miss fnVnn ??r, "i" '^ ^^^'"^ ^'^ ^"^« 1^1»« ^iok and infirm afwkh S.. J ^ J class however, she did not stand as well ?Lvt.. •ff!i'^"-''u°^^ ^^^^"^- ^^ ^«"ld almost seem as i L n.; VI "4' ^^^ f 'P^'^ ^^'-^t she offered them, they he was not'Ikl f '' '"^ ^'"'T^^ ^'^'^"^ ^'^^"^^^^^^^ ^eilared sne was not a lady born,— or a fitting wife for Everard BoelTt^'theZL'^T''^ ^\'^ ^^?f '"^ P"^^^«' «"d was seldom Hm^/ In 1 I ^ i'"'' P'°P^'' '^"^^- ' S^^e "-as very shy and the tew who felt that they must ask for her, and who acceDted ha'^ h?"' • ' R \f ^^"'« ^''^ ^« ^^^^'«« i^ Eothsay wh7 he had been m Holburton, a mere household drudi^^e, litera y do- Plove] and7.i? ^^l '^' ^?^""^^^ "«^"^" whomVosepS em- ployed and called her cook, but who was wholly incomnetent as well as indisposed to work. So the whole care dSed on Agnes who took up her burden without a word of protest and worked from morning till night, while Josephi,^ iL^i^ d n her own room where she had her meals more than half the time or drove through the town in her photon, mana'w always to TmlhtfaTeThr ""'''7' ^°"^' ^^^^^ ^^ '^'^ in orde7that ddS^oatsletfoS! '' "^^"^'^ '^^ without touching a nu \^'^'' Josephine's demands upon him were not very great Old Axie had been a proyident'^housekeeper, andJoLEe tTdtbe' dtr nf r"^;^'^^-"^'^^^^^^^ L'thrtabirH^r Ton invifw" . '^ replenishing, and she could not venture Zderl in 1,.r 7'"^ T/"""' consequently she was rather moaerate m her demands for money ; but Eveiard knew thp heTardtrTat.''^^^" ^^ l/d' woul/""satS; her and for that tune he worked, sUently, doggedly rarely • B^eakmg to any one outside his business unless'theyVket him, and never offering a word of explanation with regard to er of wnT'"''7^^'^ ^"^ ^«°°™^^^ ™«r« -nd moret mat- Wiexpeotedly to the Rothsayites, who wondered what she if 272 FORREST HOUSE, would think of matters at the Forrest House. Josephine hau spoken frequently of Miss Belknap, who, gb ) srid, was for a few weeks an inmate of her mother's family, and whom she admired greatly. Josey was the first to call upon Beatrice ; and throwing herself upon her neck, burst into tears, saying : ' Oh, Miss Belknap, I am so glad you have come to be my friend and sister, and I need one so much. I wish I had told you the truth when you were in Holburton, but Everard was afraid of having it known, and now he is so cold and distant, and I, — am,— so unhappy. You will bo my friend and help nif. You were always so kind to me, and I liked you so much.' Beatrice shook her off as gently as possible, and answered that she should certainly try to do right, and asked after Agnes, and how her visitors liked Rothsay, and if Rosamond had written to her, and gradually drew the conversation away from dangerous ground, and did it in such a manner that Josephine felt that she had more to fear from Bee Belknap than from all the world besides. And she had, for Bee's opinion was worth more than that of any twenty people in Rothsay; and when it was known that there was little or no intercourse between Elm Park and the Forrest House, that the two ladies were polite to each other and nothing more, that Beatrice never expressed herself with regard to Mrs. Forrest or mentioned her in any way, but was on the same friendly terms with Everard as ever, and ^^li- Si, as a crowing act, she made a little dinner party from R i..*.jh Josephine was omitted, the people who had b«en loudest m Josey praises began to whisper together that there must be something wrong, and gradually a cloud not larger than a man's hand began to show itself on the horizon. But small as it was, Josephine discovered its rising, and fought it with all her power, even going so far as to insisuate that jealousy and disappointment were the causes of Miss Belknap's coolness toward her. But this fell powerless and dead, and Josey could no more injure Beatrice than slie could turn the channel of the river from its natural course. For a time, however, Josephine held her ground with a few, but when early in June the new hotel on the river road was filled with people from the Soiith, many of them gay, reckless young men, ready for any excitement, she began to show her real nature, and her assumed modesty and reticence slipped from bei" like a garment unfitted to the wearer. How she managed ( FORREST HOUSE. 273 iiad taken trerantfdir'wTth L" ''' ' ""^ ^^ree weeks sh« Qo longer lonelv tlZ.,t f ^"^' ^°^ ^"'"'"^st House waa till SniSifc and V? ""^ c«f Pany, for tf.e doors stood open filled wi h cJrTmoke a^n it i "^'"'J'''' ^"^ ^^'' '''^'^' ^^^e the half4ips/;oun. m;,r an ^±'r '^ songs were sung by hostess. wLVthe/dubb^d ' Golde ^.^' . 'r'''V', '^'''' ^''' to her face, and at her back amo ' ^"^^ «^"«'\an angel even.heoldgirV«olit^Vr ^ri;^^,;^:^^^ woman, and so lo 1 1 she § 7no^' ^""'f ' T'\'' ^''''''■' decency, or greatly ouLrl'«fh« T T'^^""'^ ^^^ ^""»^« ^^ that it was no one's bush^'ss what sill- ?'"^f^ '^^^/^»"'^d tion she received As Av1« hT ^'^ ""^ ^'"^"^ "'"^^ ^"en- showing through the whiflU P^«d;«t«^l. the real colour was that she needed a d.l™„f •'"""' 1'"' VP"" her, discovlred Florida was nel:^ ;Thet h althld t" "' "'^' ' T"'" " Loui«, Mo/ ^' ^'"^ ^'"^ Kosamond Hastings, St. ' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I IIM 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 < 6" - ► V] ^ % ./ <^^ vV >^ ¥VW 0^1 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^ r\ iV 4^ ^^ <^ 4^ > ^ 'C*'' ^ <^ Ux ^ ^ ^^ 274 FORREST HOUSE. CHAPTER XL. DR. MATTHEWSON'S OA&CB THE St. fames' was full that season, and when Mm. J. E. Forrest arrived she found every room occupied, <(nd was compelled to take lodgings at a house across the Park, where guests from the hotel were sometimes accommodated with rooms, and where, in addition to her own parlour and bed- room, she found a large square chamber, which she asked the mistress of the house to reserve for a few days, as she was ex- pecting an old friend of her husband's, and would like to have him near her, inasmuch as Mr. Forrest was not able to come with her on account of hisi business. Later m the season he might join her, but now he was too busy. She laid great stress on having a husband, and she was so gracious, and affable, and pretty, that her landlady, Mrs. Morris, was charmed at once, and endorsed the beautiful woman who attracted so much atten< tion in the street, and who at the hotel took evei-y thing by storm. She had laid aside her mourning, and blossomec' out in a most exquisite suit of navy-blue silk and velvet, which, although made in Paris more than a year before, was still a little in advance of the Florida fashions, and was admired by every lady in the hotel, and patterns of the pocket, and cuffs, and overskirt were mentally tuken and experimented upon iu the ladies' rooms, where the grace, and beauty, and probable antecedents of the stranger were freely discussed. Nobody had ever heard of Mrs. J.E. Forrest, and few had heard of Roths&y, but there were some people at the St. James' thi«» winter who remembered Miss Belknap and Mrs. Morton, and • when it was known that Mrs. Forrest was their friend, the matter was settled, and Josephine became the belle and beauty of the place. Young men stationed themselves near the door through which she came into the hall to look at her as she passed, but if fihe was conscious of their homage she made no sign, and never seemed to know how much attention she was attracting. One Of two ladies spoko to her at last as she stopped fur a vvliilo iu the parh)ur, and ao her acquaintauee began, aud Miss Belk FORKEST HOUSE. 27i 3n Mrsi. J. R pied, <(nd was Park, where lodated with 3ur and bed- she asked the 3 she was ex- l like to have able to come the season he d great stress d aflfable, and 'med at once, much atten- iverything by ilossomet'. out elvet, which, e, was still a 3 admired by ;et, and cuffa, inted upon iu and probable ■ew had heard b. James* thi*) Morton, and id, the matter beauty of the door through e passed, but no sign, and as attracting, ed for a wliilo id Miss Belk' about, and a little hacking cough was produced, by way of show- ng what had sent this dainty, delicate creature awayfrom hli husband, with no other guardianship tiian that of Cr sister But Agnes' presence was sufficient to save appearances tin was much older, and so quiet and reserved, aKnshy, that hl^u ""^'^^^^ ^^''^''''' *° ^'«'-' '"^"d after a little scarcely h^rhir'^^-'.'^' '''* '"P"^^ ^'•^'^ t''«'^' waiting patiently tm her brilliant sister was ready to go home. Josephine wag ex pectmg a gentleman friend, whom she had known eversince she was a young girl, she said, the fourth day afte "her arrival and the ladies were glad, as it would be so naich Zsantei^r her in her husband's absence ; and so nuatters we o made easy Wn\•''''^'"?.'^^'■• ^^^-^tthewson. who, since parting fS Josephine m Dresden, more than a year before, had visited sucTeLrK'^"'-"''' '"^ Europe, 'sometimes mSngwh success m his profession as gambler, and sometimes not some- t^mes Imng Ike a millionaire, and sometimes lire a beg.^r The millionaire hfe suited him the best, but how to securett ^ a permanency or even to secure a comfortable hvnTwhi'h nSTA-'''^''r''^".^""'' ««Jf-d«nial, «^as something whch puzzled him sorely, until he received a letter from Josephine which inspired him at once with fresh courage and hope^ The etter which was written from the Forrest House was a W tmie in reaching him and found him at last fn Moscow wh'rf int/trtons o'/ltf Th " *'" ''r'^^'' -^^ he hldTall^ into the toils of a set of sharpers, who were usin- him for their own base purposes. Handsome in face and form, wi, nin<^ in his manner and perfectly familiar with nearly ev^ry lan-"ra^e spoken on the Continent, he was very useful to them by wC of thT/Satn """^"^^ ?T^«'^ ^'^^ visited tlTity'Im Whp?ln hold upon h,m Which he could not well sha^ off When ho received Josephine's letter, tellin- him where sh^ was and the disposition Judge Forrest had ma e o pro perty, and Rosamond's determination not to use more o t than ^me'X?hVmaT"-^\'"^ '' T'""''^ '' '^ ^--"^d ^^n 'she came ot age, he made up his mind to leave Moscow at all haz- 5«n ' f"^' 7k-''"S. 'h" ''^ «««k «"t the sister in whom he sml denly found himself greatly interested. A„d tn 1 1.^^^.. "_: «v^ured inm at last by sending in his way a Genn^n Jew 1' Van Schoisner,-^.etween whom and him^eif tiiere sprangup 276 FORREST HOUSE. ] i h -t- ■'J ^ frK^ndship which finally resulted in the Jev» s loanin" him money enough to escape from the city which had been in one v^nge, and as both were gamblers, they made straight for Vienna, where Matthewson's luck came back to him, and he won so rapidly and largely, that Van Schoisner. who was tinned with German superstition, regarded him as one whom the Jod of the gaming-table especially favoured, and clung to him and made much of him, and when a malarial fever a^ttackeThlm took him to his brother's, a Dr. Van Schoisner, who kept wL^ he called a V^'^y^^^rnamn-dcsantd, in an obscure Austrian town half way between Vienna and Liutz. ' life'^lifiT ?'• ;^^"h«\««" paid the penalty of his dissipated hie m a, ht ot sickness which lasted for months, and lef lum S from'r^^?-' ' '1"^^ ,^"""» ^" '^'"^ '^^ hedidno^ leai trom Josephine, whose letters never reached him and he ,. knew aotlung of her until /.e reached New York ^hen he wtote at once to her at Ruthsay, asking very particularly for Rosamond, and announcing his intention of visiting the Forrest House, if agreeable to the inmates. To this letter Josephine replied immediately, telling him not on any account to come to Rothsay, but to joiA her iS Florida about the middle of December, when she would tell Wm every thing which had happened to her since their last meetin- in Dresden. In a postscript she added : *^ 'Miss Hastings is not here, and has not been since I -^ January, bhe is somebody's governess, I believe.' And it was this postscript which interested the doctor a. . n Rn ht7 ;f "^ Josephine's letter. If Rosamond were not n Rothsay, f hen where was she, and how should he find her ? for find her he must, and play the rdh of the loving brother which role would be all the more effective, he thought becaS Df the air of invalidism there was about him now: and which ht r" TT }''^- ^" '''^^^^ ^^' ""'^^ f'-«"> his recent ilTness but he affected more languor than he felt, and seemed quTte tired and exhausted when he reached the house where JosS ine was stopping, and where his room was in readiness for him ■ and Josephine cooed and fluttered about him, and was -lad to TJi"^' ^""^ "'^ '"''^°"' ^^'^^ h« sho'^ld have every possTble at- *fT'lI I.'It Itt . — And Dr. Mattliew»->n enjoyed it all to the full, ana »m N porrest'house. 277 oaning him been in one npagnon-du- itraight for lim, and he was tinged 3ra the god to him and acked him, • kept what trian town, i dissipated nd left him he did not im, and he , when he cularly for ihe Forrest ng him not in Florida him every- meeting in since 1 ■*^ >ctor :u: -, were not find her 1 g brother, t, because md which nt illness, ned quite e Joseph- 5 for him ; is glad to )ssible at- aud j and when at last Kossie appeared;^ and ^ assed so near to him that he might have touched hor, he was quite sur^ of it. Girls 1 ' 1-1 s 1 Me H .1:1 ) I 280 FORREST HOUSE.- 1^^ with the expression in their faces wliicl) hers wore didn't be- heve m slang profanity, and the many vices to which he was addicted, and of which Josephine made so light. Eossie was pure and innocent, and must never suspect the black cata. logue of sms at which he sometimes dared not look. How tan; and lovely she was, with the sweet modesty of demeanor which never could have been feigned for the occasion ; and how eagerly the doctor watched her, as she joined Mrs. Andrews, and was introduced to the ladies around her ' Good-naorning. A penny for your thoughts/ was cooed in his ear, and turning, he met Josephine's blue eyes uplifted to Inm and Josephine herself stood there in her very prettiest white wrapper with an oleander blossom in her golden hair. bhe, too, had watched anxiously for Rosamond, whom she meant to secure before any mischief could be done, and she saw her now at once in the distance, and saw the doctor was looking in that direction, too, and khew, before she asked him, of what he was thinking. But a slight frown darkened her face at hia frank reply : _ • I am thinking how very pretty and attractive Miss Hast- ings is. You must manage to introduce me as soon as possible, or 1 shall introduce myself.' ' * Just then Rossie turned lior face fully toward her. and their eyes met in recognition. There was a violent start on Rossi.i'g part, and the blood flamed into her cheeks for an instant, and then left them ashy pale, as she saw the woman for whom she could not have much respect, smiling so brightly upon her, and advancing to meet her as quickly and gladly as if they were the greatest friends. " - j 'Oh, Miss Hastings!' she said, in her most flute-like tones, this IS a surprise. I am so glad to see you. When did voi come V "J Rossie explained when she had come and with whom, and aftei-a few brief remarks on the town and the climate, made as It she would return to Mrs. Andrews ; but now was Josephine's opportunity or never, and still holding Eossie's hand, whick she had not relinquished, she said : ' Come with me a moment, please; there are so many things I want to say. Suppose we take a little turn on the piazzj *na leadmsr Rossie .•irnnnrl f,Vi« #>nrnor> «f fV.» u«4.„i *- WHero no one was sitting, she plunged at once into the fiubjeci appermost m her mind. ore didn't be^ to which he ight. Kossie le black cata- look. How of demeanor ion ; and how rs. Andrews, was cooed in es uplifted to ery prettiest olden hair. J, whom she and she saw r was looking him, of what }r face at his » Miss Hast- 3 as possible, 2r, and their i on Rossi e's instant, and >r whom she pon her, and f they were e-like tones, hen did you whom, and ite, made as Josephine's land, whick aany things the piazza, the sabject FORREST HOUSE. 281 'Miss Hastings,' she said, 'you alono of all the people hem know just how 1 am living with EverarJ, or, rather, not living with him. It was not necessary for me to explain everythinjr. and for aught they know to the contrary, I have the most devoted of husbands, who may join me any day. You o^ course, can undeceive them if you like, but ' ' 'Mrs Forrest,' Rossie exclaimed, '1 have no wish to injure you. If 1 am asked straightforward questions I must tell the ti-uth ; otherwise I have nothing to say of your life at home, or 01 anything m the past pertaining to you and Everard.' Ihank you so much. I knew I could trust you,' Josephine 8aid feeling inimensely relieved. ' And now come, let me pre- sent you to a frieml whom I used to know in Holburton, and met afterward in Dresden. He is here for his health, and is so kind to Aggie and me. You must come to my room and see Agnes bhe never stops a moment here after she has had ner meals. She^ talked rapidly and excitedly, and laid her hand on Bossies arm, as if to lead her to Dr. Matthewson, who fore- stalled the intention by suddenly appearing before them. He was more impatient to speak to Rosamond than Josephine was to have hira, and joined them for that very purpose. Never in his life had he seemed more at his ease, or appeared to better advantage, an. there was something very winning and gracious in his manner as he bowed to Miss Hastings, and hoped she found herself well in the delicious Florida air nf \Z!''' ^"^ r^ ^""^i^ ?'y '^'""^'' ^'^ «^^^^- ' i ^ope a few days of this sunshine wil do you much good.' He was very kind and considerate, and bade her be seated again while he talked with her a few moments on indifferent topics. Then, consulting his watch he said to Josephine: 'Mrs. Forrest, don't you think we should have that game of croquet before the day gets hotter? You see they are beginning to occupy the grounds already,' and he nodded toward the opposite side of the park where a group of young ladies and gentlemen were knocking about the balls preparatory to a game. ' To-morrow we shall ask you to join us,' he i.M to Rossie. ' but as a physician I advise you to rest to-day after your long journey. Com i'ng suddenly into this climate is apt to debilitate if one is not rar^ Lf'v 'i:'*''5'u'"""i? i^^''' Hastings,' and with a graceful wave «f his hand he walked away with Josephine, leaving Rosamond 282 FORREST HOUSE, 1 f ii- to look uftor and admire his splendid physique and manly 'oiia and to think what a pleasant, geutlemauly person he ^os, with Buch a melodious voice. Already he was beginning to affect and influence her thoughts and she sat and watched him as he walked very slowly toward the croquet-ground, where, instead of joining in the game he sat down at some little distance and continued his conversation with Joseph:, whose cheeks were flushed, and who seemed unusuaHy excited. Th6 doctor's first ren^ark to her as they left the hotel had ♦Well Joe, did you fix it all right with her f * Fix what 1 ' Josephine aaked, knowing perfectly well what Tiru"*^' ^^'°^ determined that he should explain. 'Why, have you hired her not to go back on you, and tell that you are a grass wi^ow instead of a loving wife, whose nusband is pining in her absence V The elegant doctor could be very coarse and unfeeling when he talked with Josephine, whom he understood so well, and who replied : 'If you mean will she hold hor tongue about my affairs, she J ^ sJiedoes not know that you are the "priest all shaven and shorn, who married the youth all tattered and torn to the maiden all forlorn." I did not think it necessary to tell her that. Possibly, though she may have heard your name from JLverard ; I do not know how that may be. I only told her that I knew you in Holburton, and that I met you again in ' Yes ;'— the Doctor smoothed his moustache thoughtfully a moment, and then aided : ♦ I say Joe, don't be in such a hurry to get to the croquet. I want to talk with you. Iv'e turned R new leaf. I've reformed. That time I was so sick in Aus- tria, I repented. I did, upon my soul, and said a bit of a prayer, —and I believe I'll join the church again ; but fiisst I'll confess 10 you, who I know will be as lenient toward me as any one. I suppose you think you know just what and who I am. but vou are mistaken. I am a hypocrite, a rascal, a gambler, and have broken evary Commandment, I do believe, except "tho« Shalt not kill," and under p^-nt provocation I might do that, pfciiiaijs; and added to all ..us, I am Koseie Hastings' half- brother. "^ ind manly Toiia, on he ^ss, with ce her thoughts, r slowly toward 1 the game, be lis conversation id who seemed b the hotel had ictly well what explain. n you, and tell ig wife, whose mfeeling when i so well, and my affairs, she •iest all shaven nd torn to the lary to tell her )ur name from only told her ; you again in thoughtfully a n such e, hurry Iv'e turned sick in Aus- 3it of a prayer, Bst I'll confess ae as any one. nho I am, but gambler, and except "thou night do that, lafitings' half' FORREST HOUSE. 283 • Rossio Hastings' brotnor ! Do you mean you are Rosa- mond 8 brother t and did you know it when you first came to Holburton, and why isn't your name Hasting?, then » ' Jose- phme asked, excitedly, and he replied, in the most quiet and composed maimer : ' One question at a time, my dear. I am her brother, and my name was Hastings once,— John Matthewson Hastings. I took the Matthewson and dropped the Hastings to please a relative, who left me a few thousand at her death. I did kno\v Rossie was my sister when I first met Everard Forrest m Holburton, and to that knowledge you owe your present ex- ited position as his wife.' She turned her eyes inquiringly upon him, and he continued : I told you I was going to make a clean breast of my sins, and I am, so far as your business is concerned. I hated Eve- rard and the whole Forrest Race, and tJtat was my revenge.' ' Hated Everard ! For what 1 Had you seen him before you met him in Holburton ? ' Josephine said ; and he replied • ' Yes, I had seen him, and I carried the marks of our meet- ing for weeks and weeks on my forehead, and the remembrance of It in my heart always. I had a stepmother,— a weak young thing whom I hated from the first, for no special reason that I now recall, except that she was a stepmother and I thought I mu8t hate her ; and I did, and worried her life almost out of her ; and when a baby sister was born I hated that because it was hers, and because it would naturally share in my father's property which was not large. The new mother was luxuri- ous m her tastes, and spent a great deal, and that made trouble between her and my father, who though a very elegant man in public, was the very Old Nick at home, and led his young wife such a life that even I pitied her sr ntimes, and did not won- der that she left him at last, and to ^ .efuge with her intimate tnend, Mrs. J orrest, Everard's mother. Not long after sh left home my father died, and I was made very angry because of some money he left to Rossie, which I thought ou-ht to be mine, inasmuch as it came to him from my motlier So I per- secuted my mother-in-law, who, I believe, was more afraid of me than of the o d Harry himself. I went to the Forrest HonnA ann namani\aA fl«>* *« ,.„„ i.„_ j ii , "'Z'" I- — T '"" '"'^" "" "^"^ "'^^» """ "'"" ^^ see my sister, pretending I was going to take her away. The boy Everard WM at home, had just come in from riding, anU he ordered mv ^■^I*" 284 FORREST HOUSE. from the Imuse and when I refuacd to po, the fitriplinpattackon nio with hi8 wh.p, and laid the hlows'on well, tL,^! S ' the one on my face, the mark of which I carHed so long I Bwore I d have revenge on him, and I kept my word, though at one t.me I gave up the idea entirely. l\^ Vas at the Sp meetmg where a lot of them converted me, or thought tZ fnd H • /r f '^'" / ^f ' ^lifferently, and got a license to preach^ and tried to be good ; but the seed was sown on stoney ground and came to nothing, and I took seven spirits worse than the fi.st, and backslid and qmt the ministry, and went to studying physic, and was called doctor, and roamed the world ovtr" 8«>metime8 with plenty of money, sometimes with none, and dr fed at last to Holhurton, where you asked me to b^ the priest in the play, and marry you to Everard Foirest You probably do not remember how closely 1 questioned you about the young man. I wished to be certain with regard tolH ^entity, ana I was after talking with him about his home n Rothsay. He told me of Rossie, and boasted of the w Zping he had given her brother, whose vengeance he did not fear Hewasyo.ng His father was rich,^nd Toud as Lucifer and would hardly think a princess good enough to marry his' on y son, much less you, the daughter of his landlady. fh«n r? i"^ ^f^. ^^ ^ '.""^'^ ""* ^« ^^^'^'^ ^ ^«r«e turn than to tie Inm fast in matrimony. You were not his stamp not the one o hold him long ; he would repent the act sooner or later, while his father would make life a burden to him when he came to know it. So I was particular to leave nothing un done winch would make the marriage valid, and when you were man and wife I felt perfectly happy. until,-I began to get in^ terested in you myself, and then I sometimes wished mytoneue had been cut out, for I'll be hanged if I don't admire /ou more you"nkTa bookr™"^ ^ '""' ''"' notwithstanding tha. x know ' Spare your compliments and keep to your story, and tell •Tie why you have ma<]e no effort to see Rossie alSe years- Josephine said, coldly ; and he replied, 'Reason enough i ^as not particularly interested in her then, and did not think an acquaintance with her would pay ; but later she has come before me m the character of an heiress, which makes her a ve™, -— ... .„i,,,, , jOu Dcc, uvii i ycu i • Yes. I see. Your sudden interest in her is wholly mercenary? FOHllEST HOUSE. 285 ripling attacked , too, especially ied so Jong. I vord, though at IS at the cainp- r thought they :ense to preach, stoney ground worse than the nt to studying e world ovbr, i^ith none, and I mo to be the Foifresti You ned you about regard to his it his home in the whipping did not tear. id as Lucifer, to marry his IJady. a worse turn 5t his stamp ; ihe act sooner I to him when e nothing un- hen you were gan to get in- jd my tongue lire you more I thaoi know ;ory, and tell these years,' enough. I lid not think ihe has come es her a very r mercenarjr Suppose 1 shouM betray you V Are you not afraU of it I ' Josephine asked, and in her blue eyes there was a look whic the doctor did not ouite like j brit he affected not to see it, and replied, « Afraid 1 No, because telling is a game two can play at as well ad one. You c;m«ut nfford to quarrel with me. Joe.' The man's face was exceedingly insolent and disagreeable m Its expression for a raomeat, while he glanced sideways at his companion, who made no sign that ahe heard him, but seemed wholly intent upon the game, which was now growing very exciting. But then the expression changed, and he conriuued in his most winning tone : ' No, we must stick to each other, and whatever good comes to me I'll share religiously with you ;' she began faintly to com- prehend him, and turning her eyes upon him said : ■ Well, to return to first principles, Eossie is interestine to you now because she has money ; but she will not use it even tor lie'-self. ' No I '—and the doctor mused thoughtfully a moment : then he said : ' I like the girl's appearance, upon my soul I do ! She 18 a pretty little filly, and if I'd mei her years ago she might have made a man of me, but it is too late now ; I am sold to Satan, body and soul, and must do his bidding. How much is she worth, do you think 1 ' 'The Forrest estate is variously estimated from two hundred to five hundred tho.^cand. I should say, perhaps, two hundred and fatty, Josephine replied, and the doctor continued : • And she will not touch the principal on account of soma queer notions she has of giving it back to Forrest when she is twenty-one 1 ' ' No, she will not touch the principal, nor more of the interest than IS absolutely necessary,' Josephine said id for a few mo- ments the doctor was silent and seemed to bo intently thinking When he spoke he said : ' You say she is pious, or pretends to be, and if she does it is genuine ; there is no deceit in that face. I'd trust it with my Boul, if necessary. I tell you I like the girl. She is just the one to keep men from losing faith in everything good I'll wager now that Forrest is in love with her, and that's one rea- son lie uoea nofc tako any more stock in you. Is he t ' and th« doctor looked steadily at Josephine who turned very pale lut b» thus probed her so closely. i t|if •ff? n 286 FORREST HOUSE. So far as atteccioa was concerned she had none for "hw hna band, but it hurt her pride cruelly to know that with all her beauty and grace she could not influence him one whit, or turn hiu* from the girl she was sure he loved as he had never loved her. She generally told the truth to Dr. Matthewson, who had some subtle power to find it out if she did not, and now, though sorely against her will,- she answered: * Yes, he worships the ground she treads upon.' * Then, why in thunder dosen't he get a divorce from you and marry her 1 That surely would be an easy thing to do under the oircumstances,' was the doctor's next remark. * That is more than I can guess, unhjss he is too proud to endure the notoriety of such a procedure. Certainly it is no consideration for mo which deters him,' Josephine said ; adding suddenly, as she glanced up the street : ' There she comes now, Youd better declare yourself at once.* But the doctor knew his own plans best with regard to Rosa- mond, who was coming towards the croquet ground with two of her pupils, Clara and Eva Andrews. She did not see the doctor and Josephine until she was close upon them, and then simply bowing to them, she passed on, and was soon out of sight That night as she was about preparing for bed, a thick heavy envelope was brought to her room, directed in a hand she did not recognize. Breaking the seal and glancing at the signature, she read with a thrill of wonder and perplexity the name ' John Matthewson, ni Hastings,' while just above it were the words, * Your affectionate brother.' ' My brother,' she repeated, ' what does it mean 1 * and for a moment she felt as if bhe were going to faint with the rush of emotions which swept suddenly over her. Of her brother, personally, she remembered nothing, She only knew that she had one ; that in some way he annoyed and worried her mother ; that he was not highly esteemed by th« Forrests, and that he was probably dead Latterly, however, since she had gone oi^t into the world alone to care for herself, she had often thought of him, and how delightful it would be to have a brother who was good, and kind, and true, and who would care for her as brothers sometimes care for their sisters. Occasionally, too, she had amused herself with fancying how he irould look if he war» alivA. and how he would trmt. her Tin i )ne for "her hna lat with all her le whit, or turn lad never loved atthewson, who . not, and now, Lvorce from you isy thing to do remark. is too proud to rtainly it ia no ue said ; adding she comes now, regard to Rosa- 'ound with two id not see the )hem, and then as soon out of , a thick heavy a hand she did t the signature, city tlie name >ve it were the m t ' and for a ith the rush of nothing, She 9 annoyed and teemed by th« erly, however, re for herself, 1 it would be rue, and who ■ their sisters, eying how h« ■mt' her Rn t FORREST HOUSE. 287 she had never dreamed of any one as handsome, and polished, and elegant M Dr. Matthewson, who signed himself her brother, and had filled three or four sheets of paper with what he had to say. Very eagerly she singled out the first sheet and began : ^ ' Dear Sister Rossie,--You wiU pardon me for not address- ing you ao Miss Hastings, or even Rosamond, when I tell you I am your brother, and have always thought of you as Rossie. the i.'ttle girl who I suppose does not remember me, and who per- haps, has not been taught to think of me very pleasantly. ' But, Kossie, I am a changed man, or I would not present myself to you, a pure, innocent girl, and ask for sympathy and love. I do not believe you care to hear all the events of my life in detail and 80 I shall not relate them, but of a few things I must speak' 111 order that we may rightly understand each other. And first* your mother. I waa a spoiled, wayward hr of sixteen when she came to us, and I was prejudiced again, .er by an aunt of mine, who, I ihink now wanted my father herself. A step- mother was to me the worst of all evils, and I thought it was manly to tease and worry her, while 1 blush to say my father also treated her so shamefully that at last she xled from him, as ^ you know, and took refuge at the Forrest House, where she iinally died. • I was there once to see her, and as you may not have heard the particulars of that visit, and I wish to keep back nothing you ought to know, I will tell you about it.' Then followed a pretty truthful account of frhe encounter wirii Everard, the cowhiding, and the vow of revenge, after which the doctor spoke of his subsequent career, his change of name, his sudden conversion at a camp meeting, his life as a clergyman in Clarence, his backsliding, and lapse into his for- mer evil ways, his few months' study as a physician, his first trip to Europe, and at last his sojourn for th« summer in Hoi- burton where he met Everard Forrest again, „nd was asked by Josephine to take the part of priest in the play called ' Mock Marriage.' — "--J - —■', -"nv tiicucrii cutcix-u iiKo me, and whispered, «Now is your hour for revenge on the stripling whu dared lay his hand on you.' From all I could learn of tlu. 1 i'l ;-' i ! 288 FORREST HOUSE. Forrests, or rathOT, of the jndge, I guessed that he would rebel hotly against a penniless bride in Miss Fleming's social position, and that nothing could be more disastrous for Everard than such a marriage ; and yet I aided and abetted it, and took care that it should be altogether binding, and so gained my mean revenge, for which I have been sorry a thousand times,— yes^ more than that; and if I could undo the work of that night I would do it gkdly. But I cannot, and others suffer the con- sequences. ':ou see I am not ignorant of the manner in which Mr. and Mrs. Forrest live, and I am sorry for them both, and am laying bare my heart to you that you may know exactly the kind of brother you have found ; and that, however bad he may have been, he is a different man now, or he would never intrude himself upon you. * On my first interview with Everard in Holburton, I man- aged to get him to speak of you, and I half resolved to seek you and claim you as my own. ^ut a sense of unworthiness kept me back. I was not a fitting guardian for a g'irl like you, and so I still kept silence, and after a time went to Europe again, where I remained until quite recently, and where, by a long°and dangerous illness, I was brought to a realization of my sins, and resolved to lead a new life. Naturally, one of the first and .strongest desires of my new life was to find you. Mrs. Forrest, who wrote to me occasionally, had told me that you had left the Forrest House, of which you were the lawful heir ; and aa my health required a warm climate, I came first to Florida, after my return to America, intending in the spring to spare no pains to find you. The rest you know. ' And now, Eossie, will you take me for a brother i If so, please leave a line at the office, telling me where 1 can see you and when, and in al) the world there will be no one so happy as your affectionate brother, 'John Maitiiewson n4 Hastings.' Eossie was not as strong as when she was a child, and any over-fatigue or unusual excitement was sure to be followed by a nervous headache, which sometimes lasted two or three days • and as she rea^^ this letter she felt a cold, clammy sweat break- ing out in the palms of her hands, while a cutting pain in her head warned her that her old enemy, neuralgia, was threatening an attack. That she believed every word of the letter need FOllUKv .JOUSE. 289 3 would rebel icial position, Sverard than md took care ed my mean times, — yes, that night I ffer the con- iner in which m both, and :now exactly rt'ever bad he would never 'ton, I man- 1 to seek you thiness kept ike you, and urope again, >y a long and my sins, and he first and ilrs. Forrest, 'ou had left leirj and as to Florida, ng to spare leri If so, can see you ne so happy [astings.' Id, and any followed by ' three days; sweat break- pain in her threatening letter ueed hardly be said, for her's was a nature to believe everything, anO it made her very happy to know that her brother who hereto- fore had been to her only a myth, was found at last, and stich a brother, too. Then the question arose as to how Everard would receive this man who had purposely done him so greats wrong. Would he forgive him for her sake, and believe in his repentance ? She would write to him the next day and tell hina all about it, and her heart throbbed with a new and keen delight at the thought of some one to care for her, some one to lean upon and advise her and help her with that dreadful For- rest estate. And then her busy little brain plunged into the future, and began to wonder where they should live and how, for that she should live with her brother she did not for a mo- ment doubt. Her place was with him, and she should try so hard to make him happy, and keep him in the new way wherein he was beginning to walk. In this state of mind it was impossible to sleep, and when at last morning came, it found her wakeful and unrefreshed, with dark rings about her eyes, and so severe a pain in her temples and the back of her neck that to go down to breakfast was impossible. She had barely strength to dresa herself and lie down upon the couch, where Mrs. Andrews found her. after having waited some time for her appearance. Very rapidly and briefly Eosamond told her the good news, which Mrs. Andrews accepted readily. She had heard before that Miss Hastings had a brother, if he were not dead, and hav- ing met the doctor the previous day and been much prepossessed with him, as strangers always were, she rejoiced with her young friend, but advised her to wait until her head was better before she risked the excitement of an interview. But thii Rossie could not do. She should never be better till she had seen her brother, she said, and a message was accordingly sent him to the effect that Rossie would see him in her room when- ever he chose to come. The doctor did not wait a moment, and was soon at Rossie's tide, bending over her, and telling her not to allow herself to be agitated in the least, but to lie quietly upon her pillow and let him do most of the talking. In all the world there was hardly a more accomplished and fascinating a hypocrite than Dr. Matthewson, and so well did he use his powers and art, that if Rossie had had any distrust of him or hie sincerity it would have been entirely swept KWtf f r! U II w ■ !'f i 1. 1 1 I r !''■ I ! t'l |}:: 290 FORREST HOUSE. during the half Hour he spent with her, now talking of himself as he used to be with great regret, and of himself as he wan oow with great humilitj; now telling how glad he was to find his little sister, and then complimenting her in a way which could not fail to be gratifying to any woman. Then he spoke ot her health, and was sorry to find her so frail and delicate »nd asked her many questions about herself, while he held her hand and felt her pulse professionally. ' Had she ever thought her heart at all diseased, or that her lungs were aflFected ?' he i^i} *^^|"8. quickly, as he saw the sudden start she gave: ' Oh, don t be frightened, and conclude you have either coa- sumption or heart disease. I only asked because some mem- bers of our family far back died with a heart difficulty, and if I remember right your mother had consumption. But we must not let you have either of them. You do not seem to have a great amount of vitality. Are you never stronger than now and do these headaches occur, very often 1 ' * He had her hand in one of his, and with the other was strok- ing her head and hair, while she answered that nothing ailed her except the headache to which she had been subject all her hfe, and a predisposition to sore throat whenever she took cold. • Ah, yes, I see,' and the doctor looked very wise. 'Bron- chial trouWe, no doubt, aggravated by our dreadful American climat^ H^cuse me, mignonne, if I confess to being more than halt a European. I have lived abroad so much that I greatly prefer being there, and Lnow the climate is better for me borne day not far distant we must go there together, you and I, and 1 11 take such care of you that people will hardly know ym when you come back. 1 11 have some colour in those white cheeks, though I don't believe I could improve the eyes.' It was the great desire of Eossie's life to go to Europe some day, and she assented to all her brother said, and wrote to bverard immediately after her interview with the doctor, and told him of her brother, and what a good, noble man he had become. Tlien, as carefully and gently as possible, she spoke of the (vrong he had done to Everard, and of which he was so ver? lorry. ' ♦I do not sr.ppose you can ever like him as I do,' she wrote ' but 1 hope you will try to be friends with him for my sake ri t Forrest house. 291 ; of himself as he wan was to find way which Q he spoke id delicate, le held her er thought ected ? ' he she gave : either coa- some mem- ilty, and if at we mu«t to have a than now, was strok- ihing ailed ect all her she took i. * Bron. American more than b I greatly ir for rae. r, you and rdly kiiow hose white rope some wrote to )ctor, and in he had >ke of the IS so very he wrote / ysak* Accompanying tliis letter was one from the doctor limiseir; couched in the most conciliatory terms, full of regret for the past and strong in good intentions for the future. *I shall be so glad to be friends with you for Eossie's sake, if for no other,' he wrote in conclusion. 