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‘A very interesting story is told' in the fol- ' lowing special dispatch from Toledo, under ""date of the 15th, to the Cincinnati Gazette. “ A strange and 3629. not altogether uncom- men phase of life was revealed to day at the Union depot. Oxficer Sullivan had occasion to be at the depot when the morning Lake Shore train arrived, and was informed by Detective Kavanaugh that a woman dis- guised as a man was in one of the coaches. Proceeding to the car indicated, Sullivan found a figure clothed in a black suit, straw hat and new box-teed shoes, reclining on a seat. It were a mass of curly hair at the back of the head and asmall black moustache. The ofilcer at once recognized in the figure before him a woman. and a very fair-looking one at that. She recognized the ofilcer as quickly as he did her, and when he laid his hand on her shoulder she said she knew what was wanted and would go with him. She was taken to the Central Station, where in an- swer to inquiries, she told the following story} “My name is Kate Bench. I live in Grand Island, Nebraska, with my husband, Fred- erick Bench. We have been married nine years, but he is so closefisted, stingy and cruel, that I have left him twice in my own‘ clothes, and he has caught me each time. Finally, about four months ago, I went to work for some neighbors, who advised me to buy a man’s suit and leave disguised in that way, so I got enough money to buy these clothes. and last Wednesday I left. I changed my clothes at the house of a friend, three miles from home, and did not sleep until I got to Chicago. 'l‘hero I was about to board the train for Toledo, when I thought I saw my husband in the depot, so I walked to Englewood, where I was all night. The way they detected me was between Chicago and here. I went to sleep and my moustache fell off, and when I awoke I found several men looking at me, and then your policemen brought me over here. My mother lives in Whitby, Canada. but I am going to Buffalo to see a sister, for I know my brothers would whip my husband if he comes for me. I met Fred in Ontario. First he claimed a home- stead of 160 acres about eight miles from the railroad. in Grand Island, Nebraska. We lived happily the first two or three years. I had two children, but they are both dead. I hope they will let me go east, for I can never live with him again.” . “ The story was told with frequent bursts of tears, and her face was covered with her hands during its recital. She was detained in the sergeant’s room without a charge being preferred, awaiting the captain’s pleasure. Capt. Scott says there is nothing to hold the woman for.” The fame of this charity has reached the Paris Society for the Protection of Animals from Vivisection. About a. month ago Miss Elizabeth Mon-is. Chairman of the Refuge Committee, received a. letter from Mrs. Effie E. Bishop, at Paris, asking particulars con- cerning the manner of conducting the Refuge, with a view to establishing a similar institu- tion in that city. A Mormon emigration agent named Stains, has an office near Bowling Green, New York, where he tches after the welfare of the coming snin He says that the brethren have now in England, Scandinavia, Germany, Holland and Switzerland more than a hundred propagandists of the Mormon faith. These missionaries are assisted by several hundred local elders and plant churches. Of course the doctrine of polygamy is only preached. not practised, in Europe ; but as soon as the con- verts are sent over here they are allowed to enter upon the full privileges of saintship. Last year 2.000 Mormon emigrants came to this country : this year 2.500 will arrive. Heretofore there has been no attempt to seek prosolvtes in America ; but about twenty zeal- ous missionaries have lately been sent south and report cheerful progress in the worfi of conversion. Another important feature connected with the asylum is that families going out of town during the summer months can have their cats or dogs boarded at the Refuge during their absence, and have the consolation of knowing that their pets will receive every care and attention that they would from their kind masters and mistresses. â€"A recent traveler in South Africa has placed in the hands of Dr. Cameron, M. P., a whip, more formidable than the “eat" of the British navy, with which he says that the missionaries near Lake Nyanza are in the habit of flogging refractory converts. The subject will probably be officially investi gated. It not uufrequently occurs that families have n pet dog or a. cat that has lived so long that life is a. burden both to the animal and its owners; but the aged creature has so won the affections of the family that tney have not the heart to put the sufferer out of misery by killing it. By sending a line to the agent of the society, William R. Biddle, that officer will call and remove the. animal, and put it into an eternal sleep through the agency of chloroform. A few days ago a venerable tabby of twentytwo years. and a canine nineteen years of age, thus gently terminated the tenure by which they clung to their earthly existence. No charge is made by the society for these offices of mercy, but where persons are disposed to contribute in consider- ation of the good accomplished, the donations are gladly received, for the Refuge is still heavily encumbered with debt, which the so- ciety is yearly striving to liquidate. It must not be inferred, however, that any- bodv and everybody in quest of a good mouser or a household pet can go to the Refuge, make their selection and walk away with it Without questions being asked. The person who seeks a pet from the Refuge must come Well recommended as possessing a kind heart and as being amiably disposed towards