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FORREST HOUSE. TWO LETTERS. The first, a small half-sheet, enclosed in large thick envelope, and addressed in a child- ish. unformed hand, to Mr. James Everard Forrest. Junior, Elicottville, BerkshiseCounty, Massachusetts, With the request in the lower lest hand corner for the postmaster tofiforward immediately; the second, a dainty little per- l fumed missive. with a fanciful monogram, directed in a plain round hand to J. Everard Forrest. Esq.. Ellicottville. Mass, with the words "in hastel’ written in the corner. Both letters were in a hurry, and both found their way together to a brown-haired, brown-eyed, brownvfaeed young man. who set under the shade w of thebig maple tree on the Common in Ellicottnlle. lazily puffing his cigar and fan- ning himself with his Panama hat. for the thermometer was ninety in the shade, and the hour 10 a, m. of a. sultry July day. At first it was almost too much exertion to break the seals. and for a moment J. Ewarard Fpr- regt. Jr., toyed with the smaller envelope of the two, and studied the handwriting. ‘ :1 I may 8.5 we” see what Josey wants of me in haste,” he said at last, and. breaking the seal, he read : Eonwwrou, July 15. ‘ “Dun NED : You must come toâ€"mormw on the four o’clock train. Everything has gone sixes and sevens. for just at the very last Mrs. Murdock. who has been dying for twenty years or more. must really die. and the Murdock boys can’t act. so you must take the character of the bridegroom in the play where I am to be the bride. You will have very little to say. You can learn it all in fif- ten: minutes, but you must come tomorrow so as to rehearse with us once at least. Now. don’t you dare fail. I shall meet you at the station. “ Yours lovingly, “ JOSEPHINE FLEMING. “ P. S.â€"Do you remember I wrote you in my last of a Dr. Matthewaon, who had been in town a few days stopping at the hotel? He has consented to be the priest on condi- tion that you are the bridegroom, so do not fail me. “ And so this is my lady‘s great haste,” the young man said. as he finished reading the letter. “She want me for her bridegroom, and I don’t know but I’m willing, so I guess I'll have to go; and now for Rossie‘s inter- esting document, which must be ‘forwarded immediately.’ I only wish it may prove to have money in it from the governor, for I’m etting rather low." . So saying he took the other letter and ex- amined it carefully, while a smile broke over his face as he continued : ‘ ' "Upon my word, Rossie did ‘not msfin this to go astray, anti has written everything out. in full. even to Massachusetts and Junior. Good for her. But. how crooked; w . that juninr stands at an angle of several agrees above the Mr. Rossi'e ought to do better. She must be nearly thirteen : but she’s a nice little girl, and I’ll see what she says.” What she said was as follows : FORREST HOUSE, July 14. “DEAR Sm : Nobody knows I’m writing to you. but your mother has been worse for a. few days, and keeps talking about you even in her sleep. She did not say send for you, but I thought if you knew how bad she was. you would perhaps come home for a part of your vacation. It will do her so much good to see you. Iam very well and your father too. So no more at present.” Mr. Evarard Forrest : Yours respectfully. “Rossmusn Hssrmss." “ P.S.-â€"Miss Beatrice Belknap has come home from New York, and had the typhoid fever, and lost every speck of her beautiful hair. You don’t know how funny she looks l sue offered me fifty dollars for mine to make her a wig. because it curls naturally, and is just her color, but I would not sell it for the world; would you? lnclosed find ten ‘ dollars of my very own money, which I send you to come home with, thinking you might need it. Do not fail to come, will you? “ ROSAMOND. " Everard read this letter twice, and smoothed out the crisp ten-dollar bill, which was care- fully wrapped in a separate bit of paper. It was not the first time he had received money in his sore need from the girl, for in a blank- book, which he always carried in his pocket, were several entries, as follows: “ Jan. 2, from Rosamond Hastings, five dollars ; March 4th, two dollars; June 8th, one dollar,” and so on until the whole amount was more than twenty dollars, but never before had she sent him so large a sum as now, and there was a moisture in his eyes and his breath came heagily as he put it away in his purse, and em : “ There never was so unselfish a creature as Rossie Hastings. She is always thinking of somebody else. And I am a mean, con- temp tible dog to take her money as I do; but thenp I honesgtly intend to pay her back ten- fold when I have something of my own.’ Thus re-sssuring himself, he put his purse into his pocket. and glancing again at Bossie’s letter his eye fell upon Miss Belknsp’s name. and he laughed aloud_ as he said : “ Poor bald Bee Belknap. She must look comical. I can imagine how it hurts her pride. Buy Rosaie’s hair, indeed I I fihould think not. when that is her only beauty, if I except her eyes, which are too large for her face; but that will round out in time, and Bessie may be a. beauty yet, though not like Josey ; no. never like.Joeey." And that brought the young man back to Miss Fleming‘s letter, and its imperative re. quest‘ Could he comply With it now I Ought he not to go at once to the sick mother, who was missing him so sadly. and who had made all the happiness he ever known at home ? Duty said yes. but inclination drew him to Holburton and the fair Jos- ephine, with whom he believed himself to he, and with whom he was, perhaps. as much in love as any young man of twenty well can be. Perhaps Rossie had been unduly alarmed; at all events. if his mother was so very sick. his father would write. of course. and on the whole he believed he should go to Holburton by the afternoon train, and then, perhaps, go home. . And so the die was cast and the young man walked to the telegraph office, and sent across the wires to Miss Josephine Fleming he three words . “ I will come. ” .The train from Ellieottville was late that afternon. 