'She holds you in higher esteem than any living being ; so let her plead for me ; and when we meet, as we sometimes must, or Rossie be very unhappy, let it be at least with the semblance of friendship.' Everard's first impulse on receiving these letters was to go to Florida at once and wrest Rossie from the fangs of the wolf, 88 he stigmatized the doctor, in whom he had no faith. * I cannot forgive him,' he said, • I will not, though he were ten times her brother ; and I distrust him, too, notwithstand- ing his protestations of reform.' But he could not write this to Rossie. He said to her in his letter that if her brother was all she represented him to be, he was glad for her sake that she had found him, and that he hoped always to be friendly with her friends and those that were kind to her. ' But if he were the archangel himself,' he added, ' I should find it hard to forgive him for having removed from my grasp what I miss more and more every day of my life, and long for with an intensity which masters my reason and drives me all most to despair. But whatever I may feel towards him, Ros- sie, I shall treat him well for your sake, and if you can find any comfort in his society, take it, and be happy as you can.' To Dr. Matthewson he wrote in a different strain. He did not believe in the man, and though he made an effort to be civil he showed his distrust and aversion in every line. If the doctor had repented, he was glad of it, but wishe'^ the repent- ance had come in time to have saved him from a life-lon«» trou- ble. A boy's cowhiding was a small matter for a man to avenge 80 terribly, he said, and then added : * It is no news to me that you are John Hastings, Rossie's bilf" brother. I knew that long ago, but kept it to myself, as 1 did not wish Rossie to know how much of my unhappiness I owed to her half-brother. Wholly truthful and innocent, she thinks others are the same, and if you tell her you are a saint •he will beiiere it implicitly until some act of your own provei the contrary. She is very happy in your society, and I shall do nothing to OMke her less so. but don't ask me to endorse n 292 FORREST HOUSE. f' >fi r III .1 t(' . ,( 1''; t 1 1. .f ii 70U cordially, as if nothing had ever happened. The thing is impossible. If we meet I shall treat you well for Rossie's aake, and shall not seek to injure you so long as you are kind and true to her, but ii you harm a hair of Rossie's head, or bring her to any sorrow, as sure as there is a heaven above us, I'U pursue you to the ends of the earth to be even with you.' There was an amused smile on Dr. Matthewson's face as he read this letter, which showed him so plainly what Everard'a opinion of him was. A meaning smile, too, it was, and one which his enemy would hardly have cared to see. ' So ho 1 the young man threatens me,' he said to himself. * I am glad he has shown his hand, though it was foolish in him to do so, and proves that he is not well up in fencing. I won- der what he wrote to Rossie ; and if she will show me the letter.' Rossie could not show it to him, but when next they met in her room, she said to him : ■, ' I have heard from Everard, and he says that he is glad I am so happy with you, and he will be friendly with you always, and I do so hope you will like each other. Have you, too, heard from him V ' The doctor laughed a low, musical laugh, and drawing his sister to him, said : * You cannot dissemble worth a cent. Don't you suppose I know that Everard's letter to you was not all you hoped it to be. He finds it hard to forgive me for having deprived him of something which his maturer manhood tells him is sweeter, more precious, and far more to be desired than the object of his boyish passion. And I cannot blame him. I am as sorry as he, in a different way, of course, and you ' He did not finish the sentence, for Rossie broke away from him, and burying her face in the cushions of the couch on which they were sitting, burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. ' Don't,' she said, as he made an effort to soothe her. * Don't speak to me, please. I must have it out now. I have kept it back so long. Oh, I wish I had died when I was a little girl, and before I grew to be a woman, with a woman's love, which I must fight all my life, and never know a moment of absolute rest and quiet. Oh, why did you do it f Why did you gena- rate me from my lovel for he is mine and I am his. I was eveiythiug to him i he was everthing to me. Oh, Everard, It FORREST HOUSE. rhe thing ia [Essie's suke, re kiad and ad, or bring bove us, I'll th you.' 's face as he at Everard's and 293 as one I to himself. Jolish in him ing. I won- lovf me the they met in le is glad I you always, re you, too, drawing his >u suppose I hoped it to rived him of is sweeter, he object of am as sorry away from ch on which of weeping, ler. * Don't hsLve kept it a little girl, love, which > of absolute i you seD&- his. I was b, Everard, )U8t this once I will say what I foe I. i love you~I Iwe yotk , and I cannot help it. I know it is wicked, and try to put it away. 1 bury it out of my sight ; I trample on it ; I stamp apon it ; 1 think I have the mastery over it, and on the slight- est provocation it springs into life more vigorous than ever, and T cannot conquer it.' Slie hud said all she had to say, but she kept on sobbin" piteously, like one in mortal pain ; and hardhearted, and ut^ t€rly unprincipled, and selfish as he was, Dr. Matthewson could not be wholly indifferent to a grief such as he had never wit- nessed but once, and that was years ago ; but she who wept before him then was a fair-haired German girl asking repara- tion for the ruin he had wrought. He had laughed at her, and, telling her she would make a splendid queen of tragedy, had bidden her go upon the stage and achieve her fortune, then come to him, and perhaps he would make terms with her. But Rossie was a different creature. She knew nothing of such girls as Yula Van Eisner. She was Rossie, heiress of the For- rest property — and he walked up and down the room several times, and blew his nose vigorously, and made a feint of wip- ing his eyes with a perfumed handkerchief, and then came and Btood by her; and putting his hand on her bowed head, said to ier: 'Don't, Rossie, give way like this, or you will drive me mad, knowing, as I do, that I have in one sense caused your sorrow. If I could undo it, I would, but I cannot. There is, however, a way out of it Have you ever thought how easily he might get a divorce, which would make him free I* * He would not be free ; * and, lifting up her head, Rossie flashed her bright, black eyes upon him indignantly. ' The Bible would not recognise him as free, neither would I, and you must not speak of such a thing to me.' * Then I will not,' he answered, still more soothingly ; * but Rossie, it is folly to give way like this, though for this once I am glad you did. For now I understand better the cause of these pale cheeks and irregular pulse, and am sure you need entire change of air and scene, such as you can only find in Europe, where we are going in the spring. Think of a summer in Rjwitzeriand among the glorious" Alps. 1 know every rock and chasm» and winding path there, and shall be so happy in «eeing you enjoy them.' 1,, f 4 I-] jl I 11 ' ^' !294 FORREST HOUSE. He was Bpe^mg very kindly to her noir, and she graduaflv grew calm and listened while he talked of Europe! fnd wh2 n ?; ' r-"^ ''" 'i"'"' ^"'"u^" ^"^^« d««i*i«d that the; would e^ m the spring, and, as nothing in the wav of travel could smt Rossie better, she told Mrs. Andrews thenext da7of the nl^n and wrote of it to Everard, ignoring altogether h's right a? h"; guardian to be consulted. But Everard did not fesent it though for a time he felt half tempted to say that shTshoufd not go, for a strong presentiment of evil swept over him wkh such force as to keep him awake the entire Lhl S ^ h the morning his nervous fear subsided, and hf could wJ no reasonable objection to Rossie's going for the summer to Europe with her brother, whose perfect knowledge of the manners and customs and language of the diflFerent countries m^stmake Wm a very pleasant travelling companion Rossie had written that she should go directly from Florida to New York, and so Everard wrote her his farewell Wter *„2 senthera draft for five hundred dollLrwhTch helltd sSe might need as she would not care to be altogether de^endert Tft Su'tDr'fche'^""'.^ ^rsti^vr^X,, wTs't S?St tt'd ly ^eSngTrh'r' '" "^ '^^^ '' ^^' -' ^^^ So Rossie kept it, or rather gave it to her brother, and sent a letter of thanks to Everard. and another to Bee, tell WW of her intended journey, and bidding her good-by ^ With that subtle and mysterious foresight with which womnn seem to be gifted, and for whi.h there S no e^lLatJon K trice anticipated danger at once, though inThat form sh^ could not define. She only knew that she wished R^ssS Z^ not going away alone with Dr. Matthewson, butshekeptW fears fron. Everard, and wrote to Rossie that she should be b^ l7AV.V'%^'' -""^^ ^°^ ""^'^ Rossie Stood at last o^ the deck of the Oceanic, Bee was there and Everard too t^lill his last look at the f^ce which would haunt hTm X ' ^^^^ Saot of' ^'"- f '^' ^^'^ ^^"^' "« -^^'^ we fee Sat b; some act of ours interposed m txme, we might have saved the life dearer than our own. Beatrice had said to him • ^. ?.*!^l°^?.^ *°,N«^ Y°^^ t« see Rossie. Will you «, with mr t aiiu wiLjiuuc a momeutd reflection he wAnf' ^nA or^^l D«bI,Wul day with h.r. .day never toVforJot^sV^Vwr^^ h. drove with her m the Pwk, mi wafhel th. ' Eossie cried. ' I should not feel as I do— afraid, somehow, as if I was never to return — never to sod you again, or Everard.' ' She was holding his hand in both hers as she spoke, and in that moment of farewell she forgot everything except the pre- sentiment that she was going from him foi-ever: that their parting was final ; and her tears fell like ram as she bent over tnd kissed his hand, and said : ' Good-by, Everard, good-bye, and if it should be forever, you 11 never forget me, will you 1' These were her parting words, which m the after time, he said over and over again H'lth a bitterer, heavier pain than he felt when with Bee he stood upon the Jersey shore, and watched the Oceanic sailing down the bay. ® And so Kossie passed from their sight, and the next they heard from her she had reached Liverpool, but was greatly fati- gued with the voyage, during which she had been sick most of the time. It was only a few lines she wrote to Everard, to tell him she was safe. ' When I am stronger,' she said, 'I will send you and Bea- trice a long letter, and tell you everything. Now I can only sit by my window and look out upon the busy streets of Liver- pool and St. George's Hall right opposite, and occasionally kher*> comes over me a feeling of something like homfi-sickRsas when I remember how far I am from America and the friends who never seemed half so dear to me as now, when I ap po widely separated from them.' 296 FORREST HOUSE* ■•». w, V 7^*1?®^* ^® ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^''® «^« ^«8 in London, and do- Jightfully located m lodgings near Regent's Park, and pkyina keep house while her brother was the best and kindest man in the world, and she was very happy. Then thoy went to Switzerland, and Rossie's letters were full of the enthusiastic delight she felt with everything around her. Of her health she seldom spoke, and when she did, it was not altogether sa- tistactory. bomeumes she was so tired that she had kept her room for two or three days, and again a headache, or sore throat, or cold, had confined her to the house for nearly a week • but she was very happy among the Alps, and wished that Bea' trice and Everard were there with her to enjoy what she was enjoying. As the summer advanced, however, her letters were not so frequent, and the doctor sometimes wrote for her saying she was not feeling well, and had made him her amanuensis Ihey were not to be alarmed, he said ; it was only a slight heart difficulty, induced by the mountain air ; which often affected tourists in that way. He should take her to Southern Franco early in the autumn, and then to Italy as the season advanced, and should not return to America till spring. When Everard read this letter there came over him again a great horror of some impending evU threatening Rossie, and do what he might he could not shake it off". He thought of it by day and dreamed of it by night, and could he have found any good excuse for doing so, he would have started for Eu- rope, and kept near the girl, who, it seemed to him, was in some imminent peril, though of what nature he could not guess. Sometime in November a letter came from Dr. Matthew- son, dated at Nice, where he said they ho been for two or three weeks, and where, as he expressed it, I hope our dear invahd is improving. Switzerland was not the place for her and she seemed to grow weaker evf ry day she staid there, so I hastened back to Paris, and then .ame here, where she seems very happy, but is weak as an inff at. She complains of nothing but weariness, and cannot ge. rested. Of course I have the best medical advice for her, and everything is done which can be to arrest the disease and give her some strength. The physicians have forbidden her reading or writing, even short letters, and I must ao it for her for the present. I hope neither you nor Miss Belknap will be needlessly distressed, for I assure you there is no immediate danger, and with proper FORREST HOUSE 297 adon, and de> :, and playing kindest man they went to Q enthusiastic Of her health altogether sa- had kept her [ache, or sore early a week j hed that Bea- vhab she was r letters were or her, saying r amanuensis only a slight which often r to Southern LS the season pring. him again a ; Bossie, and thought of it J have found irted for Eu- > him, was in aid not guess. )r. Matthew- a for two or lope our dear place for her, id there, so I re she seems ns of nothing Durse I have s done which rength. The I, even short at I hope distressed, for with proper •are, such as she has now, she will, I tliink, be quite able to return to America in the spring. She is calling to me now from her chair by the window, and says, " Tell them not to be troubled about me ; that I walked too much in Switzerland and am not rested yet, but am so happy here in beautiful Nice, looking out upon the blue Mediterranean." ' After this letter Rossie never wrote again, and though Everard and Beatrice wrote frequently to her, asking her to send them a line, if nothing more. Dr. Matthewson always ^ei^lied, * She is forbidden to write even so much as her name ;' and so the fall and winter crept on, and Rossie was first in Venice, then in I'lorence, and then in Rome. And then Dr. Matthewson wrote one day to Everard, saying that Rossie did not know of this letter, neither did he wish her to know, as it would only trouble her and retard her recovery, but to be brie.', he found himself straitened for money just now, physicians charged so abominably in Europe, and on account of Rossie's illness their expenses were, of course, much heavier than they would otherwise have been, and if Everard would make an advance for Rossie of a few thousand dollars, he should be very glad. He was intending to leave Rome early in the spring, and go to Germany to a famous cure, where the prices were very high. Double the amount of money asked for wps placed at the doctor's disposal, and when that night Everard went to Elm Park to call upon Be»,tric«, he said, in reply to her inquiriea for news from Rossie : ' We shall never see her again.' OHAFEER XLIJ, ALAS, POOR ROSSIBl T T had been a long, dreary winter to Everard, and when the X anniversary came round of the day when Rossie sailed, it aeemed to him that he had lived m tliat year more than a hun- dred lives. And yet, in a business point of view, he had been Z^O BEST hOUSE. "4 '\' < for Josephine m.'-. h^Ty' deSds unon"/' "" w7 ^^ "^"«''' Flo/ i.la 8he did nut return ^oRnf?^ ^?' ^^'^'^ "^e left H'-.B loukod upon Si d Mtrl. H .K 'Y' ''''''''« «'^« •^"^'^ «he traveiiin^. so «he trav L'^f^om ^^ ^--J/. better mer and autumn and in /i« »P f ^ '**^^ ''"""fe' *''« sum- but early in thrsprin, ZlLZlu' T"^ 'TS**"^ ^ ^'^""Ja- where ghe lived very lieSv^T^ ^^^ "? the Forrest House, court society She yokl'!? T""''/ 'i! '^" '^'^^'' ^hnn she heard of en from ?he doTtor fnTt" ^''""^ 'l^^^'^'^' ^"^ anxiety for her toTatri.« S P I'^u^- ^^P^-^^^^'l «o much not know the worst that thSr ^"'"^' ^•'?^'"^ '^^'^ ^^ey did pense was grornTintolerlr 5f " ^T, ^"''^^^^^d' ^"d^us- May. the m'aU bro^ghtt E^^^^^^^^^ ^Uw ' «°r"^"*°^ '" the^;auts^1 rm^oTLfs ?rf ? T^ ^^^'^^'^ ''^^ ^ '^ Europe, and who occronal y forwlrded ^i" """'' ''"\'"*"« '" left one place for anotW Mr F*-r,„ ^W^f when they Everardranhisevroverth«li«^'-f • ^^'*'**^' ^""^ places to see i^h 8 wl Vhere ftr E^rf.' "'^'''''l^ i" ^'«'*^'-«"<^ to do with Rosaie he nevtdre ' Jd' IndreS'sh'^ "^'^""« i^om their sockets, so gJeat was ^JL^^:^-^ Aus?ri:f'oTctsrm'S'l;fd''h '"'S^ Haelder-Strauchsen, Hastings, of Eoths^y Ohio U tf ^'T'^ Miss Eosamond :en months. SeldoSi delthVnkf^i: T'^ "'"'*''° ^^^^^ ^-ad personand charat'r t 'fhi^ ^ ^^^^f.^X^ ^-ely i„ '^Don't cry forme, and tell them at homSjf be Irv e;t;:;r' J^^r^'lil^.^r^-^ ^-? in Austria as it wouTdberYri^^^^ — ••' i stilt a\j i:iii.(t r.n crn -- — j I auj au giau CO gO. ^-erard could read «o more, and throwing the paper fm- > more pleutifuj b lay by much, When she left she knew she 188. It was a herself better iring the sum. 1 to Florida- Forrest House, ni rather than ig health, for )8sed so much that they did ised, and sus- le morning in Register from B. ably had in it I travelling in )er when they abroad, and d in different liad anything le was not in 3ral way, and 'hen he came with wildly, i^ere starting t)od upon his -Strauchsen, IS Eosamond in years a-ad Dre lovely in in I i. .ran^e to the i'lOtiT s sorry either, m A merino. paper ivom FORItUST UOUHB. 899 him he buried his face in his hands, and for a ff^w moment* gave way to such grief as men seldom leel, and never exp^mence but once in a life-time. He did not weep ; his pain was too great for tears r neither did any word escape I is livid lips, but his frame shook as with an ague chill, and occasionally a long- drawn, moaning sob told how much he suffered, while great drops sweat TiatLered thickly upon his face, and in the palms of his lands. ^ > other blow could have smitten him so heavily as he rn.HfTiaitttp r.>w. It is tr-ie he had felt a great dread lest J. iSie should die, but underlaying that was always the hope tVit 9b ) would come back again. But all that was ended now, the little ray of sunlight on his horizon had set in gloom, and the mght lay dark and heavy around him, with no rift in the black clouds, no Lght in the future. Rossie was dead, in all her treshness and youthful beauty ; Rossie, who had been to him a constant source of pleasure and joy, since he first took her in his arms, a tmy little girl, and kissed her pretty little mouth in spite of her remonstrance, 'Big boys like oo mustn't tiss nittle dirls like me. •5® 5'**^. ^l^sed her many times since as a siater, and twice with all the intensity of a lover's burning passion, and once she had kissed him back, and he knew just where her lips had touched him, and fancied he felt their pressure again, and the perfume of her breath upon his cheek. But, alas, she was dead, and the Austrian skies were bending above her grave in that tar-off town with the strange-sounding German name, which he had not stopped to pronounca 'What was the name ?' he asked himself, speaking for the first time since he read the fatal news, and reaching mechanic- ally for the paper lying open at his feet. But his eyes were bloodshot and dim, and it took him some time to spell out, letter by letter, the name Haelder-Strauchsen. and to wonder where and what manner of place it w^s where Kossie died, and if she were lying under the flowers and soft peen turf sh^ loved so much in life, and if he should ever sei nek" gtave. 'Yes, please Heaven I ' he said, ' I'll find it some day, and whisper to my darling sleeping there of the love it will be no sin to snAAk nf f.hon I'll foil l^,»- U„.„ _;4.i. i i_t -r— - - -~ .. -.i-^ ii-^TT tTitu ucr liio my sun oi iioue went down, never to nse again.' Then, Klancing once more at the paper, he read a second tim« 300 FORREST HOUSE. i' 1 t - 1 Died, Apnl 20th,' and tried to recall what he was doing on that day the darkest and saddest which had ever dawned for him Making allowaiK-e for the difference in time between Austria and Ohio, it was little paat midday with him when it was evening over there where Rosamond was dying, and with a shudder he remembered how he was occupied then. Josephine had written him a note, asking him to come to Forrest Hou^e as soon after lunch as possible, as she wished particularly to see As he walked up the avenue to the house, he had looked around sadly and regretfully at the different objects which had once been so familiar to him, and all of which had been so in- timately associated with Rossie. It was a lovely April day and beds of hyacinths and crocuses were in full bloom, and the daffodils ana double narcissuses were showing their heads on the borders near the door. These had been Eossie's special care, and he had seen her so often working among them, trowel .n hand, with her high-n^cked, long-sleeved aprJn on, that h, found himself half-looking for her now. But Eossie was not there ; Rossie was dying far away over ihe sea; and only Josephine met him in the hall, civilly and haughtily, as had been her manner of late, and taking him into the reception-room where Rossie used to come to him and vex him so with her long dress and new airs of womanhood, told him that she had an invitation to visit a friend who lived in Indianapolis, and who had invited her to spend the entire sum- mer with her and she wished to know if he could furnish her with money for the necessary outfit, and should she shut up the house again and let Agnes go to Holburton, or should she keep It open and leave Agnes in charge. He told her she could have the money, and said that if Agnes wished to go to Holburton they might as well shut up the house for the summer J and then he left her and walked sXij Infill It T''''"' *^i"ki"g of the girl whose presence seemed to fill the place so completely, that once, when a bush near the carriage road rustled suddenly as a rabbit darted away, he stopped, half expecting to see a figure in white sun- bonnet and high-necked apron spring out at him just as Ros8J« used sometimes to do when she was a little child and he a •u- 1° ""•'■, "'."' "'^^ ujiiig men, wnen iie was thinking 80 much of her, and she eeemed to be so near him. X^ymg then and dead now,' he said to himself, just aa a step FORREST HOUSE. 