the dependent "orphans.” So when a cat or dog is transferred from the Refuge to the custody of some private family, one of the officers of the asylum looks after the indentured animal by visiting it periodically at its new home to ascertain its condition. â€"A colored man, Whose wife had left him, said : “ She would come back if I frowed her some sugar; but I ain’t frowin no sugar. do you heah ?" â€"â€"Rochebruu says that when you talk to women you must choose between lying and diapleasing them, There is no middle course unless you say nothing. (From tho Philadelphia Record.) Among all the institutions which chame- tcrize Philadelphians the “City of Homes,” the Cat Refuge stands out alone. Than this institution. which is located at 1,242 Lom- bard street, there is no other of the kind on the face of the earth. The Refuge is purely non-sectarian in its character. The cat or dog which was once the property of Christian, Jew or Pagan, be it Thomas or Tabitha, with- out distinction of race. color or previous con-; dition isodmitted to the asylum if it is in‘ need of a. home. Although this home has been established for about seven years, its existence until recently has been compara- tively unknown to a majority of the people of Philadelphia. During the last year 3,513 an- imals were received at the Refuge. and since the establishment of the institution. 13,620 have been cared for. The Refuge is now re- ceiving an average of 120 eats a week. By far the greater portion of the refugees to this asylum have outlived their usefulness, or are of that class whose lot from infancy has been rm "unhappy one.” The unfortunate crea- tures that have been turned out to die of starvation, or that never had a home to be timed out of, are being brought to the Refuge in increasing numbers, and are either pro- vided with good homes or chloroformed outjof their misery. As far as possible homes are provided for such grimalkins as are sound in body and mind and are comely in appear- once. One Place IIIQME F08 THE FBIENDLESS INIDEEI). 0 Place in the “71119 \Vurld Where 'l‘nhbyuml 'l‘owser are Sale [roan the Brickbnl and the Boot-Jack. (From the Philadelphia Record.) kmong all the institutions which chame- ze Philadelphiagzs the “City of Homes,” Cat Refuge stands out 940m. _ Than! this IN NIA LE A'I‘TIRE. NIoRNlONlSJl Everard knew that he was an object of suspicion and gossip, but cared little or noth- ing for it, so absorbed was he in his own trouble, and in watching the progress of af- fairs 8.13 the Forrest House. where Josephine was to all intents and purposes the mistress, issuing her orders and expressing her opin- ions and wishes with (far more freedom than Rossie had ever done. She, too, was very reti- cent With regard to her husband, and when Mrs. Dr. Rider asked in a roundabout way what was the matter. she replied, in a tremb- ling 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,â€"it makes me so sick.” 1.. 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 lean on her till she was better, and then reported the par- ticulars of her interview 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 her- self and husband, had at once gone into hys- terics and fainted deed away. Of course the curious ones were more curious than ever, and tried old Axie next, but she was wholly non- committal, and bade them mind their business and let their batters alone. If Josephine had not known herself to be worse even than Everard had charged her with being, she might not have sub- mitted so quietly to the line of conduct he proposed to pursue toward her, but the con- sciousness of misdeeds, known only to her- self, made her manageable, and willing to accept the conditions offered her. Had Rosamond been allowed to give her a part of her income, she would have taken it as something due to her, but, as that was forbidden, she was well satisfied with the house and its surroundings, and the suppert her husband could give her. To return to Holburtou, after having announced publicly that she was going to her husband, would have been a. terrible mortification, and some- thing which she declared to herself she would never have done, and so she resolved to make the most of the situation in Both- say. To stand well with the people in town was her great object now. and to that end every art and grace of which she was capable was brought into requisition, and so well did she play her part that a few of the short- sighted ones, with 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 story, and who assumed such an air of reserve and dignity that not even his most intimate friends dared approach him on the subject which was interesting every one so much. Rosamond was now the last hope, but she had nothing tu say whatever, except that, under the circumstances, she felt that Ms. Forrest at least ought tolive at her husband’s old home, and that arrangements to that etl'ect had been made. As for herself, it had been her intention to teach for a long time and as Mrs. Markham declared her competent, she was going to try it, and leave the place to Mrs. Forrest. Nothing could be learned from Rossle, who was too great a. favorite with every one to become a. subject of gossip ; and whatever might be the cause of the trouble between Everard and Josey, her spotless, in- no'cent life was too well known for any cen- sure to fall on her, and Josephine could not have reached her by so much as a breath of calnmny, had she chosen to try, which she did not. With her quick intuition she under- stood at once how immensely 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 invalid, ltossie sat in her easy-chair, with her beautiful hair brushed back from her pure pale face, and her great, black eyes unusually brilliant with excitement and expectation. Nothing