“Be quiet,” Mrs. Markham said to her as she came up the stairs. “Miss Rossie has fainted, but don’t let those people know it; and bring me some hot water for her feet, quick.” Axie obeyed, wondering to herself why her young mistress should faint, when she never knew her to do such a thing before, and with her ready wit connecting it in some way with the strangers whom Mrs. Markham had designated as “those people,” and whom the old negress directly set down as “no ’count folks.” It was some time before Rossie came back to consciousness, and when she did her first words were: “Where is she? Where is Everard’s wife? Don’t let her come in here; I could not bear it now.” “Everard’s wife! Mars’r Everard’s wife!” Axie repeated, tossing her turbaned head and rolling up her eyes in astonishment. “In de deah Lord’s name, what do de chile mean? Dat ain’t Mars’r Everard’s wife?” and she turned to Mrs. Markham, who, now that Rossie had betrayed what she would have kept until Everard came to confirm or deny the tale, replied: “She says she is; but we must wait until Mr. Forrest comes before we admit it. So don’t go talking outside.” “Catch me talkin’,” was Axie’s rejoinder. “It’s a lie. Mars’r Everard hain’t got no wife. I should of knowed it if he had. Don’t you b’lieve it, honey,” and she laid her hard black hand caressingly on the head of the girl whom she had long since singled out as Everard’s future wife, watching shrewdly the growing intimacy between the two young people, and knowing better than they did just when the so-called brother merged into the lover, and she would not for a moment believe in another wife, and a secret one at that. “No, honey,” she continued, “don’t you b’lieve it. Mars’r Everard hain’t got no wife, and never will have, but you.” “Yes, Aunt Axie,” Rossie said, “this woman tells the truth. She _is_ his wife, and Everard ought to come home. We must telegraph at once. He is in Dighton still.” Mrs. Markham accordingly wrote on a slip of paper: “To J. E. FORREST, Dighton:—Come immediately. “S. MARKHAM.” And Axie’s granddaughter Lois, who lived in the house, was commissioned to take it to the office. A fire had been kindled by this time in the chamber Josephine was to occupy, and she was there with Agnes, and had rung for warm water, which Lois took up to her before going on her errand. As the child was leaving the room Josephine said to her: “Is there a paper published in town?” “Yes’m, the Rothsay _Star_” was the reply. “When does it come out?” was the next question, and Lois said: “Saturday,—to-morrow.” “Very well. I wish you to take a notice to the office of the _Star_ for me to-night, and I will give you a quarter.” Twenty-five cents seemed a fortune to the little negro girl, who was greatly impressed with the beauty of the lady, and who replied: