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When it was over, and she became con- rsc‘lms again, it 'was pitiable to see how hard she tried to speak and warn him of his dan- ger, but eould not, for the power of utterance was gone, and she only gave forth inurticu- "To-night,â€"â€"now,â€"the train is due and overdue. I donotbelieve he can get away. I think he is watched. Lawyer Rus- eell knows, not Everard yet; and Mr. and Mrs. Morton are coming to-night with Bessie." Agnes said, rapidly; and the next moment a Wild shriek rang through the house, which Dr. Matthewson heard above; the storm, mad he came reeling up the; stairs from his brandy and cigars, but was sobered at once when he found his wifem, «the most horrible fit. he had ever witnessed.: “I see ; I know. She went suddenly to Europe,-â€"to find Bossie ; tell me the truth. Has she found her, and is she coming home, and what will it be for him 7” Agnes knew that by him Dr. Matthewson v33 gaunt, 9nd 5136 repljed unlleaitutingly 3 “Yes, Iknaw. Poverty, disgrace. State prison for life and how soon? Tell me how soon? He might have time to fly, forLâ€"I,â€"he is not good, but I’d rathex he did not go to prison. He is my hus- baqd, you know. How soon? Tell me 'W-iflow do you know “IV Have you seen the letter?" Josephine almost shrieked, and Agngu regljed :_ .‘ “I had; I did; I put it there,” Josephine said. gasping out the story of her having taken it from the office, and the hiding it afterward. “And you found it? Where is it now ‘2” she asked, and Agnes replied : “ State prison for him and poverfy' for you." Agnes did not finish, for Josephine started upright in l_)e_d_ exclaigqing : A wild storm was sweeping over Southern Ohio that November night, and nowhere was it Wilder or more Violent than in Rothsay, where the rain fell in torrents, and ere 1; reached the ground was taken up by the. wind and driven in blinding sheets through the deserted streets. But wild as the storm was in the village, it seemed wilder still in the vicinity of the Forrest House, which fairly shook on its solid founda- tions with the force of the tempest. Tree after tree was blown down, shrubs were up- rooted, and the fanciful summer-house which the doctor had erected on the spot where ltossie used to tend and water her geraniums and fuchsias, went crashing down, a heap of ruins, while within, in the most costly and elegant chamber, afiercer storm was raging between a soul trying to free itself from its prison walls of clay and the body which strruggledrso hard to retain it. 7 “Yes, I found it under the carpet long ago, just after I came here, but I did not suppose than you had ever seen it: ” “ Yes, I hear,” Josephine replied, excitedly. "‘ It was sent for me, and I am gomz out on its wings, but it seems dreary to go in such a way. 011, Aggie, if there should be a hereafter-but there is not. We all do sleepâ€"sleep. But Everard, Everardâ€"I must see him, or maybe you would tell him when I am dead. Lock the door, Aggie ; then come close to me and swearâ€"swear that you will tell himâ€"that Rossieâ€" -. Oh, Agnes, I am so afraid of himâ€"the doctor, that I dare not say it I” And on the white face them was a. look of terror sueh as Agnes had never seen before. There could be no doubt in her mind as to what her sister meant, and regardless of con- seqqepces, sh_e bept down} 333d whispered»: “I knoviéâ€"I understand, Bessie is. not dead. She 1:9 aliye apdpomiqg hgme.” F0 REE ST HO U SE . “ Hush, Agnes," Josephine said; almost fiercely. ” There’s more important work on hand just now, than praying for one who does not want your prayers, for even if there be a, hereafter, it's now too late for me, and I care no more for it than a, stone. I cannot teal, and it’s' no use to try. If there is a hell. which I don't believe, I shall go there; if there is not, then I am all right, and the sooner I am like the clode the better ; but I must do one good act. Agnes, do you think Everard would come here to-night if he knew I “as dying.â€"â€"for I am ; I feel it, and I must tell him something, which will perhaps make him think more kindly of me than he does now. Can you manage _it for me ‘2” BREAKING THE NEWS AT THE FORREST HOUSE “ No, 110:” Agnes éiclaimed. “ He would not come here to-night of all others, be, causeâ€"” The doctdr had taken advantage of her sleep to steal away for a. while, and in the dining-room was trying to stifle his conscience with the fumes of tebacco and the brandy, of which he drank largely and often. Thus Agnes was left alone with her sister, whose first question, asked in a, whisp- er, was : “ Where is he,â€"-the doctor, I mean ?" “ Gone'to rest,”wns the reply and Jose- phine continugd : “ Yea, let him rest while he can. It W111 soon be over, and then a dungeon for him, and darkness and blankness, and utter for- getfulness for me; AggieK that’s all n fable about ,9. hereafter,â€"a rag of mythology which recent science has torn in Shreds. We do not go somewhere when we die ; we perish like the brutes.” ’ ” Listen to the rain and the wind; did you ever hear such a storm ‘2” She checked herself suddenly, and then added: She did seem better that stormy night, when even he quailed a little and felt ner- vous as he listened to the roaring wind, which, he fancied, had in it the sound of human sobbing. She had slept for more than an hour, and when she awoke she was guiet, and more rational than she had been for days. But there was a look of death about her mouth and nose, and her eyes were unnaturally bright as they fixed themselves on Agnes, whp set watching her. “ Oh, no, no I God forbid 1” and falling on her knees,,with her hands clasped together, Agnes murmured words of prayer for the soul so deluded and deceived. Josephine had not improved. as at one time it was thought she might. The secret which she held and the loss of the letter had worn upon her terribly, and the constant dread of some impending evil had produced a kind of brain fever, and for days her life had been in imminent danger, and the doctor had stayed by her constantly, marvelling at the strangeness of her talk, and wondering sometimes if it were possible that she could have become possessed of the secret which at times filled even him with horror and a haunting fear of what might come upon him should his guilt be known. But Josephine could have no knowledge of his crime. Van Schoisner was safe as the grave so long as the money was paid, as it would continue to be, for he had set aside a certain amount, the interest of which went regularly to Haelder-Strauchsen. and would go so long as RoSsie lived. This,in all human probability, would not be long, for You Sehois- ner wrote of her failing health, and told how bewildered she was growing in her mind. Should she become hopelessly insane, he would be almost as safe as if she were dead. the doctor thought, and he always waited with fierce impatience for news from Austria, when he knew