could have been more formal than this interview between the husband and wife, and after it was over Josephine sat down to write to Mrs. Arnold in Europe, while Ever- ard went boldly out to face the world waiting so eagerly for him. To this Josephine assented, and was gm- cious 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 gave no en- couragement. Miss Hastings was very week, he said, and had already been too much ex- cited, and needed perfect quiet for the pre- sent. Of course, so long as she remained there she would he mistress of the house, and Josephine her guest. For himself, he should return to his old quarters in the town, and only come to the house when it was necessary to do so on business. If Josephine was needing money, he had fifty dollars which he could give her now, and more would be forthcoming when that was gone. Josephine. too, had been almost as ner- vous with regard to this mtervlew as Rosa- mond herself, and had spent an hour over her tellet, which was perfect in all its details. from the arrangement of her hair to her little high-heeled slippers with the fanciful osettos. At first Josey listened incredulously to Everard ; it seemed so improbable that Rossie would deliberately abandon her handsome home and give it up to her. But he suc- ceeded in making her understand it at last, taking great care to let her know that she was to have nothing from the Forrest estate except the rent of the house; that for everything else she was dependent upon him, who could give her a. comfortable support, but allow nothing like luxury or extrava‘ games Rosamond was prepared {or 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 So Bessie gave that project up, but insisted that. she should vacate the house as soon as she was able, and leave Josephine in possession, and Everard was commissioned to tell her so, and to say that she must excuse Miss Hastings from seeing her until she was stronger, and that she. must feel perfectly at home, and free to ask for whatever she liked. Rosmnond’s was the stronger spirit then, and she compelled him to sit quietly by and hear her while she planned the future for him. Josephine was to live at Forrest House, and to receive a. certain amount of income over and above the support which he would give her. But to this last he stoutly objected. Not one dollar of Rossie’s money should ever find its way to her, he said. He could sup- port her with his profession, and if Russia did not choose to use what was rightly her ownI it would simply accu- mulate on her hands, without doing good to any one. FORREST HOUSE. VOL‘ XXIII. BY MARY J. HOLMES MATTERS ARE ADJUBTED. C HAPTER XXXVII. “ You will only be taking what is yours a. little in advance.” Rossie said, “ for when I am 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 mis- understanding between you will be cleared up ; that he will do right, and if,â€"if,â€"you are conscious of any defect in your charac- ter which annoys him, you will over- come it and try to ‘be what he would like his Wife to be, for you might be so happy with him, if only you loved each other.” 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 moments the two talked together earâ€" nestly and soberly of the future, when Rossie would be gone and Josephine left in charge. '7 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,” Rossie said, in some surprise.‘ _ The great black eyes were full of tears, and Rossie’s face twitched painfully as she com- pelled herself to make this effort in Everard’s behalf. But it was lost on Josephine, who, thoroughly deceitful and treacherous he1seli, could not believe that this young girl really meant What she said , it was a piece of acting to cover her real feeling, but she affected to be touched. and wiped her own eyes, and said despondingly that the 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 give to another, and she looked straight at Rossie, who neither spoke not made a sign that she either heard, or understood, but she looked so very white and tired that Josephine arose to ge,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 so without any reference to her eonâ€" venience or pleasure. ‘At first Josephine made a. very pretty show of pgotegting against ‘it. Rossie could not say she didn’t, for there was something in Joséphine’s manner which she did not like. It seemed to be all acting, and to one who never acted in part, it was very distasteful. But she tried to evade the direct question by answering : “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 would be safer. she plunged at once into her plan of leaving the house- to J osephine, saying that she had never thought it right for her to have it, and speaking of the judge‘s lest illness, when she was certain he repented of what he hadfione. “ Men are not always correct judges of women’s actions," she said, “and I do not think Everard understands me at all. Our marriage in that hasty manner was , unwise, but if I erred I surely have paid the severest penalty. Such things fall more heavily upon women than upon men, and I dare say you think better of Everard this moment than you do of me. ” 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 hers. That old man was crazy, or he would never have left everything to her, and he tried after- ward to take it back, it seems, and right the wrong he had done. She told me all about it, and how his eyes followed her, and shut and opened as she talked to him. It made me so nervous to think of those eyes; I be- lieve they will haunt me for ever. And Ever- ard 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 much as he hates me. and if I were sure of as comfortable 9. living and as good a position elsewhere as he can give me here, I’d sue for a. divorce to-mortow,_ and get it, too, and then,â€"-‘awa.y, away, to my love who is over the sea.’ ” “ I'Ie 1-1st told me a. good deal,” was Rossie’s straightforward answer ; and Bit- ting down upon a stool in front of her Josey assumed the attitude and manner of a child as she went on to speak of the past, and to beg Bessie to think as leniently of her as possible. She had her hand on the “lovely hair," and was passing her white fingers through it and letting it {all in curling masses about Rossie’s neck and shoulders, as she went on : “It was such a. funny mistake you made with regard to me, and it was wrong in 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 me a. little.” She sang the last words in a. light, fiippant tone: and then sat down to write to Dr. Mat- thewson, whose last letter, received before she left Europe, was still unanswered. “Miss Hastings, orRossie,â€"I so much Wish you’d let me call you by the name I have heard so often. I want to tell you at once how I have hated myself for taking that money. the price of your lovely hair, and let- ting you believe I was a dreadful gambler, seeking Everard‘s ruin.” It was impossible to suspect Rossie of act- ing or saying anything 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 fixed so earnestly upon her, and she found herself wondering iyf they could penetrate her inmost thoughts, and see just what she was. Itwas 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 in everybody, was conscious of some new impulse within her prompting her to a better and sincerer life. Wondering how much Bessie knew of her antecedents, she suddenly burst out with : When Josephine first entered the room Rossie wus very pale. but. at this allusion to herself and Everard. there came a. flush to her cheeks and a light to her eye which made Josephine change her mind with re- gard to her pers‘onal appearance. “Nobody can ever call her a. beauty,” she said to herself at first, but as; the interview progressed, and Rossie grew interested and earnest, Josephine looked wonderingly at her glowing face and large black eyes, which flashed and shone like stars, and almost be- wildered and confused her with their bright- ness, and the way they had of looking straight at her, as if to read her inmost thoughts. it was to see one of whom she had heard so much. “ Why, I used actually to be half jealous of the Rossie Everard was always talking aboup,” she said, referring to the past so easily and naturally as if no cloud had ever darkened her horizon, or come between her and the Everard who had talked so much of Rossie. RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, JULY 1, 1880. “ You must be good," she said, “or you would never have left your beautiful home and your friends,and attached yourself to me, who am only a drag upon you. But some- time in the future you will be rewarded ; and, forgive me, Miss Belknap,if I 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 towards Theo, but of this I am sure, he has never taken an- other into the place you once filled, and at a suitable time after I am gone he will re- peat the words he said to you years ago, and if he does, don’t send him aways. second time. He is nearer to your standard now than he was then. He is growing all the time in the ,estimation of his fellow-men.They are going 'to make him a D. D., and the parish of which he is pastor is one of the best and most high- 1y cultivated in Boston. And you will go there, I hope, and be a mother to my chil- dren, and bring them up like you, for that will please Theo better than my homely ways. Trix is like you now, and Bunchie will learn, though she is slower to imitate. You will be happy with Theo,â€"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 here 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 and troubles. Tell him that Mollie puts her arms around his neck and lays her poor head, which will never ache again, against his good, kind heart, and so bids him good-bye, and goes away alone into the brightness be- yond, for it is all bright and peaceful ; and just over the river I am crossing I seem to see the distant towers of ‘Jerusalem’ gleam- ing 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 watching for me '2' ” me how dear you had been to him once, if, indeed, you were not then. But he was so good and kind, and tender toward me, that I felt the jealousy giving way, though there was a. little hardness left to- ward you. and that night after Theo was sleeping beside me I prayed and prayed that God would take it away, and he did, and I come atlast to know you as you are, the dearest, noblest. most unselfish woman the world ever saw.” “ Truly, truly, will you be sorry when I am deed ? I hardly thought anybody would be that but father and mother, and the children,” Mollie said, while the lips quivered, and the great tears 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 what has been in my heart to say, and what I must say before I die. When I was upin that dreary back room in New York, so sick, and forlorn, and poor, and you came to me, bright and gay, and beautiful, I did not like itnt all, and for a time I felt hard toward you and angry at Theodore, who, I knew, must see the difference between me, â€"â€"faded, and plain. and sickly, and old before my time, and you, the woman he loved first,â€"fresh, and young. and full of life, and health and beauty. How you did seem to fill the dingy room with brightness and beauty, and wnat e‘ contrast you were to me ; and Theodore saw it, too, when he came in and found you there. But if there was u re- gret in his heurt,-â€"-a sigh for what ought to have been, he never let it appear, but after you were gone, and only the delicate perfume of your garments lingered in the room, he came and sat 