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 ont-of-the~ way town, which lies nestled among the Berk- shire hills. just on the boundary line between the Empire State and Massachusetts. The day was hot even for midsummer, and the two fat, motherly matrons, who sat in the station, alternately mveighed against the heat. and wiped their glowmg feces, 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 rallies and puffs there were in her new dress, worn that day for the first time. 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 blonde. with masses of golden hair rip- pling back from her forehead, 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.,_confld- ing expression, which makes a man very BY MARY J. HOLMES. “ Again. with love, CHAPTER I. DR. MATTREWEON CHAPTER II. tend'er tov‘vards the helpless creature appeal- ing so innocentl‘g‘to hiryg‘for protegqion‘ The two ladies did not like Jose- phine, though they admitted that she was very beautiful and sty- lish, in het blue muslin and white chip but with the long feather drooping low behind, too pretty by far and too much of the fine lady, they said, for a daughter of the widow Roxie Fleming, who lived in the brown house on the Common, and sewed for a living when gshe 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 scandlous way she had of flirting with evary man in town, of her airs and indolence, which they celled lazine_ss,_ and wondered‘if were true that poor old Agnes, her half ieter, made the young lady's bed, and mended her clothes, and waited upon her generally as if she were aprincess, and toiled, and worked, and went without herself, that Josey might be clothed in dainty apparel, unbecoming to one 111 her rank of life. And then they wondered next min were true. as had been rumored, that she was engaged to that young Forrest from Amherst College, who had boarded at the brown heuse for a few weeks the previous summer, and been there so often since. “ A well-mannered chap as you would wish i to see,” one of them said, “with a civil word for high and low, and a face of which any mother might be proud; only-â€"-â€"” and here the speaker lowered her voice, as she con- tinued: “Only he does look a little fast, for no decent-behaved boy of twenty ought to have such a. tired, tagged look as he has, and and they do say there were some great carousin’s at Widder Fleming‘s last summer, which lasted up to midnight, and wine was carried in by Agnes, and hot coffee made as late as eleven. and if you'll b’leve it"â€"here voice was a whisperâ€" “they had a pack of cards, for Miss Murdock saw them with her own eyes. and young Forrest handled them 18.3 if used to the business.” “ Cards 1 That settles it I” was repeated by the second 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 somewhere west or south. and had owned negraes in Kentucky before the war, and was a copperheed, and very close and proud, and kept colored help, and would not like it at all if he knew how his son was flirt- ing with Josephine Fleming." Then they talked of the expected enter- tmnment at the Village Hall the following night. the proceeds 01 which were to go toWards buying a. fire-en- gma, which the people greatly needed. And Josephine was to figure in most everything, and they presumed she was now waiting for some chap to come on the train. For once they were right in their conjec- ture. She was waiting for Everard Forrest, and when the train came in he stepped upon the platform looking so fresh, and cool, and handsome in his white linen suit that the ladies almost forgave Josephine for the gush- ing manner with which she greeted him, and carried him ofi towards home. She was so glad to see him. and her eyes looked at him so softly and tenderly, and she had so much to tell him, and 'was so excited with it all, and the brown house overgrown with hop- v‘ines was so cool and pleasant, and Agnes had such a. tempting little supper prepared for him on the back piazza, that Everard felt supremely happy and content. and once. when nobody was looking on, kissed the blue-eyed fairy flitting so joyously around 1m. “ I say, J osey,” he said, when the tea-things had been removed and he was lounging in his usual lazy attitude upon the door-step and smoking his cigar, “We a. heap nicer here than down in that hot, close hall. Let’s not go to the rehearsal. I’d rather stay home." > " But you can‘t do it. You must go,” Josephine replied. “You must rehearse and learn your part, though for to-night it doesn’t. matter. You can go through the marriage ceremony well enough, can‘t you ‘I” V 3‘7 Of caurse I canrafid can Bay, ‘1. Everard, take thee, Josie, to be my lawful wife,’ and, by Jove. I wouldn’t care if it was genuine. Suppose we get a priest and makea real thing of it. I‘m willing, if you are.” There was a. pretty blush on Josey’s cheek as she replied, “What nonsense you are talk- ing,‘and you not yet through college l” and then hurried him 05 to the hall. where the rehearsal was to take place. Here an unforesseen difficulty presented itself. Dr. Mntthewson was not forthcoming. in his character as priest. He had gone out 0t town, and had not yet returned ; so an- other took his place in the marriage scene, where Everard was the bridgroom and Josephine the bride. The play was called “The Meek Marriage,” and would be very effective with the full glemor of lights, and dress, and people on the ensuing night ; and Josephine declared herself satisfied with the rehearsal. and sanguine of success, especially as Dr Mstthewson appeared at the last moment apoligizing for his tardiness, and assuring her of his intention to be present the next evening. A He was a tall. powerfully-built man of thir- ty or more, whom many would call handsome. though there was a cruel, crafty look ‘m his eye, and in the smile which habitually played about his mouth. Still. he was very gentle- manly in his manner, and fascinating in 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 intimateterms, though the intimacy only dated from the time when she pleaded with him so prettily and successfully to take the place of the priest in “ The Mock Mar- riage,” where John Murdock was to have officiated. At first the doctor had objected, saying gallantly that he preferred to be the bridegroom, and asking who the favored in- dividual was to be. “ Mr. Everard Forrest, from Rothsay, Southern Ohio.” Josephine replied, with a conscious blush which told much to the ex- perienced man of the world. “ Forrest l Everard Forrest 1" the doctor rep euted thoughtfully. and the smile about his mouth was more perceptible. “ Seems to me I have heard that name before. Where did you say he lived, and where is he now 1’" Josephine replied again that Mr. Forrest‘s home was in Rothssy,0hio, at a grand place called Forrest House ; that he was a student M Amherst. and was spending his summer vacation with a friend in Ellioottville. “ Yea. I understand,” the doctor rejoined, adding. after a. moment’s pause ; “ I’ll be the priest ; but suppose I had the power to marry you in earnest: what then ‘2” “ Oh, you wouldn’t. You must not. Ever- ard' 18 not through college. and it. would be so very dreadfulâ€"and romantic. too," the girl said, as she looked searchingly into the dark eyes meeting hers so steadily. Up to that time Dr. Matthewson had taken but little notice of Josephine. except to re- mark her extreme beauty as a golden~haired blonde. With his knowledge of the world and ready discernment he had discovered that whatever position she held in Holburton was due to her beauty and piquancy, and firm re’ solve to be noticed, rather than to any blood, or money, or culture. She was not a lady, he knew. the first time he saw her in the little 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. With out any respect himself for religion or the church, he despised irreverence in others, and formed a tolerably accurate estimate of Josephine and her companions. After her interview with him, however, he became greatly interested in everything pertaining to her, and by a little admit questioning learned all there was to be known of her, and as is usual in such cases. more too. Her mother was poor, and crafty and designing and very am- bitious for her daughter’s future. That she took in sewing and kept boarders was nothing to her detriment in a village, where the people believed' 1n honest labor, but that she tradedl on her daughter’s charms, and brought her up in utter idleness. while Agnes, the child of her husband‘s first marriage, was made a ‘very drudge and slave to the young beauty, was urged against her as a serious wrong, and. except as thekeeper of a boardlng- house, in which capacity she excelled, the W1dow Fleming was not very highly esteemed in Hol‘ bnrton. All this Dr. Matthewson learned and then he was told of young Forrest, a mere boy, two years 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. dead set,” and succeeded, too, it would seem,for if they were not engaged they ought so be. though it was too bad for the boy, and somebody ought to tell his father. Such was in substance the story told by the hostess of the Eagle to Dr. Matthewson. who smiled serenly as he heard it,tmd stroked his silken mustache thoughtfully; and then went down to call upon Miss Fleming, and judge for himself how well she was fitted to be the mistress of Forrest House. When Everard 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 manners were perfect, and never had Everard been treated with more deference and respect than by this handsome stranger, who called upon him at Mrs. Fleming’s early in the morning, and in the course of an hour estab- lished himself on such terms of intimacy with the young man that he learned more of his family history than Jose- phine herself knew after an acquaint- ance of more than a year. Everard never could explain to himself how he was led on naturally and easily to speak of his home in, Rothsay, the grand old place of which he would be heir, as he was the only child. He did not know how much his father was worth, he said, as his fortune was estimated at vaâ€" rious sums, but it didn’t do him much good, for the governor was close, and insisted upon knowing how every penny was spent. Con- sequently Everard, who was fast and expen sive in his habits, was, as he expressed it, al- ways hard up, and if his mother did not oc- casionally send him something unknown to his father he would be in desperate straits, for a fellow in college with the reputation of be- ing rich must have money. . “ s 1 Here Everard thought of Rosamond and what she had sent him, but he could not speak of that to this stranger, who sat Emil, ing so sweetly upon him, and leading him on‘ step by step until at last Rossie‘s name did; drop from his lips, and was quickly caught up by Dr. Matthewson. l .‘.... ~n 7V 7 . a - a “ Rossxe l” he repeated, m hxs low, pumnfl .tone, “ Bessie!” Who is she? Have you a sister ?” “ Oh, no. I told you I was an only child. Bessie is Rosamond Hastings. a little girl whose mother was my mother’s most inti- mate friend. They were school girls together, and pledged themselves to stand by each other should either ever come to grief, as Mrs. Hastings did." 71" VMarried'unhappily perhaps 1” the doctor sugggsted, and Egerard replied ‘: .. . “ Yes; married a. man much‘ older than herself. who abused her so shamefully that she left him at last. and sought refuge with my mother. Fortunately this Hastings died soon after, so she was freed from him ; but she had another terror in the shape of his son. the child of a former marriage, who an- noyed her dreadfully.” finifigvéicould he,"'the doctor asked, and Everard replied : “ I hardly know. Ibelieve, though. it was about some yhouse or piece of land, of wliich Mrs. Hastings held the deed for Rossie, and this John thought he ought to share it. at least, and seemed to think it a fortune, when in fact it proved to be worth only two thous- and dollars, which' I! all Rosamond has of her own.’ “ Perhaps he did not know how little there was, and thought it unjust for his half-sister to have all his father left, and be nothing," the doctor said, and it never once occurred to Everard to wonder how he knew that Mr. Hastings left all to his daughter, and nothing to his son. He was wholly unsuspicious, and went on : “ Possibly; at all events be worried his stepmother into hysterics by coming there one day .in winter, and demanding first the deed or will, and second his sister, whom he said his father gave to his charge. But I set tled him 1” ' “ Father was gone, and this wretch, who must have been in liquor, was bullying my mother, and declaring he would go to the room where Mrs. Hastings was fainting for fear of him, when I came in from riding, and just bade him begone; and when he said to me sueeringly, ‘ Oh, little David, what do you think you can do with the giant, you have no sling?‘ I hit him a cut with my riding-whip which made him wince with pain, and I followed up the blows till he left the house vowing vengeance on me for the insult ofiered him.” " And since then ?” the doctor asked. “ Since then I have never seen him. After Mrs. Hastings died he wrote an impertinent letter to father asking the guardianship of ‘his sister. but we had promised her mother wsolemnly never to let her fall into his hands or under hisinfluence, and father wrote such a letter as settled him ; at least. we have never heard from him since, and that is eight years ago. Nor should I know him either. for it was dark, and be all muf- fled up." _ . ... n.- “ Yes 7" the doctor saidinterrogatively, and Everard continued. 7 “- And have you no fear of him. that he may vet be revenged 2 People like him do not take oowhidings quietly," the doctor asked " No, I've no fear of him. for what can he do to me? Besides 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 girlâ€"is she pretty and bright, and how old' 18 she now ?" “Very likely ;-excuse me. Mr. Forrest," and the doctor spoke respectfully. nay, de- ferently, “excuse me it I appear too fami- liar. We have talked together so freely that you do not seem a. stranger. and friend~ ships. you know, are not always measured by time.” “ Possibly this little Rossie may some day be the daughter of tha house in ear- nest.” “ Rossie must be thirteen," Everard said. ”and the very nicest girl in the world but as to being pretty, she is too thin for that, though she has splendid eyes, large and brilliant, and black as midnight,‘ and what is peculiar for such eyes. her hair which ripples e11 oVer her head, is a rich chestnut brown, with a. tinge of gold g‘pon it when seen in the sunlight. Her hair is her great beauty, sndI should not be sur- prised if she grew to be quite ahsndsome woman." H Everard bowed. and. foolish boy that he was, felt flattered by this giant of a. man, who went on : “What do you mean ? that my father will adopt her regularly 1'" Everard asked. as he lifted his clear, honest eyes inquiringly to the face of his companion, who. finding that in dealing with a frank, open nature like Everard’s he must speak out plain, replied : “ I mean, perhaps you will marry her.” “I marry Bossiel Absurd! Why, I would as soon think of marrying my sister,” and Everard laughed merrily at the idea. “ Rossie‘s family is well enough for any- thing I know to the contrary,” said Everard. “Father would not object to that, though he is infernally proud. He is a. South Carolin- ian, born in Charleston, and boasts of South- ern blood and Southern aristocracy, while mother is a. Bostonian of the bluest dye, and both would think the Queen of England honored to have a daughter marry their son. "‘ Such a thing is possible," returned the doctor, “though your father might object on the score of family, if that brother is such a. scamp. I imagine he is rather proud; your father, I meanâ€"not that brother.:’ Nothing would Put fafher‘ in spch _a. passion as for 111? no make whnt he thought a. mesâ€" alliance. is “Yes! I see. 33151 yetâ€"__-" The dodtor‘ m finish the sentence, but looked instead down into the garden where Josephine was fliliting among the flowers. se Flemmg 1314 very beautiful girl, " the octor said at last, and Everard responded heartily; 3» “ Yes, the handsomest I ever saw. " “And rumor says you two are very fond of each pillar," was the doctor's next 19‘ gawk which b‘rong ht a blush like that of a young irl to Everard’s cheek but elicited no replgliir there was beginning to dawn upon his ad a. suspicion that his inmost secrets werejaeing wru'hg from him by this smooth tongued stmn .who quick to detect. even fluctuation of 1101131115 and feeling' 1n another saw he had- gone hr enough, and having learned all he cared to know. he arose to go and after a. go'ba- morning to Everard end a few soft speeches to Josephine, walked awe: and left the pair alone. iI‘he long hall, or rather ball~room, of the 1 old Eagle tavern was crowded to its utmost city for the entertainment had been tal ed of for a long time, and as the proceeds were to help buy a. fire- -engine, the whole mi: was’ interested; and the whole town was there. First on the programme came tabâ€" learn: and charades, interspersed with music from the Ellicott hand, and then there was a great hush of expectation and eax er antici- pation, for the gem o; the performance was reserved for the last. 1 Behind the scenes, in the little ante-rooms where the dressing and powdering, and mask- hi? and jeét‘ing were all going on promiscu oqsly, Josephine Fleming was in a. state of great; excitement, but; here was a. face and complexion which never looked red or tired. She'was, _ rhaps, a. shade paler than her ‘pvpnfian her eyes were brighter and bluer as 13119 flood before the little two-foot g1? ss, giv- ‘ing the last touches [to her bridal toilet. And never was re‘al bride more transcend- ently lovely than Josephine Fleming when she stood at last ready and waiting to be lcalled. in her ’fleecy tarlatan, with her long ‘veilisweeping back from her face, and show- ing _ like a silver net upon her gold- »en hair. And Everard, In his dark, boyish beauty, looked worthy of the bride. as be bent owerjther and whispered something in her ear which had reference to a. future day when this» they were doing in jest should be done in sober earnest. For a moment they were alone. Dr. .Matthewson had managed to clear the little room, and now he came ‘to them and. said: » . ~ ” {‘1 feel I shalllb’e doing wrong to let this go filly-iltirther'without-telling you that [ have a m‘m‘éejhefimarriege lawful, if yen say so. A few yeireigo I was a clergyman in good and regular standing in the Methodist Episcopal church at Clarence, in the western part of this State. I am not in regular and good standing now; the world, the flesh, and the devil, especially the latter, got the upper hand of me. but I still have the power to marry