301 le was doing on )ver dawned for 1 time between ith him when it lying, and with hen. Josephine > Forrest Hou<>e rticularly to see i, he had looked jects which had had been so in- '■ely April day, bloom, and the their heads on Jessie's special ig them, trowel on on, that h« far away over all, civilly and aking him into him and vex manhood, told i who lived in :he entire sum- ild furnish her he shut up the lould she keep i said that if 3 well shut up r and walked hose presence when a bush rabbit darted in white sun- just as RossJo ild and he a when he was so near him. just aa a step I was beard outside, and Lawyer Kusscll came in, stopping short in alarm at the white, haggard face which Everard lifted to him. ' What is it my boy t Are you sick 1 What has happened " Tell me ? ' he asked j and motioning to the paper on the floor, Everard answered, sadly, ' Rossie is dead.' ' Rossie dead ! No, no, Ned, it can't be true.' Mr. Russell said, and picking up the paper he read the paragraph indicated by Everard, while a tear moistened his eyelids and rolled down his cheeks. The old man had been very fond of Rossie, and for a few moments he walked up and down the little back office with his hands behind him, and his head bent down, then stopping suddenly he gave vent to the exclamation ' By George ! ' utr tered in such a tone that Everard looked up quickly and en- quiringly, and said : • What is it ? What's the matter t ' ' Ned, my boy, look here. This may not be the time nor place to speak of such a thing, but hanged if I can help it.' the lawyer replied, coming close to Everard, and continuing, ' 1 take it that you considered Rosamond Hastings to have been the lawful devisee to your father's estate.' ' I know she was,' Everard said ; and the lawyer went on in a choking voice : ' Poor little girl ! She rebelled against it hotly, and would have deeded it to you if fjhe had lived to come of age, — there's nothing surer than that But you say she's dead, and she not twenty yet till June, and don't you see, in spite of fate, the estate goes to her brother, who is her heir-at law, and that's what I call hard on you. I know nothing of the man except what you have told me, but if the half of that is true, he is a scamp, and will run through the property in a quarter of the time it took to make it Maybe, though, he has some kind of honour about him, and if Rossie knew she was going to die, you may be sure she put in a plea for you, and perhaps he will divide ; that's the best you can hope for. So we won't despaii till we hear from the brother. There's another mail from the north tonight A letter may come by that, It ought to have been here with the paper. It's a bad business all round, — very bad. Kossie dead ; poor it"ossie, the nicest girl and most sen- «ible that ever was born, and the property gone to thunder I ' The old man was a good deal moved and began again t« t !,^ • li. M ; I I I ;!i r ' .1 !, 302 FOKREST HOUSE. walk the floor, wliile Everard laid his head upon the table in & half-stupefied condition. Not that he then cared especially what became of his father's money, though the thought that it would go to the man he hated most cordially was a fresh shock to his nerves, but it was nothing to losing Rossie. That was a grief which it seemed to him he could not bear. Certainly he could not bear it alone. He must tell it to some one who would not, like Lawyer Enssell, talk to him of money ; and when It began to grow daik, so that no one could see how white and worn he was, he arose and walked slowly up to Elm Park, sure of finding a ready and hearty sympathy there. ' Oh, Everard, what is it ? ' Beatrice asked, when she first met him and saw his white, haggard face. He answered her as he had answered Mr. Russell, « Rossie is dead, and then seated himself again in the chair from which he had arisen when she came in. Beatrice's tears were falling like rain, but Everard's eyes were as dry as if he had never thought to weep, and there was such a fearful expression of anguish on his face that Beatrice went up to him, and laying her hand on his head, said, pityingly : ' Oh, Everard, don't look like that. You frighten me. Cry, can't you, just as I do 1 Tears would do you good.' ' Cry » ' he repeated. ♦ How can I cry with this band like red-hot iron around my heart, forcing it up to my throat I shall never cry again, or laugh— never. Bee, I know you think me foolish and wicked, too, perhaps ; half the world would think it, and say I had no right to love Rossie as I do, and per- haps 1 have not j but the dearest, sweetest memory of my life is the memory of what she was to me. I know she neyer could be mine. I gave that up long ago, and still the world was pleasanter to me because she was in it Oh, Rossie, my darling, how can I live on and know that you are dead I ' Then Beatrice did not attempt to comfort him, for she knew she could not, but she sat by him in silence until he arose and went away, saying to her at parting, and as if he had not, told her befor), * Kossie is dead.' 1 the table in a ared especially thought that it ls a fresh shock sie. That was jar. Certainly some one who if money ; and could see how wly up to Elm thy there, when she first isell, ' Rossie is lir from which rs were falling he had never expression of im, and laying ten me. Cry, this band like my throat I sow you think world would I do, and per- )ry of my life ow she neyer till the world h, Rossie, my B dead I ' for she knew he arose and 9 had not told FORREST HOUSE. 303 CHAPTER XLIII THE LETTERS. THE next day's mail brought four foreign letters to Roth V^C within twnr^'%^"''u"- J^'^ "^''^ ^" °^*i'«d in trETrardtillMrst ""^ °''"' *"' ^'^ ^'^'^ ^''''^'' , . _ _ ^ ' Vienna, April — , . Mr. Everard Forrest -.—Bear Sir,— I hardly know why 1 write to you first, unless it is because I know that what I have to say will hurt you most ; you, who I think loved my -uiriing Kossie. You have perhaps received the American lie- guter, which I ordered to be sent to you from the office in Paris when I forwarded the notice, and so you know why I write to you now. I have wntten to you from time to time of Rossie's tailnig health, but never told you as bad as it was, for I did not wish to alarm you unnecessarily, and kept hoping that change of scene might bring the improvement I so greatly de- sired. But nothing helped her, though she never complained of anything but fatigue. " So tired," was all she ever said of herselt, and she seemed like some sweet flower fading gradu- 1 -1*1 ^T J^^^'f^^-Strauchsen, a little town among the Austrian nils, 1 tound that she was not able to go on, as I wished to do, to Vienna, and so we stayed there, where she had the best ol care. Neither of us thought the end so near until the last day, when she failed rapidly, and talked of you and Miss Belknap, and told me to tell you how much she loved you both, and that you were not to be sorry she was dead, for she was only going home, and Heaven was as near Austria as it was to America bhe was so beautiful in her coffin, with a smile of peace upon her face, as if she were resting at last. The people literally covered her with flowers, and strangers' tears fell fast over her comn act we laid her in the grave. •I shall come to America soon, and will tell you all you wish to know with regard to her sickness and death, and the many 304 FORREST HOUSB. i • 1 ■ 1: ' 1 ; i.l I-''.' .. I ■ij i' J!' ' '1.; II !■ thuH;B bho eaid of you, k«J your kindiusa to h«r. I have , lock of her hair tor you and Miss Belknap, which I will bring with me. 'And now good-bye, and may Heaven pity us both, and make us better men for having had our Rossie even for so short a time. ' Truly, John Matthewson.' His letter to Beatrice was in substance much the same as the one to Everard. There were a few more details of Rossie's ill- ness, and a few words more which she said at the last of her friends in America. Josephine's letter no one saw, and if they had, few in Roth- say could have made it out, for it was written in German, which Josephine could readily understand. One or two sentences, however, deserve a place in our story, and must accordingly be given. After indulging in a good deal of sentimentalism with regard to Rossie's death, he added : ' But as every cloud has its silver lir.inf/, so has this dark paU which has overshadowed me so heavily." I can now offer you wealth as well as love, and this I dare say you will not objecl to. So, if you are not already at Indianapolis, go there at onc^ and perhaps I will join you there after I have paid my respects to Mr. Forrest' To Lawyer Russell he wrote as follows : * Vienna, April — , — — . ' Mr. Thomas Russell : — Dear Sir, — I have communicated to Mr. Forrest the sad news of my sister's death, and need not enter into the particulars with you, who will hear them from him. I write to you aS the family lawyer, on another subject of which I cannot now speak to Mr. Forrest, lest he should misconstrue my motive, and think me anxious and premature in what I am about to say. As a lawyer of large experience you have undoubtedly already thought of the fortune willed to Rossie by Judge Forrest, and of which she died lawfully pos- sessed, and you have probably thought what disposition would ~^^ u.. .v.»/i<> «f it Vnn know, of course, that Rossie alwava protested it was not hers rightfully, and that she should give it uaok to Everard as soon as she reached her majority. I, how* :i«r. I have •» ;h I will bring us both, and ren for so short ITTHEWSON.' the same as the of Bossie's iU- the last of her 1, few in Both* German, whicli two sentences, accordingly be [nentalism with 8 this dark paU I now offer you will not object ) there at once^ aid my respects tril — , . communicated 1, and need not lear them from [mother subject lest he should and premature irge experience rtune willed to d lawfully pos- iposition would , Rossie always 3 should give ii )rity. I, how- FORREST HOUSE. 305 ever, who am her lawful heir, do not see things as she did and am not disposed to throw away the good the gods p ovfdf Still I am disponed to be generous, and make over to Everardat wnnU K 1,^!? ^"^ °?^ "^*^«P*^ ^^^^^'•'i liin^self, I wish you would be hunting up the matter, and getting into shape some statement or estimate of the value of the property, so there may be no unnecessary delay when I come to kthsay L I shalUc iawveT .ndT '" ^/^-Yo^M friend, who is a s'hrewd, honest iZ wilfli 7 ^uf^ ^'"^ "^'^^ ^«' "°t because I think there wiir be any trouble or opposition to my claim but iust tn expedite matters and get them settled as soon a^ pile your; tuiy! '"^ ^°'' * '"'°*^ ^°^ adviser, I am 'John Matthewson.' his^i'oluaihlnThr ^*^^' *^^\' *'^^"' ^^'^ ^' 1^*°^^ "'^der ms coat-tails and his glasses on the top of his head, walked uo and down his room, muttering to himself : '^ Just what I told Ned,- the man is a scoundrel, and he will with all ais fine talk of generosity, bring a New York lawyer here to see to it, as if he wouldn't have fair play andTet everv cent his due, though I'll be blamed if I wouldS'tUe advanS of any quirk or loop-hole to crawl out of, if there was on^« which there sn't. As Ro3sie's brother he is her heir, oTcoui^e' and the whole thing goes to him, for I'll bet my head Ned™]' wXti^ r ' ^f f ^r>^y' ^' '^ h« hadn't trouble enough with the loss of the girl, without this new thing to bother ' And It ever a man stood in need of sympathy it was Everard who seemed completely crushed, and who looked srwhite and changea that even his best friends forbore speaking! him of Rossie though they talked much of her among themselves^nd SuS IT '\'^ '^^ '^' y^""« 8^^^ -1^« ^-d been so great a favourite, and whose grave was so far away. That Everard lv''il Z"'"''' "^T '^r ^ ^''''^'''' 1«^« ^^ concedeed now by all, and no one thought to blame him for it, bnt pitied him m his sorrow, which he did not try to conceal. ' When Lawye^ Russell took tllft rinnfor'a Uf *^_ 1-, u:__ , ' , xiuwyer thought of It he evinced no surprise or dissatisfaction. UatB all right, he said, 'he is her heir, and he shall hav*. J 1 'i FORBEST HOUSE. every dollar,— -remember, every dollar. I would not take il from her, I will not have it from him ; and you must do the business for me. I give it into your hands. I cannot confer with him ; 1 should forget myself sometime, and fly at his throat. I will give you all the papers |wrtaining to the estate. I have kept the matter perfectly «tr£,igV,t, so there will be no trouble in finding just how much he ip worth. Now mind, don't you ever dare to think I will have a penny of the money, for I will not, so help me heaven I till Eossie rises from her grave to give it to me. Then you may talk to mc, and not till then.* This was Everard's decision, which both Mr. Eussell and Be*, trice approved, though both mourned bitterly over the fate which gave Judge Forrest's hoarded stores into the hands of one as unprincipled as Dr. Matthewson, whose arrival was anx- iously looked for. fi CHAPTER XLIV, THE NEW HEIB. HE stepped from the car one June afternoon, elegantly habited in the latest Parisian style of coat, and vest, and hat, with a band of crape around the latter, and a grieved look on his handsome face, as if he were thinking of the dear little girl, dead so far away, and whose fortune he had come to take. With him was a sharp, shrewd-looking man, with round, bright eyes, which saw everything at a glance, and a decidedly foreign accent. To him the doctor always spoke in German, and in this language the two talked together for a few moments after alighting upon the platform in Eothsay. Evidently they were not expected, for no one was there to meet them, but the doctor inquired for the best hotel, and making his way thither registercv' his own name and that of his friend, ' Walter Klvne iiisq., iicw iuxa. vitj-. Anun, uiiguging iwo or cne Dest ruuini In the house, aud ordering dinner at seven o'clock, he started I'P FORREST HOUSE. ould not take it. you must do the I cannot confer i, and fly at his ing to the estate, there will be no 'th. Now mind, ny of the money, « rises from her ' mc, and not till • Russell and Bea- y over the fate into the hands of I arrival was anz' 807 moon, elegantly f coat, and vest, jr, and a grieved king of the dear » be had come to man, with round, and a decidedly poke in German, •r a few moments Evidently they et them, but the his way thither ' Walter Klyne. r ine Desc roouia ilock, he stai'teii out to reconnoitre, going first to Eveniru's office, and ere-ith astonishing the young man, who did not know that he had vet Sof'nm'wSI'- i'T'5'^ thought, peri:ps.'th'a't'h Bigiit ot him. With his band of crape upon his hat and th« peculiar air of sadness he managed to infuse into his voTce and manner, would awaken in £ver"ard a feeling of gympathv and l^ntZ •''.'?.' '" "^^"^^ ^^^'•^^ he had so largeTparL but ^ produced just the contrary effect, and though he went forward with offered hand to meet him, there swept over him a sensa iTr^t i'T''' fJ^^ "^•^^«^*'"' *"d dread.-a fee ing of horro; Z L^ ^' u°n'^ not account, any more than he could exE the sudden chill which crept through his veins, as if Ros fe's jold, dead hands were touching his, and Rossi^'s white s ill /ace pressed against his own. ' ' Dr. Matthewson was very polite and very much afraid n# wounding Everard's feelings."^ &e was sorr7not to finTMr Russell there he said, as he wished to talk a litl about busi' Sv^'wrslVt^p.^^ ^^-- ^^«^«"- House.thth'Te' Everard gave him the keys, and added, hurriedly : rou will have no trouble whatever, as I have no intention Jj^^^^i'' ^^ ''""u' ^ ?® '°°^ th« offered keys. « We will peak of business, by-and-by, and when I can tfust myself to onV • i,T' ^""^^ what your sister's wishes were. Now I only wish to see the house where she used to live. I will ^^ f A tf^fe te^^;^7aSL^t/f^^^^^^^ same icy chill about his heart anrthrfedi'g T^ T 1 ' h darkness and silence of her fai-off grave Rossi! were bernn' to him and trying to warn him of danger ^ecKoninc, Meantime the two gentlemen went ranidiv alnncr the "♦— oi ...oiiisay, where, as strangers, they were stared at'bvTha 308 FORREST HOUSE. .*! 1 ' " I V ' Jr. ^;P^«°^¥, i- iheritance I I quite envy you, old boy,' Wai- fotJ*""' •L'^^i *^° ''®'"^ '^®" ^^'^ » ^o'^'^try house, but it will take a rairtt of money to fix it up as I'd like to have it ' was the ^d^ l?ft •*" ^' l''^ '}' ^'^ '^ '^' J««k and enteTel •!k .. ' ^o^t^*'^'^."^'^ ^*"' ^^''«*fiy beginning to grow dim II ^' f "f "? "^ '^'^'^ "f''^^"°°"- ' It's'leuced^cold, ai? damp, and ghost-.ke ,n here ; don't you think so ? ' the docto^ «aid, shivering a little as he hurried on through room aC room hardly seeing them at all, until he came to one, th^ dool of which was opened as well as the blind opposite, so that a S of ^s^unhght streamed through the window and fell accross the W.l^hl^ '^A^V '*'°™ '• ^^^'' SO in here,' Klyne said, entering hlTi Vh , '??'"^- '""?'^^ T""""^^ while the doctor stood by the threshold, wiping from his face great drops of sweat and 8 arting at every sound, as if he fancied the place full of Bonaething harmful 'Why, Doc, what ails you r You axi dttTpliedf "^'"'^ ''' "^'"^^ ' ' KlyneUed, and Z •Nothing, only this was her room; Rossie's, you know I am sure of it ; she described it to me so often, and I feel la if she was here with us ; I do upon my souL That's her chair where she used to sit, and these must be her books, and that's He seemed so excited that his friend looked at him curiously lT?TT i*^'/r Z^ ^''""^ taken just before they left the hotel had affected his brain, or if it really was true that his grief for his sister w.-^ augmented by the sight of her old home, and the objects which had once made a part of her life Thili " V ^/^^ '^''^"? Matthewson to love any one like that 1 here 8 a kink somewhere,' he thought, as he left the room and i 7 u i'u t^^«"g^^«ne apartment after another, until tha whole had beeri gone through, and they went out into the open air where the doctor seemed to be more at his ease. Taking :Sngfh:lTr °^ '^^ '"''^^'' ^'^^^ ^^^ p^-p^-^--^ -« o# thZ1^7lV''''''T"ir^ ""^^ "*S"''a"er aij, or 1 am no judg? of the weather, and this place m particular •«»«»« hott— UiJi- M boy,' Wal. ps and stood B, but it will have it,' was and entered io grow dim Bed cold, and I ' the doctor h room after ne, the doo^ that a flood 1 accross the aid, enterin;^ ioctor stood 38 of sweat, place full of 1 You are ced, and the u know. I i I feel as if 's her chair, I. and that's J it's like a a curiously, iey left the ue that his r old home, life. Q like that e room and r, until tha to the open e. Taking iration was a no judg° iott*» FORREST HOUSE, 309 a-pted by the publiet'lh^he ^ tgh "nl' Zl^ 1" hang:!';,'? „L° « e 'b° i„TmS IS Va^'% '"" '"'"■ .' '"°' poo. chap H.e J ,e« a nKferi/^»L,,^rh»^ j^"™ : failed ^here most of C S^w.. i"' rir'-X,"-? .«™ mucj^p^er now than When iWfriS'Si- ^ S H« .oemed to be in earnest, and insisted that ErerarJ diould 310 FORREST HOUSE. I' H I ft' 1 j: < take half the property, until the latter stupped him by saying decidedly : ' Your talk is all in vain, for I shall never take a dollar cf that woney. It would prove a curse to me if I did. I do not want it, I will not have it, and I only ask that I hear no more on the subject.' So saying, he rose suddenly from his chair and left the room. The interview was ended ; thj doctor had discharged his duty ; and it was not his fault that he was a richer man by more than two hundred thousand dollars than he expected to be. On the whole, he felt quite satisfied with matters as they were, and would not quarrel with the good luck which made him so rich that he need never again feel a moment's anxiety. He had nothing more to do but to enjoy himself, and let, others do so too, for that was part of his creed. Naturalh generous and free, he was always ready to share his fortune with other, and he made up his mind at once to be very popu- lar in Rothsay, and to b6gin by liberal gifts to every public and charitable object, as that was sure to win him favour. Walter Klyue, who served no purpose whatever, was retained, nominally as legal adviser, but really because under his smooth, f)lacid exterior, the doctor carried a coward's heart, and did not ike to be alone at the Forrest House, wliere ha mon took up his quarters. There was an odour of aristocracy j^b >ut the place which he liked, for it reminded him of some of the palaces in Europe which he had coveted, envying the possessor, and fancy- ing how happy he should be were he the lord and owner. He was lord and owner now, with an income of more money than he had ever had at any one time in his life. He had men-ser^ vauts and maid-servants, and fast horses, and carriages, and hunting-dogs, and choice cigars by the hundreds, and rare wines, which he drank as freely as water. He ordered several costly pictures from Munich aud Dresden, with statuary from Florence, and filled the halls and grounds with the latter, and fitted up a gallery for the former, and set up to be a connoisseur and critic general of fine art, and gained considerable reputation in that line, and was spoken of as a highly cultivated and generous man, of whom Eothsay would ha\ been glad if his coming there had not been brought about uy the death of the sweet .:>i ;iii. WiiOSO niciiiLri y - e^ — 1 J :_ ii rraa a%j xicou aiiu ^iccu m bUC IliUIUSi yourij, b . ^ of her friends. He had the most expensive pew in church, Uid was present every Sunday morning, and joined reverently kirn by saying FORREST HOUSE. an :e a id. dollar cf I do not ar no more on chair and hit ad discharged icher man by xpected to be- as they were, made him so tiety. nself, and let i. Naturallj :e his fortune be very popii- every public him favour. was retained, iT his smooth, t, and did not Goon took up I >ut the place the palaces in lur, and fancy- [ owner. He e money than had men-ser' sarriages, and id rare wines. several costly rom Florence, and fitted up moisseur and reputation in and generous I his coming of the sweet lu tuC uimuii w in church, ed reverently *u the service, though his preference, he frankly said, was for the plain Methodist chapel ; and he made no secret that ho had once been a Methodist clergyman, and said he should return to that body were it not that Rossie loved tho churcli .... a child loves its motlier, and for her sake he should be a churchman, and instruct himself in all its usages and doctrines. So the Episcopalians claimed him, and made much of him, and took his gifts thankfully, and rejoiced that at last the Forrest money, which the judge had held so tightly, was being distributed among them in so liberal a manner. Could they have had their choice they would rather have .seen Eveiard in his father's house. Dr. Matthewson was genial and pleasant, and very generous, but in some sense he was an interloper, while Ever- ard waa to the manor born ; the purple was his by birth ; the blue blood of Forrest and Bigelf^w was in his veins, and tho people sympathized with and pitied him more than he ever dreamed. It was a very lonely life which he led that summer after Rossie's death ; and with the exception of Beatrice he seldom talked with any one, except on business. He could not mingle with hi« old friends and seem as he used to do, with that sad memory constantly in his heart ; that grave always yawning before him, where he had buried his darling. A thought of Rossie was always with him ; not as he saw her last, sJanding on the deck and waving him her farewell, with tears 8 dimming in her eyes, and a look upon her face whose meaning he could readily interpret, but as she was when a little girl sporting on the terrace behind the house, or romping on the grounds, with the white sun-*onnet hanging down her back, the strings chewed into a hard knot, her hair blowing about her face, and her starry eyes brightening when he joined her with his raillery and teasing jokes. Sometimes in the stillness of the night he almost fancied that he heard again the quick tread of the busy feet which had run so willingly for him, and always when his grief was at its height, and his heart aching the worst, he felt that pale, thin hands were beckoning from out the darkness of the grave- beckoning him to come, as if the spirit could not rest until it was joined hy his. Once, when the impression was very strong upon him, and it almost seemed as if the dead hands touched ha and were leading him away, he said aloud ; f 1 ij 312 FORREST HOUSE. ^ ♦ Roesie, are you here ! Is Uiere somctluiig you want me to ao, and are you trying to tell me 1 I'd go to the ends of the earth at your slightest bidding,' But to this appeal no answer came from the far-oflF grave across the sea, though the hands still seemed beckoning with a never-tiring persistence which moved and troubled him greatly. Had he been at all tainted with spiritualism as it exists in mo^ dern times, he might perhaps have sought through mediums to know what his love would tell him, but he was free from supcr- stilions of all kinds, except this one, that Rossie was calling to him, and that ero long it would be granted him to join her in the world beyond. Ai/d io this end he tried to make himself ready praying earnestly as he never prayed before that God would lead him to Himself in any path he chose, so that it conducted him at last to heaven, where liossie was. Well he knew that if he would find that rest, all sinful affectious must be overcome, and he be made humble and submissive as a little child. At first, however, it was very hard to be submissive and humble, and harder still not to hate the man who had blasted his whole hfe, and who seemed to be riding triumphantly in the high and pleasant road of success. But gradually the hard- ness began to give way as the new life within him became clearer and brighter, and though he could not bring himself to like the doctor or find pleasure in his society, he could endure his presence, and no longer crossed the street to avoid meeting him if he saw him coming in the distance, and that was about '^}},^\^^ V^W^'^^ ^^ <=o"^d "lake with him. He distrusted and disliked him, and never on any occasion went near the Forrest House, which, as the summer advanced, the doctor filled with his friends from New York, men of his own class, who were as unlike Everard as he was unlike his former self when he re- belled hotly against his fate, and blamed the Almighty for hav- ing dealt so hard with him. Pie did not feel that way now and every Sunday found him an occupant of his father's old pew, where Kossie used to sit, and where he now knelt and prayed earnestly for grace to bear whatever might be in store [or him, feeling, it is true, that nothing worse could happen to him than had already liappened,— the loss of Rossie and the loss of his estate. From JoBtphiiie he seldom heard. She was still in Indiana- polis with her friends, but she did not write him often, and never asked for money. FORREST HOUSE. 3in uu want me to bhe ends of the e far-oflF grave )koning with a ed him greatly, t exists in mo- gh mediums to ree from super- was calling to to join her in • make himseH ifore that God 38e, so that it ivas. Well ho iffections must isive as a little ubmissive anti 10 had blasted umphantly in lally the hard- i him became ing himaelf to could endure ivoid meeting lat was about istrusted and ir the Forrest or filled with SB, who were f when he re- ighty for hav- liat way now, 8 fathei's old )w knelt and it be in store lid happen to )ssie and the 11 in Tndiana- m often, and ale had seat her a Rothsay paper which haa in it a colunm Hui a half of matter concerning the disposition of the Forresi piuperty, and the new proprietor, but she had made no com- ment. That she could not live at the Forrest House h(3 knew and that she would not return to Rothsay he devoutly hoped,' ana so ho grew more quiet and contented each day, thoufli there was ever with him a sense of bitter pain and a constant tliought of the grave across the sea where Rossie was buriiid. And so the summer waned, and September came and went and one morning in October a bombshell was thrown int«! RothBay wluch made Everard stagger for a moment from the suddenness of its coming ; then he rallied, and his first sensa- tion was one of intense relief, such as the prisoner feels when told that ere long he will be free again to go and come as he It camo first in the form of an article published in the Roth- say Star, add which was as follows : ' DiTOR«B IN High Life.— We learn from a friend residing m Indianapohs that there is a divorce suit pending between two parties well known in Rothsay. The gentleman, in fact 18 stiU a resident here, but the lady is at present in Indianapo- lis, where she went last May with the intention of getting the divorce. ^ ° Everard read this article twice before fully comprehending Its meaning. Then, when he knew he was one of the parties meant, that it was tho Forrest name which must be mixetl with the affair, his first feeling was one of shame and mortification notwithstanding that he had once contemplated doing just what Josephine was doing for him. But his next feeling was one of intense relief that at last he would be free from the burden which had borne so heavily upon him. He went with the notice to lieatrice, who, although she disapproved of divorces as a rule, looked upon this as an exceptional case, and was glad for mm Of course all Rothsay talked, and gossipped, and won- dered, but asked no questions of Everard, who, outwardly wa» just the same, and came and went as if nothing had happened Dr. MatthewBon seemed as much surprised as any one, but offered no opinion whatever on tue subject, and after a fev 314 FORREST HOUSE. dayB lie went to New York with his inseparable friend and ad< viser, Walter Klyne. Four weeks later a notice was sent to Everard to the effect that a divorce from Lim had been granted to his former wife, who chose to take her maiden name, and was again Josephine Fleming; also, that he, too, was divorced, with the right to marry again, if he chose. From that time onward Everard was a changed man. It is true that Eossie was always in his mind, and he never for a moment forgot the pain and loss, which it seemed to him grew greater every day, but the consciousness that Josephine had no claim upon him made him in one way very happy, and he felt freer from care and anxiety than he had done since that fatal night when he made the mistake of his life. That Josephine would marry again he was confident, and it did not need Bea- trice's hint, cautiously given, to awake in his mind a suspicion as to who the man would be ; and still it was a shock when it came to him early in the spring that the Forrest Souse was to have a mistress, and that its last occupant was coming back with a right to rule and reign and spend his father's m'oney as she chose. ^^^■^ ;v' ^■' :'- ■ 'i ^Hi '• ^■^ ^^IHr (i'l CHAPTER XLV. THE NEW REIGN AT THE FORREST HOUSB. DOCTOR MATTHEWSON had spent most of the winter in New York, but of Josephine's whereabouts little was known. She had been in New York, and Holburton, and Boston, where she was the guest of Mrs. Arnold, with whom she had been abroad, and whose good opinion she had succeeded in re- taining by telling her a part only of the truth, and doing it in such a manner that she appeared to be the party to be pitied 1.1 i.1 "P—^^—J Ti/t A ._1J 4. !,_ 1 1- jawzaci' iiuaii x.-vviai-a. j.taic. iiilluivi rrtxa iiui. a pciBUii miu iuur.- ed very deeply into matters, she chose rather to take them at they seemed, and Josephine had been very faithful to her aiid her interest while they were abroad ; and though she wat friend and ad.< se was Bent to 1 been granted len name, and , was divorced, ed man. It is le never for a id to him grew lephine had no )y, and he felt iince that fatal hat Josephine not need Bea- nd a suspicion shock when it p House was to i coming back der's m'oney as USB. it of the winter )outs little was in, and Boston, iKrhom she had iicceeded in re- Lud doing it in ty to be pitied 1 — 1 — 1. IBUIl TfUU iUVil-^ take them a« iful to her a^d Lough she WM FORREST HOUSE. 315 shocked and surprised when she first heard the story of th«» marriage, Josephine told it so well for herself as to make it ap- pear that she had not been greatly in fault, and the lady be- lieved her more sinned against than sinning, and invited her to her own home in Boston, where she was stopping some- where about the middle of March, when word came to the man in charge of the Forrest House that the doctor, who had al- ready been gone two months and more, would remain away still longer, and that when he returned Mrs. Matthewson would accompany him. Who Mrs. Matthewson was the letter did not state, but Beatrice readily guessed, and was not at all sur- prised when, a week later, she received a letter from Mr. Moa ton, who was still in Boston, and who wrote that he had been asked to officiate at the marriage of Miss Josephine Fleming with Dr. John Matthewson, said marriage to take place at the house of one of his parishioners, Mrs. Arnold, April 15th, at eleven o'clock, A.M. What Everard thought or felt when he heard the news he kept to himself, but the townspeople unanimously disapproved of the match, and arrayed themselves against the bride elect, and decided that she should be made to feel the weight of their disapprobation, and know that they resented her marriage ami coming back there to live as an insult to Everard and affront to themcelyes. Nor were they at all mollified by the arrival of cards inviting them to the wedding. There were in all a dozen invitations sent to as many families in Rothsay, and Beatrice had a letter from Josephine, in which slie tried to make every- thing seem fair and right with regaid to the divorce and mar- riage, and hoped Miss Belknap would be friendly with her when she came back to Rothsay. • For myself,' she added, • I would rather not go where Eve- rard is, and where his friends can hardly wish to see me. But the doctor is inexorable, and insists upon living at Rothsay a portion of the year at least He likes the Forrest House, he says, and would not sell it for the world. It suits him for a summer residence, and we shall be there some time in June. He is very kind, and I trust that after the stormy life I have ^eu tuere is a bright futufc in storo for me, which, I aosure you, I shall appreciate, and if I ean atone for whatever has been wrong and questionable in the past I certainly shall do so.' And to do Josephine justice, she did mean to retrieve hw 31G FORREST HOUSE. , :;& fif how little to be trusted ThpSf^J"^" "t^^^ '^^ '^^' ^^^ powerful fascinat on for Dr Sr ^^'^'Jr^'^^^' ^ »"^«* most beautift.1 and attoctL^ ""'u"' ^^'^ '^"^"^^'^ her the the doctor liked LitifuiIirT;'" *^" ^"'^ "^«^ «««"' And his luxurious tastes aid W.^' "''''• ^ ^^"' '^'^ '""^^^ the kind of homrhe la n?i'"n'''' "'f' ^^" one to adorn equal to any emergency and h'^' n ^^'-'- ?*^« ^^^^^ be she was sure to receTve at hJ Iff '"^"^^ ""J^^ *^^ attention, hotels, where he S to t t f ^'''t ""^''""^ P'^««« «nd should become tordeLnstmveT. ^^^»y ^^^^^^ admirers of them and bring his wife „?.!. ) • ? "^ ^f'^^ "^ ^in^s^lf' be her master, and to do ex,ctv«« /•''''""' ^'' ^' '"*^*"^ '« and he made a bednnint hv t!^ ^'"^ ^l?'^*^ '" everything, as she wished him toicf FotlT^t- ''" *^«/«"e«t House te go back to EoThsav Id .ffi ?^P^1"^. ""^^ determined not ryifg thedoctoT&louldXwL?? ^"r^" not require her to live there Pv^n^f f P^^f ' *''" *^ ^^^^ no wish to meet Everard orT * ^-"^ ''''^«- 'She had friends who were surTt:1iighU:rnor "Eutlrd t' '^^ resolved upon makintr th^ ul, "^^ "ow. iJut the doctoj- was he could enJ^yTdSf'after hirnw'°-S ^'""^ °I P"^^'^^' ^^^'^ the slighest cLs^dlration fn? ♦!, ""• u^'^'' ^°^ ^ ^« ^^^^ not he laulhed at Joseph^ ^-^f ^ ^^?^/« °^ ^^^ers, carried his point vSh re^S^ to'the F^^' ?u^ ""^^'^ '^"^ June that th^ tooknoTsln J ,7'" "o' "."'" "•« "Wdleof »ith tile moi.t m^u^^'iZiT^t'^'^'-^ forwarded to th"em •ut .,„,.„, ,4- js::Xre.trX"mr..:;' FORREST HOUSE. 817 wife to the in»ri hat she was and Jsephine a most thought her the iver seen. And gs ; they suited le one to adorn She would be the attentions ^ing places and if her admirers sily rid himself or he meant to in everything, Forrest House ietermined not ndition in mar- ace, or at least ieks. She had aiact with his the doctor was palace, where as he had not ings of others, ed whims, and fouse, and the in the Boston le Rev. Theo- iephine Flem- 9re the happy the middle of house, which jh the months leen therc.fol- rded to them rs were B«nt ' little sonny nooks for plants were cut through tlift solid mason work ^^I'^VTr ^^^?^° together, trees were removed to admii more light and ^ve finer views, until the stately old-fashioned house assumed the appearance of a modern and rather graceful innir ''^:fK'^' Rothsayites, and even Beatrice lierself. thought greatly improved. Every room was re-furnished ana changed m some way except Rossie'8,-which was left un- touched. Not an article of furniture was changed or movec* ITJI A?., ^°"'' °^ ^r^"'" ^'^^ks were on the shel. where she left them ; a work-box was on the table, and in th. closet oneor two half-worn dresses hung, a prey to any moth or insect which chose to fasten upon them. But the rest of ?he house was beautiful, and fresh, and new, and ready for the bride, who came one afternoon in June, and was met at the station by the coachman, with the new carriage and high-step- ing horses which pawed the ground and arched thei? glossy necks as the long tram swept bv. ^ ^ There was no one there to meet the bride, for the marriage 7Z.T^ "T.?."^'i'' 'r°' ^'^^ ^^^^y <^oor ^^8 virtually closed against the lady who, for once in her life, looked pale and tired, as she took her seat in the carriage, and, leaning back weanly, said to the doctor : f. » , b ui«.H death^^^* ^^^ *^^ straightest road home, for I am tired tv But if the doctor heard her he did not heed her request He had no feelings of shame or twinges of conscience. He wished the people to see his splendid turn-out and they drove through Main street, past all the shops and offices, where the men and boys stared at them, and a few made a show of recognizing the courteous lifting of the doctor's hat. and the patronizing wave of his hand. Josephine was closely veUed, and pretended not to see the ladies who were on the street, and who did not turn their heads as the elegant carriage went by. But Josey knew that they saw her, and felt that her worst fears were to be realized • and when, at a sudden turn in the road, they came upon Bea^ tnoe, whose cool httle nod seemed more an insult than a recog- nition, her cup of humiliation was full, and there were tears of morUnCAtinn nnH anaar in V>A> „■,-, ._ j i r 11 f • ^ V" ""1",""°:: '" "''^ ^J"» "■"'^ "^^ acaaacne was not feigned when at last they drew up before the house, where a •traitge woman was waiting to greet thent This was Mw. 318 FORREST HOUSE. Ml- f li,' > I 4Ih' Rogers, the housekeeper, imported for that purpose from Hn cinnat, as were the other servanta These; howeverrad.P Sdi'clT;?..^'*'^^,^ ^'^ »aster\nrSe's1e'^ In nl f ' *°? *^^ '^^"'^ ^as that a mutiny was alreadv heTadZt onr^^""^ ''^'' !^'^^ ^^e post of'^.cXn aid' sne nau lost one cha-rac-ter by ivino- with fnllra wK^ u fust cut. and she didn't care to loealioTher 'Still thl stopped to look at them, but wen Trectlv to h.r nt ' "'T ments, which she did ha;e thegrTc'e Jo'^y ;er?pTetr '^"' mIZ^VV^'V''^' '^^ «^i^ '^ the doctor 'but I am frightfully tired and nervous too, I thiak. This last C Itv ride has just upset me. I believ; I'll have a cup of tea broth to my room, and not go down to dinner, if you'll excuse me ' ^fth Lr Tzi tr' «"f -f --«' -d go do^^ to dS » icn me. i wish the servants to see you at your best nn.! '.omebody may call this evening.' ^ ^'' *"^ . ♦Somebody call!' Josephine retorted, with intense hiffAr ness m her voice ' Don't flatter yourselfThat Iny one whom ^Whv':;".'f '"■"^«'^'' or everf while IremalnLTothsay • onlJi,"®*" ^^''t*' ^ ^^^'■^''^ Forrest's divorced wife, married to another man. I am to be tabooed in this town nS'ftnn notice how the ladies we passed on the strerpr;tended to be ookmg another way so as not to see me. Therdid not wi,b to recognize me even with a nod, and you urTly noticed th« insulting bow which Miss Belknap gave me ThL 11 . iTX'[7^f'' ^" i\ ' ^"-" -uid'iSiTo.rdX: u J 1- • "i'i"'"'ys "^^^ "''W « iiivorcea woman, with her tiraf kii> band imng .. thosame town, what did that mt^rS^kSe^ FORREST HOUSE, 319 rpose from Cin- loweyer, had ali id mistress very iny was already of scullion said, ks who wasn't Still, the wages id see what the 'jGen a servant like. So they mo and stylish, )h she was mis- ', for she never her own apart- pretty. !tor, * but I am 5 last hot day's of tea brought I excuse me.' loctor's reply. own to dinner Tonr best, and • intense bitter- iny one whom ininRothsay.' id, and she re- fe, married to - Didn't you etended to be did not wish ly noticed the ere was not a J so, and that vish I had re- relation, but ir groundless her lirst hus- ' t He kneiF cf many such instances, and if the people in Rothsay were dis po ed to shgh him at first, he should live it downffoT mon v" could accomplish everything. monej^ But Josephine was not to'be soothed by his words and bado CDuiiition ot temper she had shown toward him • so he r^omva^ It good-humoredly and touched her playful yiinder her chTn most hP«.?.^f 7^^r r'n^'""^' ^"^^««k down to dinner a made f^r W tJ^ V'^^"'^^'^^^"^^ "«™^"' -^o looked L if an?tb«n f^i ''*^'' ^^^^ '^""^"g «^ th« "e^t, or the next and Sarorti?^';^;. T ^^^^^ '^'^ with mortificS gtesr:j^o^StC\^;js^s^^ n«l ^ Mrs. Rider to tell her husband to call in the after noon and see her Even that ruse failed, for there was no sohcitude expressed for the lady's health, no inquiiy as to wha? ?e Uni^LTtf^ '^T? ^T ^°^« i^ ^i« haLs7me :arr7age teeling that after all Josephine might be rieht and that .hi S'? tXe iJT"^' to show thei diXpfottbn. %1tt coveted tu™tlr°' ^""i^'l ^''. *^« ^^^^ ^°^t°"« he had so coveted turn to ashes on his hands. But livine it down wn« not so easy as he had supposed, and as day aTefday wlnt bv and no one came to see his grandeur, or paid the leSt attention h.d2t.T'X^'^'l *•' ^.'