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, and when I could stand it no longer, and said to him : “I am not much like her. Theo, am I ‘2" he guessed what was in my mind, and answered me so cheerily, “No. Mollie, not a bit like her. And how can you be, when your lives have been so differ- ent ; hers all sunshine, and yours full of care, and toil, and pain. But you have borne it bravely, Mollie ; better, I think, than Bee 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, which told " No, no, you must not say that. I am not good or unselfish ; you don’t know me,” Bee cried. thinking remorsoiully of the timeswhen she had ridiculed the brown alapaca dress and the woman who wore it. and how often she had tired of her society. in which she really found no pleasure} such as she might have found elsewhere. But she could not wound her by telling her this. She could only protest that she was not. all Mrs. Morton believed her to be. But Mollie would not listen. ‘wn’rme AND WATCHING 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 clouds of sleet and snow went drifting down into the open grave in Bronson ’oliurchynrd, toward which a little group of mourners WltS_ slowly wending its way. Neither Florida skies nor Florida. air had availed to restore life and health to poor, wasted, wornAout Mollie Morton. although at first she seemed much better, and Trix end Bunchie, in their child- ish 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 what Florida was doing for her. But the im- provement was only temporary, and neither orange blossoms nor southern sunshine could hold the spirit which longed so to be free, and which welcomed‘deuth without a shadow of fear. ‘ “I have had much ‘to make me happy.” Mollie said to Beatrice, one day, when that faithful friend sat by her holding the tired head upon her bosomamd gently smoothing the once black hair, which now was more than three- fourths gray, though Mollie was only thirty -one. “Two lovely children, and the kindest, best husband in the world, -the man I loved and wanted so much, and who, I think, likes me, and will miss me some when I am gone for ever.” “ I am sure he will miss you, and so shall 1, for I have learned to love you so much, and 3112111 be sorsorryyhen yqu are gong." There was too heavya 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 for her. She had entered the room unobserved, followed by Bunchie, whose This ehe Enid, looking straight at Beatrice, whose face was very pale as she stooped to kiss the white forehead and answered :â€" Three weeks after this interview Rosamond left Rothsay for St. Louis, where she was to be 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 ofi, 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 him ;but at last,when he stood with Rossie’a hand in his, there came a. look of anguish into his eyes, and his lips were deathly white as he said good-bye, and knew that all which made life bearable to him was leaving him, for ever. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Both Everard and Rossie had Written to Beatrice telling her of Josephine’s arrival at the Forrest House, and, with a. feeling that she was needed in Rothsay, she started for home the day after Mollie’s funeral. Josephine had resolved to be popular at any cost, and make for herself a party, and so good use had she made of her time and opportunities that when Beatrice arrived the weaker ones, who. with Mrs. Rider at their head, had from the first espoused her cause, were gradually gaining in numbers ; while the better class of people. Everard's friends, were beginning to think more kindly of the lady of the Forrest House, where an entire new state of things and code of laws had been in- augurated. Axle had, of course, vacated im- mediately after Rossie's departure, and Josephine had been wise enough not to ask her to remain. She knew the old negress was strongly prejudiced against her, and was glad when she departed. bag and bundle, for the little house she had purchased in town, where she could be near “her boy,” and wash and mend his clothes,aud fight for him when necessary, as it sometimes was, for people could not easily understandhis indifference to the beautiful creature who was conducting herself so sweetly and modestly, and‘whom women ran to the windows to see when she drove by in the pretty phaton which, through Rossie’s influence, she had managed to get from Everard, or rather, from the Forrest estate. It is true the horse did not suit her. It was too old and slow, and not at all like the spirited animal she used to drive with Captain Sparks at her side in Holburton,but it was an heirloom, as she called it, laughingly, raised from a stock of horses which had been in the family for years, and was so steady that Mr. Forrest was perfectly willing to trust her with it ; and each day she drove around the town, showing hqseli everywhere, bowing to everybody, high andslow. and, be- cause she had heard that Miss Belknap used to do so, taking to drive the sick and infirm among the poor and needy, to whom she was all kindness and sympathy. With this class, however, she did not stand as well as with the grade above them. It would almost seem as if they were gifted with a special insight and read her character aright ; and though they accepted what she offered them, they did not believe in her. and privately among them- selves declared she was not a lady born,~â€"ora fitting wife for Everard: ll lllllU UHUH- The next day they left Florida for the bleak hills' of Vermont, where the ‘Wintry winds and drifting snow seemed to bowl 8 wild requiem forthedead woman, whose body rested one night in the old home where the white-haired father and mother wept so pite- ously over it, and even Aunt Nancy forgot to care for the tracks upon her clean kitchen floor, as the villagers came in with words of condolence and sympathy. Beatrice 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 lald aweyunder the blinding snow, which. are the close of the day, covered the grave in one great mountain drift. HOW THE TIDE EBBED AND FLOWED IN BOTHSAY. 