you fast and strong. You two are en- gaged, I hear. Suppose, for the fun of it, we make this marriage real 7 What do you ml 1’" ' He was looking at Everard. but he spoke to Josephine. feeling that here would be of the more ready assent of the two. She was standing with her arm linked in Everard’s, and at Dr. Matthewson’s words she hiked her blue eyes eoyly into her lover‘s face, and said: “Wouldn’t that be capital. and shouldn’t we_s_teal a _n1a_rcl} on_e_ver_ybody 1'”? She waited for him to speak. but his answer did not comeat once. it is true he had said something of this very nature to her only the night before, but now when it came to him as something which might be if he choose. he started as if he had been stung, and the color faded from his lips, which quivered as he said, with an effort to smile : ' “I’d like it vastly. only you see I am not through college, and I should be expelled at once. Then father never would forgive me. He’d disinherit me. sure.” “ Hardly so had as that, 'I think,” spoke the soothing voice of the doctor, while one of Josephine‘s hands found its way to Everard'a, which it pressed softly, as she said : o “ We can keep it a secret, you know, till you are through college, and it would be such fun.” Half an hour before Everard had gone with the Doctor to the bar and taken a glass of wine, which was beginning to affect his brain and cloud his better judgment, while Josephine was still looking at him with those great dreamy. pleading eyes, which al- ways aflected him so strangely. She was very beautiful, and he loved her with all the strength of his boyish, passronate nature. So it is not strange that the thought of possessing her years sooner than he had dared. to hope made his young blood stir with ecstasy. even though/he knew it was wrong. He was like thebird in the toiler’s snare, and he stood irresolute, trying to stammer out he hardly knew what. except that it had some reference to his father, and mother, and Rossie, for he thought of her in that hour of his temptation“ and wondered how he could face hér with that secret on his soul. " They are growing impatient. Don’t you hear them stamping? What are you waiting for ?” came from the manager of the play, as he put his head into the room. while a. pro- long ed and definite call greeted their ears from_ _the expectant audience. " Yes. let’s go,” Josephine said, “and pray forget that I almost asked you to marry me and you refused. I should not have done it only it is Leap‘year, you know, and I have a right; but it was all in joke. of course. I didn’t. mean it. Don’t think I did. Everard.” Oh. how soft and beautiful were the eyes swimming in tears and lifted so pleadingly to Everard’s feoel It was more than mortal man could do to withstand them and Everard went down before them body and soul. His father’sbitter anger,â€"so sure to follow, his mother’ s grief and disappointment in her son. and Rossie’s childish surprise were all forgotten, or, if remembered. weighed as nought compared with this lovely creature with the golden hair and eyes of blue, looking so sweetly and tenderly at him. There was a. cheer, followed by a deep hush, when the curtain was with- drawn, disclosing the bridal party upon the stage. fitted up to represent a. modern drawing-room. with groups of gaily- dressed people standing together, and in their midst Everard and J osephiue. she radisntly beautiful, with 9. look of exultstion on :her face, but a tumult of conflicting emotions in her heart. as she wondered it Dr. Matthewson had told the truth, and was authorized to marry her really. and if Everard would stand to it or repudiate the act ; he, with a. face white now as ashes. and a voice which was husky in its tone when. to the question : “Dost thou take this woman for thy wedded wife ? Dost thou promise to love her, and cherish her, both' in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her 2" he answered: “I do," while a. chill like the touch of death ran through every nerve and made him icy cold. "Ill'do it, by George I" be said. and the hot blood came surging back to his face. “ It will be the richest kind of a lurk. Tie as tight asyou please. I am more than willing." He was very much excited. and Josephine was trembling like a leaf. Only Dr. Matthew- son was calm as he asked : " Do you really mean it, and will you stand to it 7” “Are you ever cbming,” came angrily this 1 e from the manager, who was losing all patignoez - “Yes. I mean it, and will stand to it,"Ever- ard said. and so went on to his fate. It was not the lurk he thought it was going to be ; it was like some dreadful nightmare, and he could not at all realize what he was doing or saying. Even Josephine’s voice, when she too said, “I will,” sounded very far CHAPTER III. MOOK MARRIAGE. away. as did Mathewson’s concluding words ; “According to the authority vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. What God- has joined together let no man put asun- der.” How real it seemed to the breathless audi- ence â€"so real that Agnes Fleming, sitting far back in the hall, in her faded muslin and old- fashioned bonnet, involuntarily rose to her feet and raised her hand with a deprecating gesture as if to forbid the banns. But her mother pulled her down to her seat, and in a. low whisper bade her keep quiet. And so the play Went on, and was over at last ; the crowd dispersed, and the tired ec- tors, sleepy and cross, gathered up the para- phernalia scattered everywhere, and went to their several homes. Everard and Josephine were the last to leave, for she had so much to say, and so much to see to, that it was after twelve, and the summer moon was high in the heavens ere they started at last for home, ‘ accompanied by the young man with whom Everard was staying in Ellicottville, and who had come down to the play. It had been arranged that young Stafford should pass the night at Mrs. Fleming’s, and when the party reached the cottage they found a supper prepared for them, of which ‘iot coffee and sherry formed a part, and : inder the combined eflects of the two, Ever-J ard’s spirits began to rise, and when at last he said good-night to Josephine, and wentl with his friend to his room, he was much like himself, and felt that it would not be a very bad state of affairs, after all, if it should prove that Josephine was really his wife. It would only be expediting matters a. little. and the secret would be so romantic and unusual. Still. he was conscious of a. feeling of unrest and disinclination to talk, and declared his intention of plunging into bed at once. Now young Stafford new perfectly well the nature of the telegram, for he had been in the office when it came, and decided not to deliver it until the play was over. It was from Everard‘s father and read as fol- lows : “ To J. EVERADD Fonams'r, .mâ€"Your mother is very sick. Come Immediately. J. E. FORREST." “ Oh, Stafford," and Everard’a voice was like the cry of a wounded child, “why didn‘t you give me this before. There was a. train left at five o'clock. I could have taken it, and saved ” " Perhaps you’d better read this first.” Stafford said, handing him a telegram. “It. came this morning,and I brought it with me, but would not give it to you till after the play. for fear it might contain bad news." He did not finish the sentence, for he could not put into words the great horror of im- pending evil which had fallen upon him with the receipt of that telegram. Indeed, he could not define to himself the nature of his feelings. He only knew that he wished he had gone home in answer to Rossie's summons, instead of coming to Holburton. And in this he meant no disloyalty to Josephine, nor attrib- uted any blame to her; and when, next morn- ing, after a. troubled night, in which no sleep visited his weary eyes, he met her at the breakfast-table looking as bright, and fresh, and pretty as if she too, had not kept a sleep- less vigil. he experienced a delicious feeling of ownership in her, and for a few moments felt willing to defy the whole world, if by so doing he could claim her as his, then and there. He told her of the telegram, and said he must take the first train west, which left in about two hours, and J (fiephine‘s eyes instantly filled with tears, as she said: “ I am so sorry for you, and I hope your mother will recover. I have always wished to see her so much. Would you mind telling her of me, and giving my love to her ?” This was after breakfast, when then stood tog ether under the vine wreathed porch each with a thought of last nights ceremony in their minds, and each lot}; to speak of it first. Stafford had gone to the hotel to settle his bill of the plevious day and make some in- guinea about the connections of the trains, and thus the family were alone when Dr. Matthewson appeared, wearing his blandest smile, and addressing Josephine as Mrs. For- rest, and asking her how she found herself after the play.‘ At the sound of that name given to Joseph- ine as if she had a right to it, a scarlet flame spread over Everard’s face, and he felt the old horror and dreéd of the night creeping over him again. Now was the time to know the worst or the best â€"whichever way he chose to put itâ€"and as calmly as possible under the circumstances, he turned to Dr. Matthewson and asked: “ Were you in earnest in what you said last night? Had you a right to marry us, and is J ogephine _my \yife ?”_ He handed a neatly fold‘ed paper to Joseph- ine, who, with Everard looking over her shoulder, read to the effect that on the even- ing of July 17th. in the Village Hall at Hol~ button. the Rev. John Matthewson married J. Everard Forrest, J r.. of Bethany. Ohio, to Miss Josephine Fleming of H01- burton. 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 promptly and decidedly " Most assuredly she is your lawful wife ! You took her with your full consent, know- ing I could marry you, and I have brought your certificate, which I suppose the lady will hold.” ” It is 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 Joéephine‘s hands. and if it had been his death-Warrant he was reading he could scarcely have been paier. Sumetbing in his manner must have cam- municated itself to Josephine, for in real or feigned distress she burst into tears, and lay- ing her hand on his arm, sobbed out : “I have the hono'r of your son, who, I believe, cla’_ix_n upon him.:‘ There was a gleam of triumph in Mrs. Fleming’s eyes, but she affected to be aston- ished and indignant that her daughter should have lent herself to an act which Mr. Forrest was perhaps already sorry for. “ You are mistaken," Everard said, and his young manhood asserted itself in Joseph- ine’s defence. “Your daughter was not. more to 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.” 7- 0h, Everard, you into not sorry I am your wife! If yéu are,I shall wish I was dead!" W’ery briefly 5r. Matthewsou explained the matter to her, and laying his hand on Eve- rard:s_arm, gaiq laughingly: “It need not be known, except to our- selves.” 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 with me as sheis. and vou will return to college and graduate as if last night had never been. Then When you are in anosition to claim your wife you can do so, and acknowledge it to your father. " ‘5 No, no, Josey. not sorry you are my wife,” he said. “ I could. not be that ; only I am so young, and have two years more in college, and if this thing were known I should be expelled, and father would nevel 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 away, and Matthewson was regarding him with a. cool exultant ex- pression in his cruel eyes, when Mrs. Fleming appeared, asking what it meant. She settled it rapidly and easily, and Ever- ard felt his spirits rise thus to have some one think and decide for him. It was not dis- tasteful to know that Josey was his. and be smoothed caressingly the bowed head, still resting on his arm, where Josey had laid it. It would be just like living a romance all the time, and the interviews they might occasion ally have would be all the sweeter because of the secrecy. After all, it was a. pretty nice presenting to you acknowledges your 1ark,s.nd he felt a great deal better, and watched Mrs. Fleming and Agnes as they signed their names to the certificate, and noticed how the latter trembled and how pale she was as, with what seemed a look of pity 'for him, 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 a boarder, and had visited there occasionally, but he had never noticed or thought particu- larly of Agnes, except, indeed, as the house- hold 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 weakâ€" ness in her left arm which gave hera helpless, peculiar 3417}; wrance ; and the impression he ‘ had of her,if anynvas that she was unfortunate in mind as well as holly, lit only to minister to others as she always seemed to be doing. She had never addressed a. word to him with- , out 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 him and putting her hand on his, said in a whisper, “Did you really mean it, or was it an accident ? a joke? and do you want to get out of it? 