^' ^"^ he^half-susSdlh^t he had made a mistake m bringing his wife to Rothsay where the Porrest star was evidently in the ascendant. ^' *^' V r^ he decided to fill the house with young men from New t^at u'n fST"f"' ^"' ^'^^'^ ^« '^«"§ht o^f Josey he ^v" house, until his elaborate dinnor. whinb w«o on.,,.!il* u r.^°"? 'f.'? I \ 320 FORREST HOUSE. 6ignal to hiiniseir aud wife that dinner was ready. The rloctcr was very particnlar and exacting on every point of table eti- quette, and required as much form, and ceremony, and atten- tion, as if a multitude of guests sat daily at his board, inetead of himself and Josephine, who was always elegantly dressed in silks and laces, and diamonds, and looked a very queen as she took her seat at the head of her table with a languor which was not feigned, for in her heart she was tired and sick to death of the grand, lonely life she led. Nobody came near her, and when by chance phe met any of her old acquaintances, they were too much hurried to do more than bow to her; while even the tradespeople lacked that deference of manner which she felt was her due. The doctor seldom asked her to join him in his drives, and as she did not care to go out alone and face the disapproving public, she spent her time mostly in her room reading French novels and eating candy and bonbons, wioh which she was always supplied. ^ Everard she had never met face ti> face, though he had seen him in the distance from her window, and watched him as he went by with a strange feeling at her heart which wrung a few hot, bitter tears from her, as she remembered the summer years ago when her boy-lover was all the world to her, a id the life before her seemed so fair and bright. Not that she really wanted Everard back, but she wanted something ; she missed something in her life which she longed for intensely, and at last made up her mind that it waa Agnes, the despised sister, who was in Holburton, earning her own living as housekeeper for Captain Sparka When they first returned to the Forrest House, Dr. Matthew- son had signified to her his wish that Agnes should remain where she was. She would hardly be ornamental in his house- hold, he said. He liked only beautiful objects around him, and Agnes was not beautiful. She would be an ugly blot upon the picture, and he did not want her, though he was willing to supply her with money, if necessary. But Agnes did not wish for his money. She could take care of herself, and was happier in Holburton than she could be elsewhere. But as the summer went by, the longing in Josephine's heart for the companion- ship of some woman grew co strong, that she ventured at last to write, begging her sister to come, imd Uiiiing how lonely fche was without her. FOKREST HOUSE. The f'.octCT I; of table eti- aj, and atten- board, inetead tly dressed in • queen as she nor which was ;k to death of lear her, and ntances, they her; while nauner which 1 her to join 3Ut alone and mostly in her md bonbons, ^e had seen ed him as he wrung a few ummer years a id the life at she really ; she missed nsely, and at sspised sister, housekeeper Dr. Matthew- lould remain in his house- md him, and )lot upon the is willing to did not wish was happier the summer I companion- itured at last how lonely 321 •I have been hard and selfish, and wicked, I know,' she wrote, but Aggie, I am far from being happy, and I want you here with me so much that I am sure you will come. I believe I am sick or nervous, or both, and the sight of your dear old face will do me good.' Josephine did not tell her husband of this letter, lest he should forbid her sending it. She was beginning to be a good deal afraid of him, but she thought she knew him well enough to feel sure that if Agnes were once in the house he would make no open opposition to it, and she was willing to bear a good deal in private for the sake of having her sister with her again. So she wrote her letter, and as the day was fine, took it to the poat-ofl&ce herself, in order to insure its safety. CHAPTER XLVL THE LETTER FROM AUSTRIA. rHEBE had been some trouble with the clerks in the post- office at Rothsay, and two new ones had just been ap- pomted, and one of these had entered upon his duties only the day before. As he came from Dayton, and was a stranger in town, he knew very few people by sight, and was altogether ignorant of the name and antecedents of the beautiful lady, who, after depositing hev letter, asked if there was any mail for the Forrest House. Half-bewildered with her beauty and the bright smile she flashed upon him, the clerk started and blushed, and catching only the name of Forrest, looked in Everard's box, where lay a letter not yet called for, as Everard had left town early that morning for a drive into the country, where he had some business with a client. It was a soiled-looking letter, with a foreign post-mark upon it, and had either been mislaid a long time after it had been written, or detained upon the road, for St was worn upon the edges, and had evidently been much arum^ed with frequent handling. It was directed to J. Eve* raid Forresti, Esq., Rothsay, Ohio, U. S. A., and in a coriM^ 822 FORREST HOITHE. I! r. l' n ^.h .he two words, ' Pl.ase forward' were written, as if the writei wore m haste u„,l thought thus to expedite matters. in JZIZa \ ^^' '"'^ """^l' i'Hlifferently, Josephine took it m her hand, yu gl^ucng at the name saw the ch'rk liad made a mistake and given her what bohn.ged to anotlier. BuTshe saw too something else, which turned her white as ashes ami riveted her for a moment to the spot with a feeli, <. that she ^ "Shli K"" T'^ ^^ ""''''' '^"''^^^^ ^^- knelhhat w it! ?^\ 5 .^ , '^^," ^* ^'"^^^^ «"0"gh "ot to be mistaken And she had thought the hand which penned it dead long L tnd aid away under the grass and flowers of Austria. "ffS" she tried to say, but her white lips would not move, and there wZ about hem a strange prickling sensation which frightened her more than the numbness of her body. ^ifeu^cnea ncr 'I must get into the air where T can breathe,' she thought and with a desperate effort she dragged herself 'to the s reet earV"! oH ^'''^'r') ''-.' -"^ giaspTng it with a firm grip as f [ at a 1 untTti:''. ^\T ^" ^''' f' ^/^ ^^'Sottea that^slfehad It at all, until the air blowing on her face revived her somewhat TlieTlf r fi,:? r^ I' ' -nsciousnese of what she wardoing then her first impulse was to return the letter to Everard's box. and she turned to go back when she saw her hu band entering the office, and that decided her. She would oet him see he letter, for if there were a great wrot some where, he knew it and had contrived it, and the co"d sZat broke out from every pore as she began dimly to conie ure the na are of the wrong, and to shuddePatits enormity^ Te wis feeling stronger now. and fearful lest her husband should over take her she hurried across the common toward home where she went at once to her room, and, locking the door sat down to read that letter from the dead. She had made up her tnS to do that during her rapid walk. She must know its con re'rilh^fSt tt'r/'; '''\r' ^^^^^^ *^ -^^^ ^""- sue read she felt the blood curdle in her veins ; there was » humming in her onvs ; a thick feeling in her tongue, and a kind ±ZTfr'yl^'' '^' 'T '"""^'^^'^y «!««' ^^'ose business for the rest of her life was to keep the letter and its conCs a secret from the world. But where should she hide Tthat no one eould ever find it for nnhnrW .„,,of „„„ .-. . "" , ^^ T^^ ^^ band must look upon it or know that it t«8 written" Ti FORREST HOUSEl 32n 18 if the writei lers. ;ej»hine took it lerk had made ler. But she ! as ashes, and ;Iing that she new that writ- stiikcn. And long ago, and . * Bus,ne,' she and tliere was rightened lier ' she thought, to the street, firm grip as if 1 that she had her somewhat he was doing. : to Everard s her husband i^ould not let wrong some- e cohl sweat ionjecture the ity. She was should over- home, where )or, sat down up her mind now its con- sad. And as there was a e, and a kind ! business for s contents a ie it that no fcfcy, honoui*, ven her hua- rritten; and wlnTe should she puo it that, lie would not tind it, for he took the liberty to look through her private drawers and boxes just when it pleased him to do so 1 She could not put the letter in a box or keep it abwut her person, and she dared not destroy it, though she made the attempt, and lighted the gas in which to burn it to ashes. But as she held it to the blaze something seemed to grasp her hand and draw it back. And when she shook ofV the sensation of fear which had seizod her, and again attempted tha destruction of the note, the same effect was pro- duced, and an icy chill crept over her as if it were a dead hand clutching hers and holding it fast. ' I can't destroy it ; I dare not ! ' she whispered ; * and what if somebody should find it 1 What if he should ? He told me once that he had been guilty of every sin but murder, and un- der strong provocation he might be led to do even that ; ' and a shudder of fear ran through her frame as she cast about in her own mind for a safe hiding-place for the letter which affected her so strangely. Suddenly it came to \er that she could loosen a few tacks in the carpet, just where the lace curtains covered the floor in a corner of the bay-window, and pushing the letter out of sight, drive the tacks in again, and so the secret would be safe, for a time at least. To do her justice, for once in her life, conscience was prompting her to the only right course left her to pursue, — give the letter to Everard and abide the conse- quences. But she could not make up her mind to do this, knowing that utter poverty and disgrace would be the result, and she had learned by this time that poverty with Dr. Mat- thewson would be a far different thing from poverty with Everard. To hide the letter under the carpet was the work of a mo- ment, and, unlocking tLs door, she was going for a hammer with which to drive the tacks, when she heard her husband's voice in the hall below, and knew that he was coming. He must not know that she held his guilty secret, lest he should mur- der her, as in her nervousness she felt that he might do, and so she retraced her steps to the couch, where she lay half fainting, and as white as marble, when the doctor entered the room and asked her what was the matter. QV^ AiA »»f U~»^ Jw-li^ \At\S. IIXJV rLllVTT, sue cnju «v.» i,nA !,«„_ ^„.n.» 4.» 4-1.^ ^:i Diic xiau uccti uuTTii xj\t flic Til- lage and walked rather fast, and was very warm, and had drank freely of ice water, which made her feel as if her head wer« burating. She should n/.ihaHiv feel better soon. • i i 324 FORREST HOUSE. mt 8lie did nut j,'t)t better, aiid sfie lav all thit fTav «nW fT, next upon tl.e couch, and eo'en^ed so stS^ge and „ %ous tha her husband called in Dr. Rider who aff^r V w V riulif ? ^'.:''^' ^'« ""^'~ ati%f: ic\' ,Te ^e ffi replies for the purpose of misleading him, assigned a cause for her ailments, and then went away. Thus dece?ved and on fC Dos'ed tf" P^^-«l^'-" o^her>^ise, Dr. AlSewC was dt posed to be very attentive and indulgent to his wife wiih \\ hat has come between us 1 You may as well f«ll fZ? sure to find it out if there is anything' ^ "' ^°' ^ ""^ She knew that, and it saemed to her aa if his eyes were fol lowing hers to the bay-window, and seeing th' £^1' under the carpet. She must say something by wa/of an ex cuse, and with her ready tact she answered him 7' 1 1 W ing something from you. I have written Aggie to come to m? I was so lonesome and sick, and wanted he? so muTh You are not angry are you V ^'^^ Her great, blue eyes were swimming with genuine tears f/.r she was a little afraid of what her husbandS Mt'to the liberty she had taken without his permission. ^ForJJnatelv he was m one of his most genial moods. Dr. R .ler had said to m,?,.^r?£^^ '^^'r her present nervous conditi^nlseThine must not be crossed; and he answered laughingly thafhe w^ not angry, but, on the contrary, very clad Afflifl w«« «^1^ "y'' ''''fl'^^'' * capital Tursefa'nd 'jS^'he Sf* You need building up. You are g;owing as thfn T a shade and white as a sheet, and that I don't like I fh^„lf would never fade and fall off like B. Vdknap' W C this morning, and she positively begins to look like an old maid. I hear she is to be married soon,' and he shot a keen Sedtr/' ^V^' "*^ "'^^^ pale cheeks the hot bW riished at once, and whose voice was not quite steady as she * MftTTl«fi f/i i»U^.M l» XT_i. Xi 1 - . — "i — ' •"- 'T ii^/iij r A-Juo £«verara I ■ Ifoo. the doctor answered, contemptuowjy. annoyed at at (lay and tho d nervous that few questions, she gftve false led a cause for ed, and on the 3wson was dis- his wife, with Qoring all her state of mind. ' he said once, ound her with tremble like a What is it 1 tell, for I am eyes were fol- letter hidden way of an ex- : ' 1 am keep- ) come to me, ' much. You ine tears, for ht say to the Fortunately, ar had said to on Josephine ' that he was was coming, ',' he added, u as a shade thought you I met her like an old shot a keen, he hot blood ieady as she annoyed tA FOllREST HOUSE. 325 Josephine's manner. • I hope she has more senso tfian to marry that milksop, who has grown to bo more like a Methodist par- son than anything else. You called him a milksop yourself, once,' he contiiiued, as he saw the flash in Josephine's eyes, ' and you must not blame me for taking my cue from you, wiio know him better than I do. I believe, on my soul, you half feared he was going to marry, and were sorry for it. Ho is nothing to you. A woman cannot have two husbands; that's bigamy.' The doctor was growing irritable, and Josephine knew it, but she could not forbear answering him tartly : * There are worse crimes than bigamy, — a great deal, — and they are none the less worse because the world does not know of them.' * What do you mean 1 ' he asked, sharply, and Josephine re- plied : ' Nothing in particular ; only yon told me once that you had broken every commandment except the one " Thou shalt do no naurdor," and tiat you might break that under strong provoca- tion. Of course there are sins at your door not generally known. Suppose some one should be instrumental in bringing them or the worst of them to light 1 ' 'Then I might break the only commandment you say I have n >t broken,' he answered, and in the eyes bent so searchingly on Josephine's face there was an evil, threatening look, before which she quailed. She must never let him know of the letter hidden under the carpet, and watched by her so carefully. Every day she went to the spot to make sure it was there, and every day she read it again until she knew it by heart, and had no need to read it except to see if she had not by some chance made a mistake and read it wrong. But she had not ; the proof was there, of crime, and guilt, and sin, such as made her terribly afraid of the man who fondled and caressed her now more than he had done in weeks, and who at last welcomed Agnes, when she came, even more warmly than she did herself, though in not quite so de- monstrative a manner. Agnes had gone straight to her sister's room, which Jose, piiiiio had not left since the day she took the foreign letter trora the office and hid it under the carpet. She had become a monomaniac on the subject of that letter, md dared not leave 320 F0RRE8T HOUSE. lest some one should find it hut anf all ,i • u which had been drawn into th«h„lLT/''^ '" ^*"" ^'^y-^^'^^* over her secret. Ailthl ,h^ J ^^"7' *"^ ''*'*^^ "^'"''^^y I- CHAPTER XLVII. AONES FINDS THE LEITEK, I ^Jh'? T"" °°' "''"S '""'' ""«' "Other which Aim«i d. «o„s of tha^oSXri;^ tht Jr.: xsvt-c rest ot the tune hunting them in bun^dlee. and bS^S Lw! SS4:n?hX:--;^ »StHS portion of her luggage when she reached th« For JI V!LT^.. ! KOHKEST HOUSK. 327 tier easy-chair, stood directly came in, and ^ay, she tlirew I, Aggie, I am much longer,' ch Agnes d* pests, \vhicb» a. certain sco- hatever they ose who will er class was ^s was raised • hands and )ets, and the IS, and draw- iy had eaten dress, aa J Josephine'a louse. 3ter for any go, feelinijf eudiul buga. t she meant d equipped Ty for their tiuff, cut to- l formed a tr...,« J ih« had no ' there thef would have revelled in perfect security for all of her intorfor ence. But after a few days, when Josephine seemed better and was sleeping quietly, the desire for research and battle came upon her again, incited by the softness of the velvet carpet in her sister's room, which she thought furniwhod such a rich field for the marauders. As it hai)pened, the bay window was the point at which slie commenced operations, as it was farthest from Josephine's bed. ♦ They have been here too,' was her whispered exclamation, as she caught sight of the familiar sign, the carpet loosened from the fli or ; and eager in her search she turned the carpet back further and further, until she saw the corner of the lfitt,er just protruding in sight. To draw it out and glance at the name upon it, « J. Evcrard Forrest,' was the work of a moment, and then she wondered how it came there, and if it were some old thing received by Everard years ago, and lefr, lying about as something of no interest to him or anybody. It looked old and worn, and as if it had been read many times. Surely there could be no harm in her glancing at the contents just to see if it were of any value. Thus reasoning, Agnes opened the letter, saw the signature and the date, and then with lightning rapidity read the whole, and Josephine's secret washers no longer, for Agnes had it, and the effect on her at first was almost as great as it had been on Josephine. That a great wroii ; u d been committed she was certain, just as she waf tain that the letter was being withheld from its rightful owner. But by whom 1 That was the queationsheaskedhersolt (liiiing the moment she sat motion- less upon the floor, unablf to move, or scarcely think clearly, in her bewildered state of mind. Slio did not quite believe it was Josephine, and if not, then it must be Dr. JVlaithewson, and he, if the letter were true, was capable of anything wicked and bad ; and there came over her a great fear of him just as it had crept over Jost phine when slie first knew his sin. Agnes must not let him know what she hail found, and, believing Josejihiue iiinocent, she must not disturb Ler, and add to her nervousness. Everard, she had heaid, was out of town for a little vacation^ which he usually took at that season, and Miss Belknaj was therefore the only peison in whom she could safely confide. •She will know just what to do,' Agnes thought", and, hiding the letter in her pocket, she arranged the carpet and curtainp 328 FORREST HOUSE* V rery carefully, put the easy-chair in its place, and was aI her Bewing by the window when Josephine awoke, after a sleep of two hours' duration. She was feeling better, and was disposed to be very kind and indulgent towards Agnes, who, she saw, was looking tired and pale. * Why, Agnes,' she said, ' you are almost as white as I am. What is the matter 1 You have been shut up too closely with me. You have not been out since you came, and you are so accustomed to the air and exercise. Suppose you go for a walk. 1 am sure it will do you good.' Now was Agnes' opportunity, and saying that she thought a walk would do her good, she hurried from the room, and was soon on her way towards Elm Park. Beatrice was going to be married, and notwithstanding what Dr. Matthewson had said of her faded looks, she had never been so beautiful and sweetly attractive in her fresh girlhood as she was now at twenty-nine with the great happiuess shining in her face and showing itself in eveiy action. Poor, nervous MoUie was not forgotten, for her memory lived in her lovely children, Trix and little Bunchie ; but Theodore had felt it right to claim at last his early love, who was not ashamed to confess how dear he was to her and how glad she was to b« his wife and the mother of his children. The wedding, which was to be very private, was to take place the 15th of September, now only two weeks in the dis- tance, and Beatrice was exceedingly busy with her preparations, — so busy that she had not found time to call upon Agnes, as she intended to do, when she heard of her arrival at the For- rest House. She had always liked Agnes, and was glad when her maid came to her room, saying that she was in the parlour waiting to see her. * Ask her to come up here,' she said, and in a moment Agnes was with her, seeming so agitated and excited, that Beatrice guessed at once that something was wrong, and asked what was the matter. It was not in Agnes' nature to keep one in suspense, and she answered by putting the letter into Beatrice's hand and fin vin very kind and >king tired and rhite as I am. 30 closely with ad you are so go for a walk. s' opportunity, her good, she (T towards Elm standing what she had never fresh girlhood *eat happiness action. Poor, y lived in her Theodore had 18 not ashamed she was to b« , was ks in to take the dis- • preparations, pon Agnes, as ^al at the For- «^as glad when in the parlour Qoment Agnes that Beatrice jked what was suspense, and e's hand and red not show put it there, I FORHEST HOUSE. 329 brought it to you. Read it quick, and then we must act tio> gether ; but never let him know I had a hand in it ; he would kill me if he did ; there's murder in his nature, or he never could hAve done this.' Agnfcs was speaking to ears which did not hear what she was saying, ft* Bee had taken the letter, postmarked at ' Wien,' and addressed ^a a handwriting she knew so well, and the very sight of which made her heart throb with pain as she remembered the dear little girl whom she believed to be dead in the far- away foreign town. But, when she glanced at the date, a vague terror seized hei and held her fast while she read the letter, which I give to \ii4 reader : ' Haelder-Strauchsen, Aus'tria, J •June 10th, 18—. / ' Dear Everarb •. -Are you dead 1 Is everybody dead in America, that I am fogotten, — deserted, — and left here alono tn this dreadful place t Not dreadful because they are unkind to me, for they are not. Only they say that I am mad, and treat me as such, and I always have an attendant watching what I do, and I cannot get away, though I have tried so many times. Where my brother is, I do not know ; he left me here more than a year ago, to go to Vienna for a day or two, he said, and I have never seen him since or heard from him ; and the head of the house, — Dr. Van Schoisner, — says that he is un doubtedly dead ; and I might believe him, perhaps, if he did not insist that I am his niece, Myra Van Schoisner, and not Rosamond Hastings at all He says she died last April, a year ago, and was buried by the river which I can see from my win- dow, and that her brother, Dr. Matthewson, left soon after and has not returned. * Oh, Everard, it is all so dreadful, and sometimes my head buzzes and feels so big that I am afraid I shall go crazy, as they say I am. I have written and written to you and Bee and Lawyer Russell, and even to my brother, hoping he might ,be living; but no answer has come, and now I do not think my letters ever left this Maison-de-Santi, as they call the insti- tution, wnion stanas several miles DacK trooi tne JJanuDe. T»K« the boat at Lintz, and get ofiF at , and come quick, and get me away from here before I die. I wonder I have not died I 330 FOBREST HOUSE. promised to get this letter off for me ° ' ''^*' ^'*' I spoke brother's name to her.— Dr MittliPwonT, - i v speak with her, and will help me t^o get away i^ .hefin ""^f' says ray brother is not dead : he is a vmafn «mf \ ^''^ money ; and that Myra Van Schoi n.^ T ' t'".'uri_^^"^, "^^ This wag all Eossie had written, bnfc a Dostscrinf h.A k... •I open this paper to tell when comes come to TTnf«1 v.ti. nnpulse was to rush through the strefts of SL "'^ ''T ^''^ claiming the doctor's perfidy. havetn^Vrlft fen^e'' Vur next and soberer thought was to proceed in tL 3 !' quietly and surely, and'' to this end sL lest oned A.!™"'" nutely as to where and how she found the ?et Tnd if she couX' throw any hgho upon the way in which it c^me there R^ Agnes could not; she only knew she had fnuZ il a .? J .he believed Dr. Matthewson himself had bvJi: 'f . *' thod obtained nrta««««;nn .f ;* "Tu:.. '^ ^^ some foul mo- thod obtained possession of it and hidden ,. „ r _ . Ket,pir,g, though why he had not destroyed it and 2 mad« ii^ ili3Covery unpossible, neither she nor Beatrice co^ld «ue" He^ j^^^^ FORREST HOUSE. 331 led somebody It first I could let me learn, ed Yulah Van and who haa son, — and she •n me because od, made her taught me to he can. She id wants my grave where ik and fright- ne quick. ' poor ' RossiE.' pt had been I English, to Hotel RotJier for die Arn- n much.' this letter felt. With lerstood the nd her first f, and, pro- once. Her :iatier more Agues mi- if she could here. But '<, and that ne foul me- .. r. _ i> ■J •I'T oulfl lo made it* uess. Hei liater, she said, was in a very strange, nervous state of mind, but slie could not connect her with the crime in any way, for, unscrupulous as she might be, she would nob dare make berseli amenable to the law by being a party to her husband's ^uilt. This was Agnes' view of the matter, and Beatrice coincided with her, but ba<^.e her to be very watchful at the Forrest House and see if any search was made for the missing letter, and by whom. Beatrice's next interview was with Lawyer Russell, who, in his surprise, bounded from his chair half way across the room as he exclaimed : ' Lord bless my soul, Rossie alive 1 Eossie not dead I but hid awfl.y in a private mad house ! It's ^.be most hellish plot I ever heard of, — ever, — and it is State prison for him, the villain ; but we must move cautiou V, Miss Belknap, very cautiously, as we have the very 01 ' '" ^k to deal with in that doctor. I'm glad the boy is gone )W, as it would have been like you to have blated it out tc li/ui, and then all creation couldn't have stopped him from throttling the wretch in the street and spoiling every- thing. This letter was written long ago and there's no know- ing what may have happened sinc^ to our little girl. She may be dead sure enough now, or, what is worse, mad in real ear- nest. So don't go to kicking up a row just yet, till we get more proof, and then we'll spring the trap so tight that he cannot get away. I'm honestly afraid, though, that he has done some- thing worse with the little girl since he had this letter, which the Lord only knows how he got. He must have a key to Everard'a drawer; but we'll fix him! and M?ss Belknap, I say, you or somebody must go to Europe and hunt up poor lit- tle Rossie. I'll be hanged if it don't make me cry to think of her shut up. and waiting and waiting for us to come. Go on your weddit.g trip. You and the parson will do better than Everard, whose name they have heard, and for whom thoy may be on the watch. Morton is new to them, and will excite no suspicion. This girl,— what's her name— Yulah Van Eisner, must be found first, of course, if she is not already put out of the way, and with her help vou'll fetch her, poor little girl You oughtto go right away, Snd we'll say nothing to Everaid i/iii you ve fuuud her. ouspeuse and then dii^appoiutment won id kill him outright. And he must not go ; that hound would h kV i 332 FOBEEST HOUSE. satisfactory. BurSrtL'l:^!^^^^^^^^ «"^ "^'^^'y Theodore's people might not hi In i l^ u- ^ surmounted, long, in that ca^e, sheTaid ^'"^ ^''' ^"^ ^'' ^ Sone so 'I'll postpone the wedding and go alone ' isut this was not npopsRarw *,.- • ''■ which went that n%Erto Son tl^Jr^""'' *? \^' ^°°g '^^^^^ go ! ' and the. all Bee's thonphfl^ ?"" ^ telegram, « lean had on hand, and fhe grew s1> ?p Jf' 'f^ ^° '^« ^«^^ «he patient for the day VhefZconMir.tuV^''^'^^^ »°<1 in»- commented upon hlr chanld St **'*^i^*^ P«°P^« °'>t«d and greatly what 'ileAV^^f^V^^^^^^^^^^ Everard was iu Rothsay now and wTfh kI ^''^®' talking always of Rossie, /hose grTve h^ baSe h^rh^ '^'"^"% find, and bnng him something fi?,m7t if orlv a w 5' T' ^"*^ Once he startled her bv savino- K«^ } u ?r^ » ^'ade of grasa to join her party, and LS hL ^*^^ "^^« "P ^i« '"ind see where RossiJ was bKd But Z^T T ^'« ^««'^« *<> quines as to wbere she was miua ZaI ""'"'«"', f" 'heir in- to be gone. Bat whateve? S'Jtti '""? »'"' "^I'^'ed the bridegroom wal pSe'tiridiSS 7" "'°"S'>' »' her, happy aa-he bade hiffS I'fdt'lnrn?' 'K?"."'^ patient wife into the car which 1^ .„ .!l ?? f*«d hw im- and the ship, which o7thel5tW« f" J""™ '" Nevv York, Europe, wh?™ the^hi^'d'tJtd" Sit "''■* """^ '"' Agnes was at the wedding and win! f k^ .- Russell, was the only on^wKadTh A .^If °f ^'^^^ of Lawyer reason which had takerthrnewlv w^^^^^^^ "'"P^^^""* ^^ th« Europe. But Acnes waasaf«I«.r '''"?P^^ '" ««ddenlv to instead of better, a^nd who .^:^:ii^irS^A!;^Z TJ^T "=« zusfc reason. 5ue had miqaoH ♦i.» i ^i. /. ' " "'^ ^* ^n« PUC „a gone noari, :??, TC^^:^, iTailSeSifg FORREST BOUSE. nS3 ed. You maa* )idly concoctea •vpI, and highly « surmounted. to be gone so the long letfce* legram, 'lean > the work she vous and im- pie noted and Ts, wondering the marriage, very evening, r be sure and »lade of grass. 5 np his mind his desire to upon him so e with Theo, little hurt at rejected, e bride very i to their in- ihe expected ight of her, i supremely )wed his im- ' New York, ed away for n of Lawyer >icion of thfl suddenly to often at her grew worse <^A ..- :e ^i_ ^ v-jL =3 « sue its hiding- nxiti^ as t9 who had found it. But as her husband's manner was unchangert, except aa he fretted at her continued illness, she gradually grew more quiet, though there was constantly with her a presenti- ment of some great evil which was to be brought about by means of the lost letter. CHAPTER XLVIIL LA MAISON DE SANTR, , JUST where it was situated, how far from Vienna, how far from Lint-,, or how far from the Danube, does not matter to the reader, who needs only to know that there wosisuch a place, embowered in trees, and flowers, and shrubs, and seem- ing to the casual passer-by like a second little Eden, where one had nothing to do but to enjoy the brightness of the Austrian skies, and the beauty c*' the premises around. But every door was barred, and every window had a net-work of iron in front of it, through which white, haggard faces looked wistfuUv, and strange, wild laughs, mingled sometimes with cries of rage, were heard to issue at all hours of the day. Frequent)- the inmates of that house, or those who were on the -good list,' walked in the beautiful grounds, but never walked alone. An attendant was always with them, watchful, vigilant, without, however, seeming to be so j for the rule of the house was kind- nesB, whenever it would answer, and as much freedom as was conapatible with safety. Except in extreme cases, where the patient was poor and obscure, it was not a cruelly conducted household which Baron or Doctor Van Schoipner had in charge ; but in all the world there was not, perhaps, a more avaricious, grasping man tl an the baron, who would have oold his soul for thirty pieces of silver, and for forty almost have consented to a murder. If, for purposes of their own, people wished to incarcerate their friends, and paid him well for it, their secret vrtta OA-r^ »»«4-l% l««««« n... J ^L. ^ * _i. * _ • i « --^— -^j^ TTit-ii jstiu, aiiu fciic viuiiia was insane as long as ne lived, if necessary. But there his wickedness ceased, and his ipAtieiitt w*re generally m&de as happy and comfortable as it ! \: \\ 334 FORREST HOUSE. was possible to make them. He, alone, held the secrets of hl» fmployers. Not a whisper of the truth ever escaped his lips, and to his attendants everybody was crazy, and must be watch- ed and treated as such, no matter what their pretentions to the contrary ; So, when poor little Rossie awoke one morning to hnd herself deserted, she became at once a lunatic. All liberty ot action was gone ; even her name was taken from her, and she was told that the Rosamond Hastings v/ho she professed to be was dead, and Jymg under the grass where the wild violets were growing, while she was Myra, the niece of the Baron, who had come to the house the same night with the beautiful American girl who was so sick, and who had died in a few days. No wonder if for a time her brain reeled, and she was in danger of being in reality insane. Poor little Rossie had, enjoyed much and suffered much since the day when we last saw her, waving a farewell to her friends from the deck of the steamer which bore her away. Her bro- ther had been uniformly kind and alTectionute to her, hue many things had arisen to shaL.e her confidence in him, and to make her think it possible that he was not the honoura)>le, iiiui^ht man he professed to be. Then, as the year wore; on, and they got farther and farther from home, her letters were unanswer- ed, and there began to steal over her a longing for America which she could not conceal, and which took al! the colour from her face and roundness from her form, until at last she was really sick with hope deferred, and an anxietv to know why none of her letters were answered. At Florence she was very ill of a fever contracted in Rome and from the effects of which she did not recover, although she was able at last to go on toward Vienna, their ultimate destin- ation. At Salzburg they halted for a few days, and there her brother brought to her a stranger, when he introduced as a triend and old acquaintance, Dr. Van Schoisner, to whom he said he owed his life, and who had a kind of Sanitarium for people diseased m the body and mind, upon the River Da- nube, Van Schoisner, who spoke English very well, was ex- ceedingly kind and tender in his manner toward Rossie, whom ne questioned so closely, and in such a peculiar way, that she first was annoyed, and then confnaed and bewilderftd ^sd ^n. ally contradicted herself two or three times in her sta^mente With re«ard to her recent illness, and wheti he asked how sh^ FORREST HOUSE. 335 le secrets of hl« scaped hia lipa, must be watch- etentions to the one morning to tic. All liberty from her, and he professed to .he wild violets the Baron, who 1 the beautiful died in a few d, and she was red much since i to her friends ray. Her bro- iler, buo many I, and to make irable, iijuight tj on, and they rere uuanswer- ? for America al! the colour ttil at last she riety to know cted in Kome, , although she timate destin- and there her troduced as a , to w^hom he >anitarium for he River Da- well, was ex- Rossie, whom way, that she er statementfi sked how she would like to go to his beautiful place on the river an(i stay n few weeks while he treated her, she shrank away from him, and bursting into tears .said she would not like it at all, — that she did not need to be treated, as there was nothing the matter with her but homesickness, and only America could cure that. Van Schoi.^ner laughed, and stroked her hair, and said he would soon have her all right, and then went to her brother, between whom and himself there was a long conference, during which both p Id themselves, body and soul, to the Evil One and were pledge.! to do his work. * If ;she would only abandon that nonsense of hers about giving her fortune to that Forrest, as soon as she comes of age, and would share it with me, I wouldn't do it, for, by Jove, I ve a kind of liking for the girl,' Dr. Matthpwson said, as there came a little prick of conscience, and a drawing back from the thing he proposed to do, which was nothing more nor less than burying Rossie alive inside a madhouse, where, so long as the price was paid, she would be as really dead to the world as if the grass were growing over her, and where the chances were that she would either die a speedy death, or, with her temper- ament, become &■ hopeless lunatic. Money he mutt have, and as he believed in neither God nor Devil, he had no scruples as to how he got it, only he would a little rather not murder one outright to get it Erery argu- ment which he could think of had been brought to bear upon Rossie, with a view to inducing her to keep the f.)rtune willed her, but she stood firm as a rock in her decision to make the whole over to Everard as soon as she came of age, and so he had recourse to the horrid scheme of which we have hinted. He knew Van Schoisner well, and knew that he was the naan for any deed, however dark, — provided there was money in ii, with little chance of detection ; and he sent for him to meet them at Salzburg to confer on important business. S(j Van Schoisner went and found what the business was, and talked to Rossie about her head and brain, and cerebel- lum, until she lost her wits and said she hadn't any cere- bellum, and never had. She was homesick, and that was all. - This, of course, was proof conclusive of a diseased state of mma. A girl who hadu'l any cerebellum, and who persisted in throwing away hundreds of thousands of dollars, must be Insane and dealt with accordingly. So the bargaia was made, s H i ■ I 4 j| i ^ 336 FORREST HOUSE. ^1i 1.4 «n(I Kossie's fate was sealed. And then arose the question of friends at home. What should be said to them to quiet nXl suspicion 1 ^ • She must be dead, of course,' Van Schoisner said. ' Nothina /aaier than that. A notice in the paper; a letter containing particulars ; crape on your hat ; a tear in your eye, and thi thine 18 accomplished.' ^ 'Yes,' returned the doctor, 'but suppose that chap who is m love with her takes it into his head to come spooning after her grave, and inquires about her d ath, and wants to see the very room, and all th»t,--and it would be like him to do it. — what then 1 ^ anlthe^*^°d°^'^ ^"^bed his forehead thoughtfully a moment, • That's the hardest part to manage, but I think I can do it, only give me time. I have t niece in the country a few milei from here, very sick with consumption,— in the last stages, and poor, too, with no friends but myself. I pay her bwird where she is, and visit her sometimes. She was born in Lon- don ; her father was an Englishman, so ahe speaks English per- fectly, and might be your sister. I have talked of taking Iher to Mae der-Strauchsen, and will do so at once, though the jour- ney will shorten her life. But that will not matter J she must die soon. Once at Haelder-Strauchsen she is yo.r sister and your sister is my niece. The attendants never ask ques- tions nor talk. Do you comprehend ? ' Dr. Matthewsoii thought he did, but left the matter wholly to his ally, who had, if possible, drank deeper from the cup of iniquity than himself. ^ As the resultof this conversation there was brought to the hotel a few days later a white faced, fair-haired girl, in whose great blue eyes and about whose mouth and nose death was plainly written. They called her Myra, and said she was Van Schoisner's niece, whom he was taking to his home for better care than she could have m the country. No one attended her. Her uncle could «o all that was necessary, he said, and he seemed very kind to ner, and stayed by her constantly upon the boat, when at last they started for home accompanied by Dr. Matthewson and Kossie, who was greatly interested in the sick ffirL l*. w*- ■ ight when they reached the landing where they were to stop. and from Uus windows of the close carriage Rossie saw nothing le question of D to quiet &ll id. 'Nothing er containing eye, and the chap who is pooning after its to see the him to do it, \y a moment, c T can do it, 7 a few milei last stages, ay her board born in Lon- English per- f taking her igh thejour< atter 48 she J yo^f sister, er ask ques- atter wholly n the cup of : tothehotbl se great blue inly written, 8ner*s niece, an she could uncle could rery kind to nrhen at last lewson and irl. It 'ere to stop, taw nothing FORREST HOUSE. 337 •f the country through which they passed for a few miles, bui was e )iiscious at last that they were entering spacious grounds and stoppuig before a large, square building, with two wings* on either oide. ® The room assigned her was in one of the wings on the third floor, as was Myra's also. It was very prettily furnished, and the windows looked out upon the grounds, but there was stretched before them a gauzy net-work of iron, which Rossie noticed at once, and asked for the reason. Then her brother explained to her the real character of the house, but said that as they were transient visitors it would not affect them in the least, and all she had to do was to rest and. get as well as pos- sible, so they might go on to Vienna. And Rossie tried to rest and enjoy the beautiful place, but the occasional sight of some of the patients walking in the dis- tance, the strange sounds, like human cries, which reached lier in the night when everything was still, and more than all, a great langour and desire to sleep, which she could not shake otf, wore upon her so fast that in a few days she was seri- ously ill again, and lost all consciousness of time or what was passing around her. How long she remained in this condition she never knew; only this, that she awoke one morning to find Van Schoisner with her, apparently watching her as she slept, and administering soue powerful stimulants. He was very kind, indeed, and told her Dr. Matthewson had been obliged to go to Vienna on business, which might detain him a few days, but he would soon be back, and she was to be as happy and quiet as possible till his return. Her next question was tor the sick girl, who, he said, had died a week ago, and then he bade her try to sleep again, as perfect rest was what she needed most. « And I went to sleep,' Rossie said, afterward, when telling Beatrice of that awful time when she was kept a prisoner at Haelder-Strauchsen, with no hope of escape. ' I went ta sleep and slept so heavily and long that it must have been days before i awoke, and when I did, my head ached so hard, and every- thing seemed so confused, and I could not understand a word the woman said, for she spoke only German, which I never - — _ — ^ „ « v.iVM «v iiittn.c lici- liuow tnac i wanted my brother, but she shook her head and put her finger to her lips, and finally went out and locked the door after hen Then I ^ot S38 FORREST HOUSE. ap and went to the window, and leaneJ my head against the h*r8, and cried for home, and you, and Everard, till I felt so sick and dizzy that I went back to bed, and lay there till Van Schoisner came and told rae nothing had been heard from Dr. Matthewson since he left the Sanitarium, two weeks before.' ' " I certainly expected him to return," he said, and am afraid some evil has befallen him. I have written to the hotel where he intended to stop, and they have not seen him." •• He called him Dr. Matthewson all the time, as formal-like as if he had not been my brother, and once he called me Myra, and when I said he was mistaken, for I was Rossie Hastings^ he smiled kind of pityingly, and said : * •* Poor little girl, be anything you like to yourself. To mc you are Myra. Rossie died just across the hall, and is buried in such a pretty spot." * I thought he was crazy, and felt afraid of him, but had no suspicion then of the real state of things. That came gradually as days and weeks went by and I heard nothing of my bro-' ther, and seldom saw any one but the doctor and the attendant, Margotte, who never talked with me except by signs, so I had no opportunity to learn the language, which I greatly desired to do, in order to make myself understood, and convince her that I was not Myra, and was not mad, as I knew she believed roe to be. ' Oh, it was so horrible that time, and my head got so con- tused, and I used to pray constantly, " God keep me from going really mad ! " and he did, though I was very near it. At first they would not let me have paper or ink to write to you with, but I begged so hard on my knees, clinging to that man's feet^ that he consented at last, and I wrote to you, and Everard and Lawyer Russell, and my brother, too, though I did not know where he was, and Margotte took the letters, which I know now were never sent, but were burned to ashes, for Yulah told me so,— good; kind Yulah, who came to me like an angel from Heaven, * Margotte was sick, and Yulah took her place. She had been there once as a patient, mad herself, from some great wrong done to her by one she loved and trusted. Her baby had died there, and been buried in the grounds, and she was attachfld tn the place, and after her cure, stayed from choice, and was nurse and attendant both, and the most faithful and vijdlant of the^u FORREST HOUSE. U9 ad againat the d, till I felt so there till Van eard from Dr. jeks before.' said, and am ;n to the hotel ;n him." as formal-like lied me Myra, Bsie Hastings, rself. To me and is buried n, bnt had no ime gradually J ig of my bro- i>he attendant, igns, so I had itly desired to k^iiice her that e believed roe id got so con- ne from going * it. At first > to you with, at man's feet, Everard, and 3id not know h I know now 'ulah told me ti angel from She had been great wrong aby had died 18 attached to nd was nuree jlant of theip aU, and iho one the ioctor trusted the moat. So ha put me in her charge, and the moment I saw her sweet, sad face, and looked into her eyes, which seemed always ready to run over with tears, I loved her, and put my tired head in her lap, and cried like a child. ' " Qu'avez vous, petite Myra / ' she said, and then I knew she spoke Freiich. and my heart gave a great bound, for I knew I could talk with her a little, and 1 mustered all my knowledge of the language and told her I was not Myra at all ; 1 was Rosa- mond Hastings, from America ; shut up, detained there unlaw- fully, for what reason T did not know ; that I had - ritten and written home and nobody had answered me, and the doctor saiil my. brother, who came with me, was dead, but I did not believe it ; and a great deal more, to which she listened patiently, as one might listen to the meanlingless prattle of a child. 