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 followed 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 about noon the boat came up to its accustomed landing place, and Bee stood on the wharf to meet him, he knew by one glance at her face that he had 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 consciousness 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 arms, and felt that in all the World there was nothing so dear to him as his motherless little ones. Agnes never appeared with her in public and was seldom seen at the house when peo- ple culled. “She was very shy and timid, and shrank from meeting strangers." Jose- phine said, to the few who felt that they must ask for her, and who accepted the excuse and left Agnes free to become in Rothsay what she had been in Holburton, a mere household drudge, literally doing all the work for the colored woman whom Josephine employed and called her cook, but who was wholly in- competent aswell as indisposed to work. So the whole care devolved on Agnes, who took up her burden without a. word of protest, and worked from morning till night, while J ose- phine lounged in her own room, where she had her meals more than half the time, or drove through the town in her phaeton. man- aging always to pass the office where Everard toiled earlytend late in order that he might have the means to support her Without touch- ing a dollar of Bossie’s fortune. At last, just us the beautiful southern sun- set flooded the river and the fields beyond with golden and rosy hues, and the fresh evening breeze came strolling into the room, laden with the perfume of the orange and lemon blossoms it had kissed on its way, Mollie Morton passed into the world where she had known so much care to the life im- mortal. Where the shining ones were waiting and watching for her. Her mind was wandering in little, for her words became indistinct, until her voice ceased altogether, and Beatrice ' watch- ed her as the last great struggle went on and the soul parted from the body, which was occasionally convulsed with pain, as if it were hard to sever the tie which bound together the mortal and im- mortal. “Darling Trix and Bunchie,â€"God bless them lâ€"and tell Theo Mollie will be at the beautiful gate,,waiting and watching for him, and for you all,â€"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-off heathen land. Tell Theo they are there, and many whom he led to the Saviour. It is no delusion, as some have thought. I see them, I seeinto Heaven, and it is so near; it lies right side by side with this world. only a step _bet_;ween.’_’> Dear little ones, ’6th did not know their mother was dying; but Beatrice did, and her tears fell like rain upon the pinched, white face pillowed on her arm, as she kissed the quiver- ing lips. which whispered softly: hands were full of the sweet wild-flowers they had gathered and brought to their mother, who was past caring for such things now. The 'yellow jessamine and wild honeysuckle lay unheeded upon her pillow, but at the sound of. her children’s voices in. spasm cf in- tense pain passed for a. moment overher 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 rung through the room, mingled with little Bunchie’s lisping, broken notes, as she, too, struck in and sang : 15 yet Josephine’s demands upon him were “ Will any one be at the beautiful gate, Waiting and Watching for me ?" CHAPTER XXXIX. M Teefy 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 visitor liked Rothsay, and if Rosamond had written to her. and gradually drew the con- } versation away from dangerous ground, and 1 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 Both- say ; and when it was known that there was little or no intercourse between Elm Park and the Forrest House, that the two la- dies 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 when, as a crowning act, she made a little dinner party from which Josephine was omitted, the people who had been loudest in J osey’s praises began to whisper together that there must be some- thing 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 insinuate 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 she 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 South, many of them gay, reckless young men. ready for any excitement, she began to show her real na- ture, and her assumed modesty and reti- cence slipped from her like a. garment un- fitted to the wearer. How she managed it no one could guess, but in less than two, weeks she knew every young man stopping at the Belknap House, as it was named in honor of Beatrice, and in less than three weeks she had taken them all to drive with her, and Forrest House was no longer lonely for want of company, for the doors stood open till midnight, and young men lounged on the steps and in the parlors, and came to lunch and dinner, and the rooms were filled with cigar smoke, and Bacchanalian songs were sung by the half-tipsy young men, and toasts were drank to their fair hostess, whom they dubbed “Golden Hair,” and called an angel to her face, and at. her back, among themselves a brick, and even “the old girl,” so little did they respect or really care for her. And Josephine was quite happy again. and content. It suited her better to be fast then to play the part of a. quiet! discreet woman, and so long as she did not overstep the bounds of decency, or greatly outrage the rules of propriety, she argued that it was no one’s buliness what she did or how much