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 out. I can helpâ€"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, â€"nothing but the never-ending dish-washing in the kitchen, or serving in the parlor. But there was another expression in those sad eyes, 9. 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 satisfied; only it must be a secrei‘, for a long, long time. Remember that, and your promise not3 to tell. ” “ Yes, I’ll remember, and may God help you 1" she answered, as she turned away, leav- ing him to wonder at her manner, which puz- zled 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 teal-fully : “I am so mortified and ashamed when I remember how eagerly I seemed to respond to Dr. Matthewson’s proposition that we be mar- ried in earnest. You must have thought me so forward and bold: but, believe me, I did not mean it, or consider what I was saying ; so when you are gone don’t think of me as a brazen-faced creature who asked you to marry 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 he did when at last he said goodby, and left her kissing her hand to him as he stood in the doorway under the spreading 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 westward toward his home, and which helped to stifle his judgment and reason whenever they pro- tested 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 this rash marriage would he should his father find it out. 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 piazza, on the front and river side, and huge chimneys, with old time fire places, where cheery wood fires burned al- ways when the wind was chill. There was the usual wide hall of the South, with doors opening, front and rear, and on one side the broad oak staircase and square landing two- thirds of the way up, where stood the tall, old-fashioned clock, which had ticked there for fifty years, and struck the hour” when the first Forrest, the father of the present pro- prietor,hrought home his bride, a fair South- ern girl, who drooped and pined in her North- ern home until her husband took her back to her native city, Charleston, where she died when her boy was born. This boy, the father of our hero, was chrisâ€" tened J ames Everard, in the grim old church, 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 companionship than his horses and dogs, and the bevy of black Servants he had brought from too South. When James was nearly twenty-one his father died and then the house was closed until the heir was married, and came to it with a sweet. pale-faced Bostonian. of rare culture and refinement, who introduced into her new home many of the fashions and com- forts of New England, and made the house very attractive to the educated families in the neighborhood. Here the Judge lavished his money with- out stint, and people came from miles around to see the place, which was at he best that warm July morning when, tired and worn with his rapid journey, Everard en- tered the highway gate, and walked up the road to the house. under the tall maples which formed an arch over his head. The windows of his mother‘s room were open and at the bark of the dogs a girlish face was visible for an instant, then diaap; pearedfrom view, and Rosamond 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 ablue ribbon. and falling down her back. Between the lady and her husband, how- ever. there was this point of difierence ;â€" while she would, if possible, have changed and improved, and modernized the house, he clung to everything savoring of the past, and though liberal in his expenditures where his table, and wines. and horses, and servants were concerned, he held a tight purse-string when it came to what he 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. Matting and oil-cloth werebetter than carpets for his muddy boots and muddier dogs, while curtains and shades were nuisances and only served to keep out the light of heaven He did. however, give her five hundred dol- lars to do with as she pleased. and with that and her exquisite taste and Yankee ingenuity, she transformed a. few of the dark, musty old rooms into the coziest, prettiest apartments imaginable, and, with the exception of abso- lutely necessary repairs and supplies, that was the last, so far as expenditures for furniture were concerned. As the house had been when .James Ever- ard, in, was born, so it was now when he was twenty years old. But what it lacked in 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 ex- treme. It was very still about the house. and two or three dogs lay in the sunshine asleep on the piazza. At the sound of footâ€" steps they awoke, and recognizing their young master, ran toward him, with abark of welcome. ” “ 0h, Mr. Everard,” she cried, as she gave him her hand, “I am so glad you have come. Yeur mother has wanted you so much. She isalittle better this morning. and asleep just now; so come in here and There were blinds at all the windows, if his wife wished for anything more could hang up her shawl or apron when was dressing and afraid of‘being seen. THE FORREST HOUSE. CHAPTER IV. and she she rest. You are tired. and. worn. and pale. Are you sick ‘I” and shelooked anxiously into the handsome face, where even she saw a. change, for the shadow of his secret was there haunting every moment of his life. we “ No ; I’m just used up, and so hungry," he said, as he followed her into the cool familyroom, looking out upon the river, which she had made bright with flowers in' expectation of his coming. “Hungry, are you?” she said. “I’m so glad, for there’s the fattest little chicken wait- ing to be broiled for you, and we have such splendid black and white raspberries. I‘m going,r to pick them now, while you wash and brush yourself. You will find everything in your room, with some curtains and tidies on the chairs. I did it myself, hoping you’d find it pleasant, and stay home all the vacation, even if your mmher gets better, she is so happv to have you here. Will you go up new ?” He went to the room which had always been his,â€"a large, airy chamber, which, with noth- ing 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-backed chairs, all showing Rossie’s handiwork. Bessie had been in Miss Beatrice Bellmap’s lovely room furnished with blue, and thought it a little heaven, and tried her 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 lambrequins made of plain white muslin bordered with strips of blue cambrie. The material for this she had bought with her own allowance, at the cost of some personal sacrifice ; and when it was all done, and the two large blue vases were filled with flowers and placed upon the mantel, she felt that it was almost equal to Miss Belknap’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 and more wholesome at- mosphere than that of the brown house in far-off Holburton, where he had left his secret and his wire. It came to him with a sudden wrench of pain in his quiet room, the differ- ence between Josephine and all his early as sociates and surroundings. She was not like anything at the Forrest Houses though she was marvellously beautiful and fair, so much fairer than little Rossie, Whose white cape bonnet he could see flitting among the bush- es in the garden, where in the hot sunshine she soiled and prieked her fingers gathering berries for him. He had a photograph of Josephine, and he took it out and looked at the great blue eyes and fair, blondefacewhich seemed to smile on him, and saying to him. self, “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 morn. ing, that she was going to serve his breakfast therein the bay window, where the breese came cool from the river. So she brought in the tray of dishes, and creamed his cofieemmd sugared his berries, and carved his chicken,” if he had been a prince, and she his lawiul 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 wero,â€"whils Bossia'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, indolent 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 reading. Now. as she flitted about, urging him to eat she talked to him incessantly, asking if he had received her letter and its contents safelyâ€"if it was very pleasant at Ellicottville with his friend b‘tafford,_ and if â€" she did not finish that question; but her large black eyes, clear as crystal, looked anxmusly at him, and he knew What she meant. ' ” N0, Rossie,”he said, laughingly, “I do not owe a dollar to anybody, except to your dear little self, and that I mean to pay with compound interest ; and I haven't been into a single scrape, that is not a very bad' one, since I went back ;” and a flush crept to the roots of his hair as he wondered what Rosa- mond would think if she knew just; the scrape he was in. And why should, she not know ? Why didn‘t he tell her, and have her help him keep the secret tormenting him so sorely ? He knew he could trust her, for he had done so many a time and she had not betrayed him, but stood bravely between him and his irascible father, who, forgetting he once was young, was sometimes hard and severe with his wayward son. Yes, he would tell Ros- sie, and so make a friend for Josephine. but before he had decided how to begin, Ross.- mond said : ’ "‘ I‘m so glad you are doing better, forâ€"" here she hesitated and colored painfully,while Everard said : “Well. go on. What is it ‘I Do you mean the governor rides a high horse on account of my misdemeanors? " Fon Rheumatism and Nervousness use Edison's Electric Belts. They act upon the nervous system. “Yes, Mr. Everard, just that. He is dread- ful when you write for more monev, which he says you squander on cigars, and fast horses. and fine clothes, and girls ; he actually said girls, but my,â€"--â€"your mother told him she knew you were not the kind of person to think of girls. and you so young ; absurd ! ” “ Without her hair?” Everard asked, and Bessie replied, “Yes, without her hair. She has a. wig, but does not quite like it. She means to get another.” What an unselfish child she was. Everard thought, and yet she was so unlike the golden-haired Josephine, who would make fun of such a plain, simple, unformed girl as Rosamond, and call her green and awkward and 'countrified ; and perhaps she was all these, but she was so good, and pure, and truthful, that 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. [To BE commuan EDIsoN‘s Absorbent Belt will cure Bilioua- nesn. (See pamphlet). “ Never Z‘A’ and Rogsie spoke with all the decision 'and dignity of thirty. “It would kill your mother, too. I sometimes think she means you for Miss Belknap ; she is so hand- some this summer i” “ And she offered fifty dollars for your hair 1” EVemrx] continued, smoking with his hand the chestnut brown tressesflowing down Rossie 3 back. FOB Indigestion. Dyspepsia. and Coative- ness use Edison’s Electric Absorbent Belts. v. n..-" And 'Rosgié purseci ilpfier little mouth as if it were a perfectly preposterous idea for Ever- ard Forrest to be thinkingoffigirlg I The young man laughed a low musical laugh, and replied, "I don’t know about that. I should say it was Just in my line. There are ever so many pretty girls in Ellicottville and Holburton, and one of them so very beautiful that I'm half tempted to run away with and marry her. What would you think of that, Rossie ? " ViFBVrrriliérmoment the matter-of-fact Bessie looked at him curiously, and the'n rep]_ied : _ "I glllJ-uld thigg you'lc'razy, and not lhrougb college. I believe your father would disin- herit yqu, andfiservAe you rigllt._fioo. ‘. ”7‘7‘7Ai'Ild §6u,7Rossie E wotildn’t you stand by me apd help me_ if} go_t into. such .a muss?” “ Yes, she did; but I could not part with my hair even to oblige her. 30.” course I should give it to her, not sell it, but I can’t spare it.” .... ..... . 11 1 Usn Edison’s Belts for Female weakness They assist nature to overcome disease. ‘