'But when 1 mentioned brother's name, she sprang to her feet, and shaking me off asked firnely, " voire frhre, comment s'appelle-t-il ?" I told her again, " Dr. Matthewson ; Dr. John Matthewson, from America," and for a few moments she acted as if she jvere perfectly insane, and glaring at me with her ter- rible eyes, she spit upon me and demanded, " You are sure you are his sister ? You are nothing else to him, though that is bad enough 1 " • I made her believe at last, and then she asked me so many questions, that before I knew it, I had Did her all about the Forrest House, and the will, and Everard, and everything, she all the time looked straight at me with her great, bright eyes, which seemed to be reading me to see if I were telling the trutL' * ' " I see, I see, I understand. Poor child, God sent me here to be four friend, and I will I " she said, when I had finished ; and then she broke out angrily aginst my brother, whom she called a villain, a murderer, a rascal, and said he had done her a terrible wrong, which she had sworn to avenge, and she saw a way by which she could keep her word. •♦'I go to America myself, but what your friends shall know," she said, and to my great delight she spoke to me now in English, but whispered very low. " It is better they not to ^ — . . — ., ... j.,^,. 5„„„„_^ _...^ j,jjj.j^. „„j^ suopecs J ana i must be very strict, watch you very much is my order, becauae fou dangerous, you try to kill yourself, he giy, and I never l«i ^t ! J :J 1 L ■■: f I '1 I il'. fit. 340 FORREST HOUSE. foil from my sight. But I fix 'em. I cheat. 1 have mv «. venge much. You will see what I do "' ^ rII' T 'a-a^^'^ ^^'^ '^""'y <^°'*1 afterward, to Beatrice bv why she had been immured in a living tomb, and -uessed tl2 to her friends at home she was suppofed to i>e deal and t at the knavish brother had the inheritance. She li 1 not hof ever, communicate all her snspicions to her char,^. \ In S not wish to wound her unnecessarily, but .she mcv I ?' ,«! t'^ away, and set herself steadily to that o hjcc. 'I .r^ufh tl influence writing materials were again fun.i.i.e to I^m . » u acting upon Yulah's advice, wrotf two to^^^^^^^^ of which went into Von Schoisners hands and wLbl'd J usual, while the other was secreted about \^lal's person and found 18 way to America, but not until some tin^^e hSTos "d and Yulah had given up her situation to Margofcte wff^^^^^^ understanding, however, that there was always T place for h«r CHAPTER XLIX THE ESCAPa THERE were not as many visitors as usual that season n> Lintz, and those who did come were mnaHx/p r i FORREST HOUSB. 341 [ have m> re> > Beatrice by n EiBner was stice at the ed with con- "1. She saw Jtood readily guessed that a«l, and that i»l not, how- *, as she did • • to get her 'irough her [iussie, who, -verard. one '8 burned as person and liad elapsed, te, with the lace for her 3, when she t season, io English or ihe Ameri- f rejoicing •n in Octo- 3rs whom, ustied out would not 'ery tireu, for they had not stopped at all since landing in Liverpool, btii had crossed at once to the Continent, ami travelled dav and night until they reached Lintz, where Yulah was waiting for them. She had sought and obtained the situation as chamber- maidm the hotel, and, like the master, had watched impa- a" J ^u^^"" Americans, though from a very different reason. And when her Americans came, she knew them, as if by in- stmct taking Mr. Morton, however, for Everard, and feeling greatly disappointed when she learned that it was a Mr. and Mrs. Morton, who were occupying No. — , the great room in the house where princes had dir i ano i»1ept. Still, something told her that Beatrice was th' lady •:!)' was looking for, and when the latter retired to her ro n uftf. dinner, she found a sad faced woman pretending to :>h '.usy -ith something about the washstand, though everythin., v>.uied in its place. Sud- denly she faced about, and the eyes of the two women met and looked into each other with an eager, questioning gaze. 'You are Yulah,' Beatrice said, in German, a'lid the girl answered with a cry of joy, ' Yes; and you are the Lady Bea- trice she talks so much about, and be is not Mr. Everard." *No, my husband, Mr. Morton. We were married just be- fore we sailed. Where is she 1 When did you see her last, and how soon can we have her t Will they let her go without any trouble, and what are we to do ? ' Beatrice asked her questions so rapidly as to confuse and bewilder the girl, who shook her head, aud answered in Ene- lish : ° ' You ask 80 many, I don't know quite all. But I go to- morrow and tell her, and see how, we can do best. He will never let her go, there is too much money in her. Ths*. doctor pay big sums. We must take her, that's all, and be .-. - arefnl. You stay here till I come or send some word ; not to-morrow but next day, perhaps. I not talk more now. I be at mv duties. ■^ She left the room then, and Beatrice saw no more of her until the (lay but one following, when about dark she came into the room, flushed and excited, and evidently a little shaken out of her usual quiet, composed manner. She had been to Hael- l"' -^••-•-.a.sviiocii , =Jio uau ouun xiosoie, bul had uoL toiu her of her friends arrival •I did not dare.' she said, ' she's so weak and sick, no heart, H S42 FORKE8T HOUSE. H ? no courage, but stands by the window all the day, looking to tlie west, and whispering, sometimes, " Oh, Everard, why do you not come, and I waiting so Innsc ? " But we'll get her sure, God fixed it for us, and he, — the doctor, I mean,— is awfal with something they think is cholera, and all is fright and confusion, for the nurses is afraid and leaving, and Miss Rossie's attend- ant is glad to have me take her place. So I am going back to- morrow, and you must go with me and stay in the town a mile away, until I send or bring you word what you do pext i'o.i •re not afraid of cholera 1 Americans mostly is.' Bee was mortally afraid of it, but slie would have faced death itself for the sake of recovering Eossie, and it was ar- ranged that they should take the boat the next da? for the little town near the Maison de Sanii, where Yulah t-»ld thea there was a comfortable inn, where they could remain in quiet as long as they liked. Travellers, especially Americana, often stopped there, she said, and their being there would i^wakeu no suspicion. Accordingly, the next afternoon found th.»m oc- cupants of a pleasant chamber in the inn, with an outlook to the river and another to the road which led out to La Maison de Sand. Yulah had come with them on the boat as second-class passenger, and had held no communication what- ever with them, lest suspicion might in some way be aroused ; and immediately after landing had taken the road to the Sani- tarium, while Beatrice tried in vain to keep composed and juiet, and await the turn of events. That she should actually see Eossie that night she could not realize, and when about dark a note was brought her by a little boy, her limbs trembled so violently, and she felt so faint and giddy, as to be scarcely able to read it. The note was as follows : ' Have a big carriage at the south gate, one little ways r% at eleven tonight. Get Michel ?ahen, — he my friend; this his little boy ; he keep the carriages.' That seemed to bring I? ssie very near, and Bee's face was white as ashes as she questioned the boy, who said Michel f'ahen was his father, and rented carriages to people, and if she liked he would bring him to the room. Michel was a powerfully br't man, who looked as if he could keep a whole army at bay by the sheer strength of his tists, and when told what was wanted of him, or rather that he was to wait with h FORREST HOUSE. UB looking to fbe i, why do you get her sure, -is awfal with uid confusion, ossie's attend- gtnng back to- e town a mile next ifoii Id have faced and it was ar- t dar for the ah t>ld then ;main in quiet ierican«, often ivould i^wakeu 3und th>«m oc- an outlook to d out to La >n the boat as lication what- y be aroused ; d to the Sani' lomposed and tould actually 1 when about mbs trembled to be scarcely le ways r% at end; this his iee'a face was said Michel ►eople, and if Michel was a keep a whole d when told to wait with (Hem near the south gate ot the Maison de HanU at eleven that night, shot at them a keen, quick glance of intelligence And comprehension which made Beatrice sick with fear, lest, after all, they should faU. But his words and manner were re- assuring. He could guess what they wanted, and he was the man to do it. He did not believe in the place j there were many there who ought to be out Yes, he'd help her ; he'd drive them to Vienna, if necessary ; he knew the south g»te, in the rear of the house, opening on a lonesome and ui re- quented road. * And I shall succeed,' he said. Michel Fahen never fails ; arms strong; horses fleet, and Yulali cunning as the very -.' His confidence in himself inspired them with confidence in him, and at the time appointed they were in his carriage, and entering the narrow road which lay to the rear of the Maison de SanUy and more than a quarter of a mile distant. That portion of the grounds was filled with trees and shrubbery, and was not often used either for convenience or pleasure by the inmates of the house, the chimneys of which were by day- light just perceptible through the tall, thick trees. Bee could see nothing in the darkness except the occasional glimjoer of a light moving from point to point, as she sat half- fainting with nervous fear and impatience, while the jlook in the tower first told the hour of eleven, and then the quarter, and then the half, and then, — surely there was a footstep in the direction of the gate, and a voice she recognized as Yulah's p« Ued softly, * Michel, Michel, are you there 1 Help me lift her ; she is dead or fainted, and I've brought her all the way.' * Can any of you hold my horses 1 ' Michel asked, and in an instant Beatrice was at their heads, patting and caressiw?. and talking to them in the language all brutes recognize, whether in English or German, while Mr. Morton and Michel were at the gate, which was high and locked, and over which they Hfted bodily 9, figure which lay perfectly motionless in the arms of Michel, who bore it to the carriage and laid it down gently, but not until Beatrice, with a woman's forethought had made sure who it was. She had risked too much to be disappointed now, and bid- :n \Mi^\ — 1 af^Vi urifTi ixrlii^Vi I ■he had prepared herself, and holding it close to the inanimate Conn in his urms, saw the face she knew, bat so white, and worn. 344 FORBEST HOUSE. )-, n I I- i and still, with the ioiig, curling lashes resting on the pallid cheeks where tears and suflFering had left their traces in dark Kossie, but dead j I am sure she is dead ' Hv2Zo ttfhn' d;;i^«/or your life ! ' Yulah exclaimed, as she Mr Alorto, thonTr°'.' "J'''^ ''^^ ^"^' ^"PP^^^^'i "»««% by ^L r ' "^u ^''^^''** ^*« «" Beatrice's lap, and Bea- trice s hands were busy unfastening the water-proof hood and her cears were Qowrng like rain on the face, which, even in the darkness, looked ghostly white and corpse-like. died tharr;;^r?^ "'""P! ^'"1 >''.". ^^ ^'^^^^^ •• The doctor had died that afternoon, and as his disease had undoubtedly been ttne^in tVTHld"'"^"''"^ 'T' S-^^ consternatlo'n h:S had feft .ndt^. ^ f '"^ ^""T^ '^'' e.;.;,%^«*, some of whom Jiad Jett and most of -.vuom kept as far as possible from the If ulah alone was fearless, and came and went as usual in her apacity of attendant in place of Margotte, who had Jed to Z town, lo prevent contagion, it was thought best to bury the body at midnight, with as little ceremony as possible^ aShu" everything was in confusion, of which Yulah took advantage Sssiontr.'L^,?f ?'"'.:" '^' ^^"^«' ^"-^ ^^^^ she asked pfi-: mission to go out for the evening and take one of the nursee rhesiouid wT?^'?ff'^«T''^ ^''' "^^h the injunctiorth: woul & b« • I ' '^'' '^''^'^y ^'«'"'«^' '-^y'^S that she would lock her m her room so as to prevent the possibility of her venturing into the hall while the body was being removed This arranged, her next business was to prepare KossL who had recently sunk into a state of despondency amounU e . almost to msamty itselt;and who .pentrnostof her tfme S t f Bun, and such a hopeless, weary expression upon it as was very touching to see. e was standing thus, althou-^h irwal al S Yulah ?i' r "°?f ''^^ ^^«'^«"^'^'" the distant town vviien Yulah came horriedly in, and, boiting the door went ur lo cheer her and said in broken English j ' ^ .. '_^heer up, petite, jcy and glad at laafc. Th«v *- -— • SHoj- are here for you i ' ^ "' *Not Everard ! Oh, has he come f ' and a low cry broke from FORREST HOUSE. 345 on the pallM traces in dark, ' Oh Theo, it's claimed, as she n Rossi e care- ted mostly by lap, and Bea- oof hood, and h, even in the he doctor had Jubtedly been Vernation had ome of whom sible from the was situated. I usual, in her lad fled to the 5t to bury the ible, and thaa >k advantage, he asked per- of the nurses junction that 'jsist quiet for ng that she possibility of ing removed, liossie, who ' amounting • ' time sitting 1 the setting ' as was very ?h it was al- lahant town, )or, went up ' broke from But Yulah stifled it at over , , . once by putting her ha mouth, and saying : ' Careful, much careful. They must not heai. I fix it for— for you, and you be still and listen.' Very rapidly she told her that Mrs. Morton and her husband whom she called anything but Morton, were at the inn waiting for them, and detailed her plan of escape, to which Robsie lis- tened m a kind of apathetic way, which showed that she did not clearly comprf^hend what was meant or who was waiting fo/ her. Certainly she never thought of IJeatrice, but she un- derstood that all slic had to do was to obey orderb, and taking the seat winch Yulah bade her take, she sat as immovable as a Btone, with her great, black eyes following every i;,ovement of her nurse, who, alarmed at last at their expression and rigid atti- tude of the (igur ^ which scarcely seemed to breathe, tried to rouse her to something like rsense and feeling, but all in vain. One idea and one alone had possession of Rossie. If she would escape she mu.st be still, and she sometimes held her breath lest she should be heard by the men, who at the far end of the long hall, were passing iii and out of the room where the dead body l»y. Nc one came near Ko. — , or paid any attention when, about half-past ten, two female figuies emerged from the door,— one wrapped in a blun waterproof, with the hood drawn closely over the face j the other unmistakably Yulah, who locking the door behind her and putting the key in her pocket hurried with her companion down the two long flights of stairs' and through a back, winding piazza, to the rear of the house' where the door she had unfastened an hour before stood partly open and through which she went,dragging her companion after her. It was literally dragging until the safety of t5)e thick shrub- bery was reached, when Rossie gave out and sank o wn atYulah's feet unconscious, and fainted entirely away. To add to Yuiah's alarm there was a sound of footseps near. Somebody was in the wood besides herae'*", and she waited breathlessl; until the sound ceaaed m the distance, as the person or persons, for there seemed to be two. huiried on. Then taking Rosaie in her arras, sl;e made what progress she could throu; -i tho dark and undort)rush, as ehe dared not keep to the path. But the gate was reached nh ia«t, and witii Michel's strong hands to help, Rossie (vas lifted over it and into the carriage, which -vu driven rapidly ia the direction of the nearest railway (acioQ. ' h9 'ir f I i i 346 FORREST HOUSE. CHAPTEK Ifc OOING HOMB. T^^^-^^fl ^^^"^ ^^® ®^®°^« recorded in the last chapter, the C% of Berlin came slowly up the New lork harbour and of aU the eager, expectant faces in the crowd of p«op1a upon the deck, none was happier or more eager than that of ^eatrice, who, now that her work was accomplished, and Kossie safe m her possession, had given herself up to the plea- sure of her honeymoon, and been the merriest, happiest, most loving of brides, during all the voyage, except when she looked at the white-faced girl who lay in her berth so quietly, or sat ^V I i-°i*"''" ''^^'^ °'' '^^''^' ^°^^^"g out upon the sea with eyes which di<^ not seem to see anything or take note of what was passing. The flight from Haelder-Strauchsen to the nearest railroad had been accomplished ir safety, and there they waited for the arrival of the train, which was to take them away from the scene of so much danger. And here it was that Beatrice sug- gested to Yulah that she go with them to America, either as Jttossie 8 maid or her own. * I mean to do it all the time then I see what come to he — the vilhan,— and I take much care my poor little one, who so tired and scared in her head, but who come right sure when the boy Everard is near,' Yulah said, as she ttroked the thin hot hands, folded bo helplessly across Rossie's breast. Very rapidly she communicated her intention to Michel telling him at the same time the full particulars of Rossie's in- carceration in the Maison de SanU, and bidding him repeat it m HaeJder^trauohsen, if there was a great stir on account of the abduction. Mr. Morton had paid his bills at the inn, and said that he should not return, as he was going to a point higher up the river, so no suspicions could be awakened thero ot anything wrong until the alarm was given at the house. And bhis. in all human rki-nKaJ-iilifw ury^iii.-] t. v.- a;ii i . .1 _ _. morning, when, as yulah failed to appear, inquiries might b« FORREST HOUSE. 347 wt chapter, k harbour, i of people lan that of ished, and the plea- piest, most she looked tly, or sat 1 with eyes what was st railroad ied for the from th thePton heard above the storm, and he came reeling an thn I I ill ■ ill 362 FOKREST HJUSE. c i M stairs from hia V . ; ... . v i „ irs, bub wa«» sobered at once when ho found hifi ite ia >^h- r ust horrible fit he had ever witnessed. When it a' over, and she became conscious again, it was pitiable to ■?• .. how hard she tried to speak and warn him of hi« danger, but could not, for the power of utterance was gone, and she only gave forth inarticulate sounds vehich he could not comprehend anymore than he conM v-'lerstand what had af- fected her so strangely. It w .o ia vt^n uhat ^