attention she received. As Axie had pre- dicted, the real color was showing through the whitewash, and people began to under- stand the reason why’ Everard was becoming so grave. and reserved, and even old in his appearance, with a. look upon his face such as no ordinary trouble could ever have written there. And so the summer waned, and autumn came and went, and then Josephine, who, while affecting to be so merry and gay, writhed under the slights so often put upon her, discovered that she needed a change of air, and decided that a winter in Florida was necessary to her health and happiness,‘and applied to Everard for the means with which to carry out her plan. At first Everard ob- jected to the Florida trip as something "such more expensive than he felt able to meet, but his consent was finally given, and one morn- ing in December the clerk at the St. James' Hotel, Jacksonville, wrote upon his books, “Mrs. J. E. Forrest and maid, and Miss Agnes Fleming, Rothsay, Ohio,” while a week later there was entered upon another, page, “Dr. John Matthewson, New York City,” and two weeks later still ”Mrs. Andrews and family, and Miss Rosamond Hastings, St. Louis, Mo.” The St. James’ was full that season, and when Mrs. J. E. Forrest arrived she found every room occupied, and 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 parlor and bedroom, she found a large square chamber, which she asked the mistress of the house to reserve for a few days, as she was expectingan 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 his busi. ness. Later in 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 at- tracted so much attention in the street, and who at the hotel took everything by storm. She 'had laid aside her mourning, and blos- somed 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 eufis, and over- skirt were mentally taken and experimented upon in 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. For. rest, and few had heard of Rothsey, but there were some people at the St. James’ this winter. who remembered Miss Belknap and Mrs. Morton, and when it was known that Mn. 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 hell to look at her as she passed, but if she was conscious of their hom- “ 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 wheniyou were in Holburton, but Everard was afraid of having it; known, and now he is so cold and distant. and Loam,â€" so unhappy. You will be my friend and help me. You were always so kind to me, and I liked you so much.” Such was the state of affairs when Bea- trice came home, very unexpectedly to the Rothsayites, who Wondered what she would think of matters at the Fox-rest House. Josephine had spoken frequently of Miss Belknnp, who, she said, 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 her- Iolf upon her neck, burst into tears, saying : not very great. Old Axie had been a. provi- dent housekeeper, and Josephine found a pro- fusion of everything necessary for the table. Her wardrobe did not need replenishing, and she could not venture upon inviting company so soon, consequently she wusralher moderate in her demands for money ;but Everard knew the time would come when all he had would scarcely satisfy her, and for that time he worked, silently. doggedly. rarely speaking to my one outside his business unless they spoke to him, and never offering a word of expla- nation with regard to the estrangement, which was becoming more and more a matter of wonder and comment,â€"â€"~us people saw only sweetness and graciousness in Josey, and knew nothing of her other side. WHOLE N0. 1,148.â€"â€"NO. 1m. MATTHEwson’s GAME. CHAPTER XL. And it was this postscript which interested the doctor more than the whole of Josephine's letter. IfRoscmond were not in Rotheay, then where was she, and how should he find her? for find her he must. and play the 'role of the loving brother, which role would be all the more effective, he thought, because of the air of invalidism there was about him now, and which eat well upon him. He really was week from his recent illness, but be affected more languor than he felt, and seemed quite tired and exhausted when he reached the house where Josephine was stopping, and where his room was in readiness for him ; and Josephine 00066. and fluttered about him, and was glad to see him, and so anx- ious that he should have every possible at. tention. And Dr. Matthewsoq enjoyed it all to the full, and was never 11166. of hearing of the- Forrest House, or of asking questions about Rosamond, of whom Josey at last affected to be jealous. And so the days went on until the first week in January, when one morning, as the doctor and Josephine sat together on the long piazza oi the hotel, a. carriage from the boat arrived, laden with trunks, and children, and two ladies, one middle-aged and apparently the mother of the children, the other young, graceful and pretty, even in her soiled travel- ling-dress of dark grey serge. As she threw back her veil and descended from the car- riage Josephine started suddenly, and ex- claimed: “Rosamond Hastings, for 9.11 the world 1 Why]; brouggfi hex: hiere f” “Who? Where? Do you mean that girl with the blue veil and grey dress. andâ€"by Jove, those magnificent eyes ?” Dr. Matthew- son said. as Rdsmuond turned her face 111 the direction where he was sitting, and glanced rapidly at the gwups of people upon the piazza, without, however, seeing any one distinctly. “Yes, that’s Rosamond," Josey replied,with a. feeling of annoyance at the arrival of one who might work her so much harm. I’ll see her at once, and make that matter right,” she thought, and trusting to Rossie’s good nature and her ingenuity, shereeumed her conversa- tion with the doctor, who seemed unusually silent and absent-minded. and after