Of course all Holburton was excited, some believing the story, others discrediting it, but all remembering the play and the mock marriage which had seemed so solemn and real. But Josephine was not popular, and few if any regrets were sent after her when she started for the Forrest House, which she reached on the chill November day, when everything was looking its very worst. Even the grounds had a bare, gray look, but they were very spacious and large, and Josephine felt a throb of pride as she rode up the avenue, looking eagerly out at the great, square, old-fashioned building, which, though massive, and stately, and pretentious, was not quite what she had expected to find. There was about it a shut-up, deserted air, which made her ask the hackman if there was any one at home, or why the blinds were all closed except in the wing. The hackman was a negro who had once been in Judge Forrest’s employ, and he replied: “Miss Rossie’s dar whar you see de shutters open, but de rest she keep closed sense old marster died.” There was something like a flash of indignation in Josephine’s eyes as she thought how soon she would change the administration of the household, and make Miss Rossie know her place. They had reached the side entrance by this time, and Josephine waited in her seat an instant in the hope that her truant lord might come himself to see who his visitors were. In that case she meant to be forgiving, and put her arms around his neck, and kiss him, and whisper in his ear: “I know everything, but I come in peace, not in war. Let us be friends, and do you leave the explanation to me.” She had decided upon this plan since leaving Holburton, for the nearer she drew to Rothsay the more she began to dread and fear the man who she knew had outlived all love and respect for her. But only Aunt Axie’s broad, black face looked out into the rain, and beamed a smile on Luke, the driver, who was a distant relative. Springing lightly from the carriage Josey ran up the steps into the hall, where she stood while Agnes joined her, and Luke deposited the heavy trunks and claimed his customary fee, and a little more on the plea of “so many big boxes to tote.” But Josephine refused him sharply, and then followed Aunt Axie into the cold reception-room, where no fire had been made that day, for Rossie had never abandoned her determination to use as little as possible of the Forrest money, and nothing superfluous was expended either in fuel, or eatables, or dress. So far as her own income,—a matter of one hundred and forty dollars or thereabouts,—was concerned, she was very generous and free; but when it came to Everard’s money, as she called it, her economies were almost painful at times, and wrung many a remonstrance from old Axie, the cook. With a shiver and a quick, curious glance around the cheerless room, Josephine turned to Aunt Axie and said: “Is Mr. Forrest at home,—Mr. Everard Forrest?”