The message brought Everard at once, anxious about Rosamond, whom he wished to see. But she declined; her head was aching too hard to see any one, she said, especially Everard, who must despise her always. Everard had certainly lost the child Rossie; and the world had never seemed so dreary to him as that night in Bee’s boudoir, when he fairly and squarely faced the future and decided what to do, or rather, Bee decided for him; and with a feeling of death in his heart he concurred in her opinion, and said he would go at once to Josephine, and telling her of his father’s death and will, ask her to help him build up a home where they might be happy. He was not to show her how he shrank back and shivered even while taking her for his wife. He was to put the most hopeful construction on everything, and see how much good there was in Josie. “And I am sure she will not disappoint you,” Beatrice said, infusing some of her own bright hopefulness into Everard’s mind, so that he did not feel quite so discouraged when he said good-night to her, telling her that he should start on the next morning’s train for Holburton, but asking her not to tell Rossie of Josephine until she heard from him. CHAPTER XXI. A MIDNIGHT RIDE. It was after midnight when Everard reached Albany, the second day after he left Rothsay. There the train divided, the New York passengers going one way, and the Boston passengers another. Everard was among the latter, and as several people left the car where he was, he felicitated himself upon having an entire seat for the remainder of his journey, and had settled himself for a sleep, with his soft traveling hat drawn over his eyes, and his valise under his head, when the door opened and a party of young people entered, talking and laughing, and discussing a concert which they had that evening attended. As there was plenty of room Everard did not move, but lay listening to their talk and jokes until another party of two came hurrying in just as the train was moving. The gentleman was tall, fine-looking, and exceedingly attentive to the lady, a fair blonde, whom he lifted in his arms upon the platform, and set down inside the door, saying as he did so: “There, madam, I did get you here in time, though I almost broke my neck to do it; that last ice you took came near being our ruin.” “Ice, indeed! Better say that last glass you took,” the lady retorted, with a loud, boisterous laugh, which made Everard shiver from head to foot, for he recognized Josephine’s voice, and knew it was his wife who took the unoccupied seat in front of him, gasping and panting as if wholly out of breath. “Almost dead,” she declared herself to be, whereupon her companion, who was Dr. Matthewson, fanned her furiously with his hat, laughing and jesting, and attracting the attention of everybody in the car.