that it was due. Von Schois- ner’s last letter had reported her as very week. with growing symptoms of imbecility, and though the villainous man did feel a pang of remorse when he remembered the sunny-faced girl who had so loved and trusted him, he knew he had gone too far to think of retracing his steps. There was nothing left but to go on. and, as his life at the Forrest House had not proved a success, he had made up his mind to sell it and go to Europe to live per- manently as soon as Josephine was better. He could hide himself there from justice, should it attempt to overtake him, and he waited anxiously for any signs of amendment in his wife. " I gave it to Miss VBelknai), and she BY MARY J. HOLMES. CHAPTER LI. Beatrice had planned everything thus far with great coolness and nerve. She had kept, Rossie quiet, and made her very sweet and attraetiye in one of her own dainty white wrappers, and arranged her beautiful hair, which had been kept short at the Maison de Santa, but which was new growing in soft, curling rings, giving to her smell, white face a. singularly young expression, s?) that she might have passed (or e child of ourteen es ‘ she reclined upon the pillows, a. smile upon} ‘her lips, and an eager, expectant look in her? large, bright eyes, turning constantly to the? door at every sound which met her ear. At last she heard the well-remembered voice in the hall "below, and ,the step upon the stairs, for Bee had after 9,11 lost her self-control, and in answer to Everard’s rapid questions, had said; ‘J We did hear new ,0} .BOSERI late sounds which he could not comprehend i any more than he could understand what had affected her so strangely. It was in vain that he appealed to Agnes, who was whiter if ‘possible than her sister, and trembling from head to foot. She was sworn to secrecyâ€"and if she had inadvertedly said to Josephine things which she ought not, she must keep silence before the doctor, and bear the glance of the eyes which looked so imploringly at her, and seemed about to leap from their sockets when she shook her head in token that she could not tell. There were flecks of blood and foam about the pallid lips, and drops of sweat upon the face and hands, the latter of which beat the air helplessly as the dying woman triel to speak. At last, when they had no more power to move, they dropped helplessly upon the bed, and the white, haggard face grew whiter and :more haggard as she lay with ears strained to catch the sound for which she listened so in- tently, and which came at last in a shrill, prolonged whistle, which was distinctly heard in the pauses of the abating storm, as the train so long delayed swept through the town. Then, summoning all her remaining strength for one last great effort, Josephine raised her arm in the air, and motioning to the door, said to her husband in a voice which was to sound in his ears through many years to come . “Doomed,â€"-doomed.â€"fl ” She could not finish and say “fly," as she wished to do, for the Word died away in a low, gurgling moan ; the white foam poured again from lips and nose, and when the con- vulsions ceased and the distorted feetures re- sumed their natural look, the soul had gone to meet its God. ' She had something to tell him of Rossie, of course. and in an instant he was in the street. speeding along toward Elm Park, and glancing but once in the direction of the For- rest House, where every blind was closed. and where, through the leafless trees, he could see the flapijing of the yards of crepe which Lawyer Russell hgd said were stresnr ing from the doors. For an instant a cold shudder went over him as if he had seen a corpse, but that soen passed away, and When Elm Park was reached he was in such a fever of excitement that the sweat-drops stood like ”in upon his face, which, nevertheless, was very pale, as be greeted Beatrice, and asked: “vDild fdu héirfinything of her '? Did you find her grave, or see gp‘y me who was with her at the last 2‘” And in his disgust at himself for having nearly let out the secret before the time, the lawyer retreated into the adjoining room,. ‘ leaving Everard alone to meet what had been a. terrible shock to him, for though he had heard at difierent times from Agnes of Jose- phine's illness, he had never believed her dan- gerous; and now she was dead ; the woman he once fancied that he loved. There were great drops of sweat about his mouth and under his hair, and his lips quivered nervous- ly while, human as he was, there came over him with a rush the thought that now indeed he was {tee in a. way which even Bessie would have reoognized had she been alive. But Rossie, too, was dead ; his freedom came too late. “Everybody is dead,” he whispered, sadly while hot tears sprang to his eyes and rplla down his clmeks.â€"-tears, not for the woman at the Forrest House, for whom the bell kept steadily tolling. but for the dear little girl dead, as he believed, so far away, but who, in reality was so very near, and even then mak- ing when h_e would come. “DEAR Evanmn,” Beatrice wrote, “we came home last night on the late train, and I am so anxious to see you and have so much to tell you, Don't delay 5. migufie, but come at once. ".Soon,dag~1ing, soon," Beatrice said, {for she had written f4; Everard. and the messen- ger was uhhis oflice dour ‘and in the room before Everard wasyware of 41:3 presence. “Mrs. Morton at home 1" He eEclaimed, as he took the note from the servant’s hand. And when the morning came a. message was dispatched to Everard to the effect that Mr. and Mrs. Morton had returned and wished to see him immediately. But another message had found its way to the oifice before this one, for knots of crape were streaming in the November wind from every door-knob at the Forrest House, and the village bell was tolling in token that some soul had gone to the God who gave it. In his oflice Everard sat listening to the bell, every stroke of which thrilled him with a sensation of something like dread, as if the knell of death were in some way connected withhimself, Who was it dead that day that the bell should clamor so long, and would it never strike the age, he asked himself, just as the door opened and Lawyer Russell came in, flurried and excited, and red and White by turns, as he shook the rein-drops from his over-coat, for the storm, though greatly abated, was notover yet. “ Yes, Ned; it will be a. great shock to you, â€"â€"9.n infernal shock,â€"though of course you were all over any hankering after her ; but it’s that Matthewson woman. She died last night. and there's about forty yards of crape flying from the doors up there, and the doc- tor, they say, is aotunlly taking on to kill, and blubbering like a. calf, but we’ll fix him. You’ll see; he's watched; there’s a poâ€" oh, Lord? what have I said or come near saying '2" It was an hour behind the usual time when the train from the north stopped for a mo- ment at Rothsay, and four people, or rather three, stepped out into the storm, and hurried to the shelter of the carriage waiting for them, the fourth, Whose face was 'earefully hidden from sight, was carried in the strong arms of Yulah, and held like a. child until Beatrice’s house was reached, where it was taken at once to the room which Rossio used to occupy, when visiting at Elm Park. Bessie was very tired and very weak, both in body and mind, but had not seemed at all excited during the journey from New York until Itothsay was reached, and she was in the car riage riding along the old familiar road she had once thought she should never see again. Then she roused from her apathy, and sitting upright looked eager- “ Who is dead ? 