a. little excused himself, saying he was not feeling quite well, and believed he’d take a. sail on the river, and see if the fresh air would not revive him. , Usually Josephine had been his companion in his sails on the river, but he did not ask her to go with him now. He pre- ferred to be alone, and with a gracious bow he walked away, not so much to try the rivet air as to think over and perfect his plans for the future. “By George I" he said to himself, “this is whatIcall luck. Here I’ve been wondering how I should find the girl and, behold. she has dropped suddenly upon me,and if I play my cards well the game is mine, and her money too. or my name is not Mat- thewson, nee Hastings, nee villain of the first water.” '“Miss Hastings is not here, and has not been since last January. She is somebody’s govergggs, I believe.” now THE GAME WAS PLAYED. Bossmond’s life as a. governess had been a very happy one, but still there was always present with her a. consciousness of pain and lossâ€"a. keen regret and intense longing for the “might have been,” and a. great pity for Everard, whose lot she knew was so much harder to bear than her own ; for with him the burden was growing heavier,- and the chain every lengthening, which bound him to his fate. He had written to her frequently during the past year, friendly, brotherly letters, such as Josephine might have read without just cause of complaint. But he had given way once, and in a moment when his sky was very dark, poured out his soul in passionate, burning words, telling how And here Dr. Matthewson paid the penalty of his dissipated life in a. fit of sickness which lasted for months, and left him weak and feeble as a child. During all this time he did not hear from Josephine, whose letters never reached him, and he knew nothing of her until he reached New York, when he wrote to her at once at Rothsaymsking very Earticularly for Rosamond, and announcing is intention of visiting the Forrest House, ii aggeuble to the inmate , To this letter Josephine replied imme- diately, telling him not on any account to come to Rothsay, but to join her in Florida about the middle of December, when she would tell him everything which had happened to her since their last; meeting in Dresden. In a postscript she added: When he received J osephine‘s letter, telling him where she was, and the disposition Judge Forrest had made of his property, and Rosa- mond’s determination not to use more of it than was absolutely necessary, but to restore it to Everard when she came of age, he made up his mind to leave Moscow at all hazards, and, crossing the sea, seek out the sister in whom- he suddenly found himself greatly interested. And to this and fortune favored him at last, by sending in his way a German Jow,â€"Van Sehoisner,â€"between whom and himself there sprang , up a friendship which finally resulted in/ the Jew’s loaning; him money enough to escape from the city which had been in one sense a prison to him. Van Schoisner was his com- pagnon-du-voyage, and as both were gam- blers, they made straight for Vienna, where Matthewson’s luck came back to him, and he won so rapidly and largely, that Van Schois- ner, who was tinged with German super- stition, regarded him as one whom the god of the gaming-table especially favored, and clung to him and made much of him, and when a malarial fever attacked him, took him to his brother’s, a Dr. Van Schoisner, who kept what he called a private maisonâ€"de-sante, in an obscure Austrian town, half way be- tween Vienna and Lintz. - to go home. Josephine was eXYJecting a gentleman friend, Whom she had known ever since she was a young girl, she said, the fourth day after her arrival, and the ladies were glad, as it would be so much pleasanter for her in her husband’s absence ; and so matters were made easy for the coming of Dr. Matthewson, who, since parting from Josephine in Dresden, more than a year be- fore, had visited nearly every city of note in Europe, sometimes meeting with success in his profession as gambler, and sometimes not, sometimes living like a. millionairemnd sometimes like a beggar. The millionaire ilife suited him the best, but how to secure it ,as a permanency, or even to secure a com- 1forts‘ble living. which required neither exer- , tion or selfidenial, was something lwhich puzzled him sorely, until he ireceived a letter from Josephine, l which inspired him at once with fresh cour- ‘ege and hope. The letter, which was written from the Forrest House, was a long time in reaching him, and found him at last in Mos- cow, where his genius of had luck was in the ascendant, and he had fallen into the toils ot a set of sharpers, who were using him for their own base purposes. Handsome in face and form, winning in his manner, antiper- fectly familiar with nearly every language spoken on the Continent, he was very useiul to them by way of bringing under their influ- ence strangers who visited. the city, and they kept a hold upon him which he could not well shake oif. :age she made no sign. and never seemed to know how much attention she was attracting. One or two ladies spoke to her at last as 'she stopped for awhile in the parlor, and so her .acquaintanee began, and Miss Balk- nap was brought to the surface, and Mr. For- rest was talked about, and n, little hocking cough was produced, by way of showing What had sent this dainty, delicate creature away from her husband, with no other guardian- ship than that of her sister. But Agnes’ presence was sufficient to save appearances. She was much older, and so quiet and re- served. and even shy, that the ladies made no advances to her, and after a little scarcely; noticed her as she set apart from them,wait- ing patiently till her brilliant sister was ready [oommumn on menu mom] CHAPTER XLI.