150 you know ?" Everard askegifi, ang Mr. Busggll replied. There was a little sigh of disappointment, and men Bessie laid her head on Yulah’s arm, and did not speak again until she was on the soft bed in the blue room at Elm Park, where, when Bee asked her how she felt, she whispered : “ So happy and glad, because I shall see him in the morning ; send for him very early.” “ Look, look 1" she said, “ so many lights in the old home, as if to welcome me back. Is Everard there waiting for mg 7" “ No, Bessie,” Beatrice said. " We are not going there to-night. I thought it best to bring you home with me until you have seen Everard.” 1y out through the driving rain toward the Forrest House, which lay to their right, and seemed to blaze with lights, as the startled servants moved rapidly from room to room,-for it was just then that the soul had taken wing and was on its flight to the world untried. BREAKING THE NEWS T0 EVERARD. CHAPTER LII. ‘ “Yours, BEE.” And now, at the close of the third day, the grand ,funeiml was over~ and grand it cer- tainly was, if a, costly eotfin, a. profusion of flowers, twenty carriages. and a multitude of lockers on, could make it so i but how much real grief there was, aside from what Agnes felt, was a matter of speculation to the people, who went in crowds to the Forrest House, which was filled from kitchen to parlor. And the doctor knew they were there, and felt a thrill o; gratification at the honor paid him. though he say with his head bent down, and never once looked iii; of seemed to notice any one. Even bad he glanded about him at the ‘sea of heads filling ante-rooms and Halls, he, would not have remarked the men who, without any apparent attention, were always in the foreground, just where they could com‘ mam] a. View of the chief mourners in the irfipo’sg‘ng procession which moved slowly to the cemetery, where all that was mortal of Josephine was Buried rem sight. At the grave the doctor’s grief. odlé a defongtratlve form, and he stood witli his face cbver‘éd with his hands, while his body shook as if fromf suppressed sobs, and when a low cry escaped; Agnes as theoofiiu box scraped the gravelly' Agnes wished go 1; ve her sister taken to Holburton and Dorie by'her mother; But Holburton was too democratic q; ‘toyvn, and Roxie Fleming's bones‘ far too plebeialn for his wife to lie beside. and so he bought a. va- cant lot in Roth:ay, and gave orders that no expense should be spared to make the funeral worthy of his mono-y and position as the rich- est man in the county. At Elm Park the utmost secrecy was main- tained with regard to Rossle, whose presence in the house was wholly unsuspected by any one except the few necessarily in the secret. The servants knew, of course, but they were trusty and silent as the grave, and al- most as eager for the denouement as Ymah, herself who had personal wrongs to be avenged but who seldom spoke to any one lest she should betray what must be kept. Two or three times, after dark she had stolen up to the Fonest House, which she examined minutely, while she shook her fist and mat tered 1n execration of the man who, she heard, sat constantly by his wife. with his face buried in his hands, as if he really mourned for the woman whom he know so much better than any one else. And to a certain extent his grief was genuine. Her beauty had dazzled and pleased him. and something in her treach- erous nature had so anew-red to his own, that in a way she was necessary to him, and when she went from him so suddenly, he experi enced a. shock and sense of his loss which struck him down as he had never before been striciien. and, oh, Everard, don’t let anything abaonish or startle you, but go up stairs to the blue room, Rossie’s 01d room, you know.” He did not wait to hear more, but darted up the stairs, expecting, not to find his dar~ ling there alive, but dead, perhaps, and thus brought back to him, fer Bee was capable of anything; so he sped on his way, and entered the room where the fire burned so brightly in the grate, and flowers were everywhere, while through the window came a sudden gleam of sunlight, which fell di- rectly on the couch where lay, not a dead, but a. living Rossie,,with a halo of glsdness on her face, and in her beautiful eyes, which met him as he came so swiftly into‘the room, pausing suddenly with a cry, half of terror, half of joy, as he saw the little girl among the pillows raise herself upright and stretch her arms towards him, while she called so clearly and sweetly ; “Oh, Everard, I am home again, and you may kiss me once.” There was terrible vengeance in Everard’s flashing eyes as he paced up and down the room. Dr. Metthewson, though he were ten times Rossie’s brother, had nothing to hope from him; but for the sake of the deed woman lying in such state at the Forrest House. he must keep quiet and hide his time. So. after another interview with Bessie, whose weak state he began to understand more plainly, he left her, and schooled himself to go quietly hack to his office and transact his business as if he were not treading the borders of a mine which would explode when he bade it do so. At his re- quest, the number of ofiicers was doubled, and every possible precaution taken lest the victim should escape. which he did not seem likely to do, for he made a. great show of his grief, and sat all day by the side of his dead wife. seeing no one but Agnes and those who had the funeral in charge, Thus, he did not even know of Beatriee'ssudden return, which took the people so by surprise, and was the theme of wonder and comment second only to the grand funeral for which such preparations were making, and which was to takeplace the third day after the death. There was a. sudden movement of his hand to his head as if the blow had struck him there., and then he staggered rather then walked toward the white-robed figure, which sprang into his arms and nestled there like a frightened bird which has been torn from its nest and suddenly finds itself safe in its shel- ter again. For an instant Everard reeoiled from the embrace as if it were aphantom he held, but only for an instant for there was nothing phantom-like in the warm flesh and blood trembling in his arms ; nothing corpse-like in the soft hands caress- ing his face, or in the eyes meeting his so fondly. It was Rossie herself come back to him from the grave where he had thought her buried, and the shock was at first so overpowering that he could not utter a word ; he could only look at her with wildly-staring eyes, and face which quiverod all over with strong emotions, while his heart heat so loudly that every throb was audible to him- self and Rossie, who, as he did not. speak, lifted her head from his shoulder and said, “What is it, Everard ? Are you glad to have me home again ?" ' ‘Yes, I know; but. now,â€"-â€"now,â€"why not seize him now ‘2 Why wait any longer. when I long to tear him limb from limb?’ Everard exclaimed, gnashing his teeth in his rage, and seeming to Beatrice like a tiger doing battle for its young. That broke the spell, and brought a shower of kisses upon her face and lips, while he murmured Words of fondness and love, and poured forth question after question, until Rossle grew bewildered and confused, and whispered fainly : “I don’t know ; I don’t understand ; I am very tired ; ask Bea.- trice, she knows ; she did it ; let me lie down again.” He saw how pale and weary she looked, and placed her among the pillows, but held her hands in his, while he turned to Beatrice. who had been standing just outside the door, and who now came forward. Then drawing him into the adjoining room, she told him very rapidly all the steps which had led to Rossie’s release from the medhouse, which had been intended as her living tomb, and as he listened to the story. Everard grew more and more enraged, until he seemed like some wild animal. roused to the highest pitch of fury; and seizing his hat was about rushing from the room, when Beat- rice detained him; and, locking the door to prevent his egress, said to him: ‘I know what is in your mind. You wish to arrest the doc- tor at once, but there is no haste at present. Everything has been attended to for you. Ever since Lawyer Russell heard from me that Rossie was alive, the Forrest House has been under close espionage, and escape for the doctor made impossible. Last night in all that storm. officers were on guard, so that he could not get away if he had received a hint of what has been done.’ “ Because,“ she answered, and she spoke softly now, “ we'must hold his sorrow sacred. We must let him bury his dead. Surely you knowfhat Josephine died last night? “ Yes. yes, hut I’d forgotten it in my excite- ment.” he gasped. and his faoe‘Wa‘s W'h'itEr, if possible. than before. “ You are right ; we must not molest-him now, but have a double watchâ€"yes. treble, if necessary. He ‘must not escape.” “Not here ; ”nossie is too tired. She can- not bear it, she said. as he asked her what it mgg‘nt, u_nd wharf) _she‘ had fourggi {Jig darling. CHAPTER L1H. THE ARREST. ‘No, Rossie,’ he an wered. ‘You could not save him, and ought‘ not if you could. Men like 'him ‘ must be punished,” must ‘Couldnt you saw 111m, Everard, ify should try? Couldn’ Ido somgthing?’ she asked. ‘Everard,â€"Everard1’ she gasped, ‘you are not telling me the tmh? Say you are not. _I would almo‘st mtherbave died in that dread- ’fu1 filape than kn‘ow my brother did this. Surely it is 1501: tru’e ? ' ‘ “ ‘ 'Yes, true in evéry )articulgr,’ Everard re- plied, softening now »! much ‘as possible what he had still to tell of the man Whose trial would come on very won, and for whom there was no escape. She had been steadily improving since Rothsny was reached, though she talked but little, and was most of the time so ~absorbed in thought that she did not always hear when spoken to, or answer it she did. She heard, however, when Everard came. and recognised his step the moment he touched the piazza, and her pale face woull light up with sudden joy and her large eyes glow like coals of fire ; but since their first interview she had not suflered him to kiss her, or even to hold her hands in his as he sat and talked to her. Josephine living was a bar between them still, and Everard guessed as much, and told her at last that losephine had died on the very night of her return to Rothsay. She was sitting in her easy chair, with her head resting upon a pillow, and 3her little white thin hmds held tightly on her lap, as if afraid if the masculine fin- gers beating restlessly upon the arm of her chair. But when sh» heard of Josephine’s death, her hands inveuntarlly unlocked and crept toward the restless fingers which caught and held them fastâ€"while Everard went on very slowly and cauti<usly to tell her the rest of her story,â€"the part which involved her brother, whose name 1e had not before men- tioned to her. At fil‘lt she listened breath- lessly, with parted lip: and wide open eyes, which almost frightened him with their ex-‘ pression of wonder, and surprise, and incred- ‘ ulity. Order was, however, soon restored, and the wretched man was left in quiet to think over his wicked past. and to dread the future, which he knew had no hope for him, His sin had found him out, and though he had not conscience enough to be be much troubled with remorse. his 'pride and self~love were cruelly wounded, and he writhed in the an- guieh of bitter mortificution and rage. Rossie had asked, on her voyage home, who lived at the Forms: House, and had been simply told that Josephine was there still. but no mention had been made of the un- natural marriage lest it should excite her too much. Now, however, it was desirable that she should know the truth, in part, at least, for her testimony would be necessary when the trial came on. So Everard told her a few‘ days after the arrest when she Seemed stronger than usual, and able to bear in. earth, he put out his zmn towards her {is if to comfort and reassure her; but she instinctively drew back, with a feelâ€" ing of treachery in her heart, as if for the sake of the dead sister she ought to warn him of his danger, and give him a. chance to escape, if it were possible, which she doubted ; for, though she did not know just what the plan was, she knew how closely the house had been watched, and recognized in the crowd the men whom she had seen on the premises, and whose office she rightly conjectured. But she had sworn to keep the secret, and so her lips were sealed, and she never uttered a word as they drove back to the house, where she went directly to her room, and on her knees begged forgiveness if she were doing a wrong to the unsus- pecting man, who, all unconscious of peril, went along to his own room to draw what consolation he could from the fumes of his best cigars and the poisons of his brandies. It did not take long for the news to spread over the town, for secrecy was no longer necessary, and never had there been such wild excitement in Rethsay. That Rossie Hastings had been alive all this time, and buried in a med-house, while her brother en- joyed her property. seemed almost incredi- ble, but there could be no doubt of it, for old Axie had seen her, and talked with her face to face, and in their fury a mob, preceded by the aid negress, assembled in the streets, and surrounding the building where the dec- tor was confined demanded the prisoner, that they might wreak vengence on him then and there. And so he was as surely doomed as if the manacles were already upon his hands, and the prison walls around him. In the hall below there was the sound of voices in low consultation, Everard’s voice and Lawyer Russell’s, and the officers of justice, who had taken possession of the house and locked every door below to shut off all means of escape. In the kitchen the astonished and frightened servants were crowded together, asking each other what it meant and What was about to happen, but not one of them dared to move after the offi- cers commanded them to keep quiet, whatever might occur. Then, up the stairs came the two strange men, with Everard and Mr. Rusv sell close behind, and on through the hall to the door of the doctor’s room. It was a little ajar, and he heard their footsteps, and half rose to meet them as they stepped across the threshold. But, when he saw Everard‘s white, set face, and saw how excited Lawyer Russell seemed, there flashed over him an inkling of the truth, and when the foremost of the officers advanced towards him, and laying his hand on his arm, arrested him for perjury, he felt sure that the desperate game he had been playing had ended in disgrace and defeat. But he was too proud to mani- fest any emotion whatever. If his revolver had been in his pocket, where he usually car- ried it, he would have used it unhesitatiugly, but it was not. He had no means of defence, and in as natural :1. tone of voice as he could command, he asked what they meant, and on what ground the arrest was made , how had he perjured himself, and when? " Yulah ! betrayed by you I" “ Yes, me. I swore it. 1’s glad to be revenge.” she cried, and was going on with more abuse when the officer stopped her, and hurried the doctor away to a place of safety, Where a close guard was placed over him. and he was left alone with his wretched thoughts. “It bees you, Dr. Matthewson. I know: you, sure, and I has the revenge. I finds her there in Haelder-Strauchsen, and sends the letter here to him (pointing to Everard), and the lady”, Madame Morton. She comes and I gets her away,and you into the conciergazie : â€"ha, ha ? What does you think now of the tragic queen ‘1’” and she snapped her fingers in his face. which was deadly White, and livid in spots as he recoiled from henexclaim mg : "When you swore that Rossie was dead, and knew that it was false, and that she was incarcerated in a mad-house where you \put her, you villain! Rossie is nat dead; she is here in town,â€"at Elm Park, and all your infernal rascality is known,” Everard burst out, for he could not restrain himself any longer, and he felt a. thrill of triumph when he saw how white the doctor grew, and how for a moment he' tattered as if he would But his request was not granted. He was s prisoner, and all resistance was vain. .Cold and pallid, and seemingly indiflerent, he did just what they bade him do. and went with themulown the stairs and out of the house he was never to enter again‘ On the piazza. outside they encountered a. strange wo- man, who threw herself directly in the prisoner’s way. and shrieked into his ear : fall He did not attempttro get away; but merely said : “Bessie here? Bossie alive ? Take me to her. Imust see her. Gentlemen, there is some mistake, which can be cleared up if only I can see her. I beg of you, take me to her.” TELLING THE TRUTH T0 ROSSIE. CHAPTER LIV. He had her face between his two hands, and was looking into her eyes, which filled with tears 'as ‘she said to him, “Oh Everard, yes, yes. I have wished it so much when it was wicked to do ‘80, and nové thét it is not, I wish it still ; only I am afraid I must not, for there is such a. horrible fear before me all the time which I cannot shake off. Day and night it-hauuts me. that I am not all right in my brain, I saw so much and sufiqred so much that I can’t put things to- gefil’et quite straight, and my head buzzea at tinies. and I do not remember, and am even gotten a scene which took place here more than six years ago, when a miserable, sore- ly-trled young man eat here a beggar, with a secret on his mind for worse and harder to bear than prospective poverty. And while ‘he sat thinking of the future, and shrinking from it with a dread of which you cannot conceive, there came to him a little sweet-faced girl, who. in her desire to comfort him and give back what she believed to be his. asked to be his wife. with- out a. thought of shame. No, Bessie, don’t try to get away from me,'for youcsnnot. I ‘ shall keep you now. forever," he - continued, as Bessie tried to free herself from the arm which only held her closer, as Everard went on: “In one sense that time seems to me ages and ages ago, so much has happened since, whilein another it seems but yester- day, so distinetly do lrecull every incident and detail, even to the dress and ' apron you wore, and the expression of your face as it changed from perfect unconsciousness to a sense of what you had done. You came to me a child..but you left me a woman, whom I do believe I would even then have taken to my heart but for the bar between us. That bar is now removed, and Rossie, my darling, I have brought you here to the old home, and into the very room, to answer the ques tion you asked me then, that is, if you are still of the same mind. Are you, Rossie ‘2 Do you still wish to be my wife ?" age, khan she had entered it so fearlessly, and done that forwhich she always blushedwhen she recglled it. Passing his arm mound her, Ever- an; drew her into the 100m. and closing the don‘t made her sit down beside him. while he stud, " Rossie, you surely have not for- Butfivexerd was firm, and quieted her as well as he could. and pointed out Aunt Axis standing in the door just as she used to stand waiting for her young mis- tress, and John farther on in the stable-yard, and even the old dogs barking in the early sunshine, and running to meet them as they cemeup. It did not seem strange nor haunted now, end Rossie made no resistance when Everard lifted her from the phmton and car- ried her into the house, which seemed so rest- ful and home-like that she felt all her old morbid feelings and fears dropping from her, and fiitted from room to room like some joy- ous bird, until she came to the judge’s cham- ber, where she paused a moment on the threshold, while there flashed upon her in re- memhrance of that day which seemed so long When the doctor rehirnished the house he had ordered all the rubbish, as he called it, to be stored away in the attics and unused rooms, where it had lain untouched save as dust and cobwebs had accumulated on it. and thus it was comparatively easy for the rooms to sesame their natural appear- ance, except so far as they had been changed by new windows and doors. and partitions throWn down to make them more commodious. Could Axis have had her way. she would have put everything back as it was, and not have left a vestige of the past, but Everard had the good sense to see that the changes were such as both he and Rossie would like when accustomed to them. He put himself with Rossie, for he knew he ‘ should live there with her, although nothing ‘ definite was settled by word of mouth. He had a plan which he meant to carry out, and when the house was restored to itself, and the same old carpets were on the floor, and the an? old pictures on the wall, and the chairs in a father’s room standing just as they had stood that day when Bessie came to him so fearlessly and asked to be his wife, he went to her find said she was to ride with him that morning, as there was something he wished to show her, She assented readily, and was soon beside him in Beatrice’s phaeton, driv- ing toward the Forrest House grounds, into which he suddenly turned, “O Evcrard, " she cried as her cheek flush scarlet, “where 1116 you going? Not share ? I- cannqt bear it yet. It will bring the buzzing hack, and all the uncertainty. D0111 aplease. It's like a haunted place. ” But exard was firm. and quieted 'her as loldly, proudly and apparently unmoved, he sat in the criminal’s seat and listened to his trial, and saw the looks of horror and execration cast at him, and sew Yulah’s face, like the face of a. fiend, sneering exultingly at him, and heard at last his sentence of im- prisonment with the utmost composure ; and no one who saw him on the way to his new home would have dreamed of the fate which awaited him. Only once did he show what he felt, and that was when the prison dress was brought for him to put on. He had been very fastidious with regard to his personal appearance, and he flinohed a little and turned pale for an instant, then rallying quickly he tried to. smile and afiectnome pleasantry with regard to the unsightly garb which transformed him at once from an ele- gant man of fashion into a branded felon, with no mark of distinction between him and his daily companions. After the trial was over, and the doctor safely lodged in prison to serve out his length of time, Rnthsay gradually grew quiet, and ceased to talk of the startling events which had thrown the town into such commotion. They were getting accustomed to the fact that Rossie was alive and with them again. She had appeared in the streets with Beatrice two or three times, and many of her old friends had been admitted to see her, but she was still wary weak in body and mind, and was kept k quiet as possible. Beatrice had made a short ’ViSlt with her husband to Boston, but had returned again to her own home, bring- ing Trixie and Bunehie with her, hoping the effect on Rossie might be good. And it was. for the moment the children came and turned the orderly house upside down with their play and prattle, she began to improve and seem much like the Bossie of old, except that her face and figure were thinner and there were no roses on her cheeks. and there was always a tired look in .her eyes and about her mouth. Of her brother she never spoke, nor of Josephine either ; neither had she ever been near the Forrest House, which. without her knowledge, had gradually been undergoing a transformation, preparatory to the time when she should be equal to visit it. Both Everard and Beatrice, with Aunt Axis to assist them, had been busy as bees, removing from the house every article of furniture which either the doctor or Josephine had bought, and replacing it with the old, familiar things of Rossie’s child- hood. ' answer for their misdeeds, else there is no such thing as justice or protection for any one. You are not angry with me. Rossie '2” he continued. as she drew her' hand from his and leaned back in her chair. Everard knew that her mind was dwelling upon the miserable man, who when told of her condition and that the trial was to be de- layed till she was able to give her testimony, had said : “No, not angry; only it's all so very hor- rible, and brings the buzzing back, and the confusion, and I hardly know who I am, or who you are, or what it’s all about, only you must go away. I can’t hear any more," she said, wearily ; and after that there were days and weeks when she lay in bed, audacnrcely moved or noticed any one, except Everard, whom she welcomed with her sweetest smile, saying to him always the same thing : 7“I Have been thinking and think/mg. and praying and praying, andI suppose it is right, but; oh i I am sorry.” “No need of that. I don’t want Rossie dragged into court to swear against me. I know more than she does ; nothmg can save me. I shall not put in a defence; and he did not. CHAPTER LV. CONCLUSION. â€"’1‘he reported engagement of the Grand Duke of Hesse to the Princess of the Austrias is oflioially contradicted. ' â€"John Dye, the expert counterfeiting, says that a close study of good notes is necessary for those who would readily detect bad ones. Some of the latter arefully as fine as the for- mer in workmanship, and it is only by the variations that they can be distinguished. He represents counterfeiting as having greatly increased of late, and the operators as backed by plenty of capital. In the case of base coinage. he says that some of their product costs more than half its apparent value to make. He showed a coin that had exactly the weight, size and touch of h genuine 35 gold piece ; but it out into the edges showed that it was a shell of gold with a platinum filling. The actual value of the metal‘in it $2.50, and the making must have cost half 'a dollar more. Thetltle of the book is hopefully suggestive, and the names of Dr. Robinson and Mr. Sherwin give such promise oi thoroughly sensible and attractive work that the advent of the new volume will be watched With eager interest, as one likely to meet most happily the present need. The book will be published by Scribner & Co. F. Sherwin, the well-known musical icon; ductor, composer and general Suuduymchool worker. Rev. Dr. Charles S. Robinson, the author of “Songs for the Sanctuary.” rendered a. valu- able service to the churches when he added to his latter work, “Spiritual Songs for the Church and Choir,” 11 most excellent edition called “Spiritual Songs for Social Worship ;” and now a. continuation of the series is to he issued. “Spiritual Songs for the Sunday- school,” by the same accomplished author, who has been assisted in the work by Mr. W. Too much countenance has heretofore been given in the Sunday-school to “hymns”which are mere rhymes without reason, with here and there a dash of sweet sentimentaliSm if: place of vigorous thonghtâ€"flippant .in style and irreverent in oxpresgion, and set to tunes of little merit. It seems to 115 high time that the songs of the Sunday-school, the prayer-meeting and the regular church service should become more closely allied to each other, so that while the letter shall be made more hearty and earnest, the two former shall be less un- worthy of a place in the mind and heart with the grand truths and magnificent literature of the Bible. In course of time Everard heard from Michel Fallen of the excitement caused by Rossie’s escape, of the means taken at first to trace her, and of the indignation of the peoâ€" ple, and the invectives heaped upon Van Schoiser when Michel told. as he was finally compelled to do, what he knew of Rossie’s un- just detention as a lunatic. It is more than six months now since Rossie came home a bride; and in that time no cloud, however small, has darkened her domestic horizon or brought a shadow to her face. The house has been furnished from gurret to cellar, and is seldom without guests, both from city and country. while the village people are never tired of taking their friends to see the bean- tiful grounds. of which they are so proud, and to call upon the fair young matron. on whom the duties of wifehood sit so prettily, and who is as sweet and innocent as in the days when she wore her white sun-bonnet, and was known as Little Rossie HaStings. mm END. '01!qu solluolfwumvms AND MUSIC. Yuluh is at the Forrest House, in the capacity of waiting-maid, and no one looking at her usually placid German face would dream of the terrible expression it can as- sume'if but the slightest allusion is made to the wretched men, who in his felon’s cell drags out his miserable days, with no hope of the future. and nothing but horror and re- morse in his retrospect of the past. Once or twice he has written to Rossie, asking her to use her influence to shorten his term of imprisonment. But Rossie is power- less thcre, and can only weep over her fallen brother, whose punishment she knows is just, and who is but reaping what he sowed so bountifully. There was a trip southward as far as the mountains of Tennessee, where, in a lovely, secluded spot Rossie gained so rapidly both in body and mind, that the second week in May was fixed for their return to the Forrest House, where Aunt Axie again reigned supreme, and where Agnes had found a haven of rest at} last. Beatrice, who had gone with Trix and Bunchie to Boston, had offered Agnes a home with her as nursery governess to the children, but Bessie had said to her first, “If you can. Aggie, I wish you would live with me. It willmake me hap- pier to have you at the Forrest House,"and so Agnes went to the Forrest House, and was there to meet the newly-mar- ried couple, when they came back one lovely afternoon in May to take possession of their old house, amid the peeling of bells and the rejoicing of people, who had assembled in crowds upon the lawn in front of the house, where Everard’s most intimate acquaintances had arranged a grand picnic, to which all who were his friends and wished to do him honour were publicly invited. It would seem as if everybody was his friend or Rossie’s. for the whole town was out, filling the grounds, which were beautifully decorated, while over the gateway a lovely arch of flowers was erected with the inscription on it, ‘Welcome to the rightful heirs.’ Dr. Morton is still in Boston, and perfectly happy with Beatrice, who is the best of wives and step-mothers, idolized by husband and little ones, and greatly honored by the people, notwithstanding that she sometimes startlesthem with her independent way of acting and thinking. And so, amid the ringing of bells and the huzzas of the crowd. and strains of sweet music as the Rothsay band played a merry strain, Everard and Rossie drove up the avenue and passed into the house where they had known so much joy and sorrow both, and which hereafter was to be to them an abode of perfect peace and happiness. “Fool, Rossxe. No. You are only tired out and must have the perfect rest which you can find alone with me.” he said, and he cov- ered her face with kisses. “ And were you ten times a. fool, I want you just the same. And you are mine, my own precious little Rossie who will be my wife very soon. There is no need for delay, I want you and you need me, and Beatrice ought to go back to her husband, which she will not do while she thinks you need her care. So it will be within two weeks at the farthest. You need no preparation. just to come home, â€"though we will go away farther South for a. while, where the season is earlier and where the roses will soon come back to these pale cheeks, and vigor to the poor tired brain.” Rossie let him arrange it 9.11 as he pleased. and the wedding took place two weeks from that day in Beatrice’s drawing room, without parade or show, for both bride and groom had suffered too much to care for publicity now ; but both were perfectly happy, and Rosaie’s face was sweet and beautiful as are the faces of Murillo’s Madonnas, as she lifted it for'her husband’s first kiss, and heard him say, “My wife at last, thank God.” There was a. dance upon the lawn that night, after the hundreds of lamps and lan- terns were lighted, and people came fmm afar to see the sight, which equalled the out- door fetes at the Champs Elysees, and were continued until the village clock chimed twelve, when, with hearty handshakes and three cheers for Mr. and Mrs.Forrest, the crowd departed to their respective homes, and peace and quiet reigned again at the Forrest House. txoubled to' Know just who I am and what hms happened. 011 do you think, do you sup- pose I am going to be a, a, She hesitated, and her lips quivexed pitifully as she finally pronounced the dleadful w,ord --“ fool.” And now, there is little more to tell of the characters with whom my readers have grgwn _f_amiliar. Everm'd’s laugh was something pleasant 11113150051 tgxhear. itjyas 8310113 and loud. lâ€"Chicago, St. Louis and St. Paul being among themâ€"where the tramps go once a month after a new supply. A card will last ‘thirty days The introduction of flypapeif ‘and the fly-traps is easier, as the articles are sent directly to druggists, who sell them to; conSumers. Stock in the association is Worth an immense amount. paying a quar-_ terly' dividend of tWenty per cent. The only way that the fly nuisance can be abated, is to kill the tramps as fast as they enter '5 community, or destroy the m‘anufactoxy ’at_ New Jersey. We have exposed the nefayi- ous business; now let the people ijise up: and crush it out of existence, ' i ‘ u Paw t. pap-0" W._.,v...~uw qw- Flies are artificially propagated in New Jersey, near Patterson, where an association of men have invested capital and are run- ning the works to their full capacity. Flies are incubated from eggs by an artificial hatching arrangement, and the young flies are taught all the deviltry they know right. in the factory. Some will look upon this statement as false, and wonder why an asso~ ciation of men should engage in the artificial propagation of the fly. We will explain. It is well known flies die at the end of the season, and if it were not for‘artificial propagation, there would be nonethe second season. The parties that are engaged in this industry are also sole manufacturers of fly-paper and fly traps. We trust that the object is now plain. In order to sell their paper and traps it is necessary to have game to catch. The gentlemen had engaged largely in the manufacture of fly-paper and fly-traps before they knew that flies only lasted one season, and after a year of suc- cess they found bankruptcy staring them in the face, as it was probable they would not sell a sheet of paper the next year. So they organized the “Great AmericanVArtificial Incubating Association of New Jersey," and issued a million dollars’ worth of stock. We have no room to describe the hatching of flies, but it is like hatching chickens by steam. Some of the best old flies are kept to lay eggs, and the eggs are placed on cards and put into an oven. They hatch out in twenty minutes. and are ready in half an hour to learn the business. First they are taught to wade in butter, to swim in cream, and to get into things around the kitchen. Then the young flies are taken to i ‘ the dormitory, where men and women, en- gaged for the purpose, are pretending to sleep. An old fly and a hundredyoung ones are placed in each room, and the old fly, after lighting on shirt bosoms oi female white goods, in order to teach the young flies the noble art of punctuation. begins to et in his work on the sleeper. The old y, after seating the young flies on cuffs and collars, calls “ Attention i” and after buzzing around a little, lights on the sleepers nose. The sleeper pretends to be mad, and slaps at the fly; this is a mere matter of form. however, for if a sleeper engaged by the association kills an old stool fly, it is deducted from his or her salary. As the old fly gets away, the young flies laugh and want to try it themselves. Then the old fly lights upon the lady sleeper'rs big toe. and proceeds deliberately to walk up her foot, ankle and calf, occasionally sto ping to bite. This is vt:ry trying to the al eged sleepers, causing nervousness and a twitch. ing of the muscles, but they must not injure the fly, The little flies netice everything, and, after the old fly has caroused around, and tickled and buzzed, then the young flies are allowed to practice on them. The per- sons practiced on get $6 a day‘and board, as it is a very particular and trying situation. Then comes the expensive business of dis. tributing flies throughout the country. For- merly it was done through book agents and lightning-rod peddlers,'but that was found too expensive; so the assOciation originated the idea of sending out regular agents, called tramps, to introduce the flies. The firstyear only about 16,000 tramps were sent out, but the business has grown to such proportions that it is estimated that this year the association has out 500,000 tramps, leaving flies around. They go from house to houhe begging. and before they leave they manage to drop a few flies. Each tramp has a card with a million young flies-0n. After he has partaken of his meal,‘ and the woman of the house is out fora shot gun or dog to drive him away, he slips his hand up his sleeve and tears off a piece of card containing, perhaps, 10,000 young flies, and dropsit in the wood-box or in some convenient place. That is enough to start on, as the flies breed rapidly. The next day the woman will wonder “ where on airth all them flies came from." The company has distributing points all over the country n. r . ~ . I N- w ' - . I‘L:Aa__ The Marsh at this time still worked full steam, in fact never stopped her engine until she had turned the City half way round. She then tacked away some distance from us, and only after several appeals that we were going down did she ' return, when the passengers and crew were transferred to her. Evidently from the circumstances of the case. the man in charge of the Marsh lost me presence of minder made a deliberate attempt to have his own vessel sunk. His actions on no other conclusion can be accounted for. After the people were all on board the Marsh, the captain acted in so surly a manner, and fearing that the damage to the Marsh might have been serious, I crdered them to be transferred to the steam barge David Bust, which happened to be in the vicinity of the disaster, and whose noble captain, in marked contrast to the actions of the other. im- mediately placed his cabins and wardrobe at the disposal of the passengers and crew. “ God bless him for his kindness," was the heartfelt expression of all the unfortunates. Capt. Pringle, of the Rust, remained by the wreck until most of the baggage wasrecovered from the cabin, which had floated away from the hull. ST. 01211111111123, July 15. â€"-Capta-in James McMaugh, of the wrecked steamer City St. Catharines, arrived home from Samia last night. He says the propeller 13 sunk in 15 fathom: of water ana that the craft will be abandoned, his unpression being that she broke 111 two as she sank. The City of St. Catharines left Montreal on Tuesday, 6th July, bound for Chicago with a. general cargo. Nothing of note occurred to mar the pleasure of the trip as far Semis. We left that port about 8.30 p. 111.. Sunday. having a fine clear night with no wind. The watches were changed at 1 a. 111. Monday, all right. About 3 a. m. the lights of a. steamer were seen approaching, which afterwards were seen to be on the George A. Marsh, showing her red light. When within about one hundred yards or so of the City the Marsh suddenly changed her course and showed her green light. Our mate observing this blew his whistle one blast, which was immediately answered by one blast from .the Marsh. The mute then ordered the wheelsmsn to port his wheel, which was done at once. The Marsh, however, continued on, and came crashing into our port bow. smashing an immense hole, through which the water rushed in tor- rents. The City went down fifteen minutes after lhe was struck in fifteen fathoms of water. The passengers and crew were all saved. Con- sidering the short time that elapsed between the collision and her sinking, all have reason to thank Almighty God for his mercies in sparing them. All that could be saved from the wreck was tranferred to the Rust and brought to Sarnia, where the Bust afterward got aground, which was a matter of regret to all whom she had rescued, and could their wishes for her noble captain have raised the water to flont'her off she would not have re- mained on long. The above are the facts of the case as they really occuned and can be substantiated by reliable and unprejufiiced testimonyt THE lAKE [WHEN COLLISION. The following is the statement given by Capt. James McMaugh. of the steamer City St. Catharines, which was sunk by the steamer George A. Marsh in Lake Huron on Monday morning last : A FLY MANUFACTORY.