“Oh, Mars’r Everard, praise de Lord you am come at last! I couldn’t b’ar it much longer, with Miss Rossie sick up sta’rs, and that woman below swashin’ round wid her long-tailed gowns, an’ her yaller ha’r hangin’ down her back, and sayin’ she is your wife. She isn’t your wife, Mas’r Everard,—she isn’t?” and Axie looked earnestly at the young man, who would have given more than half his life to have been able to say, “No, she is not.” But he could not do that, and his voice shook as he replied: “Yes, Aunt Axie, she is my wife.” Axie did not cry out or say a word at first, but her black face quivered and her eyes filled with tears, as she took a rapid mental survey of the case as it stood now. Everard’s wife must of course be upheld for the credit of the family, and, though the old negress knew there was something wrong, it was not for her to inquire or to let others do so either; and when at last she spoke, she said: “If she’s your wife, then I shall stan’ by her.” He did not thank her or seem to care whether she stood by his wife or not, for his next question was: “You said Rosamond was sick. What is the matter?” “Sore throat and bad cold fust, and then your wife comed an’ took us by surprise, an’ Miss Rossie fainted cl’ar away, and has been as white, an’ still, an’ slimpsy as a rag ever since.” Something like a groan escaped from Everard’s lips, as he said: “Tell Miss Rossie I am here, and ask if I can see her,—at once, before I meet anybody else.” “Yes, I’ll tell her,” Axie said, as she hurried to the room, where, to her great surprise, she found her young mistress in her flannel dressing-gown and shawl, sitting in her easy-chair, with her head resting upon pillows scarcely whiter than her face, save where the red spots of fever burned so brightly. In spite of Mrs. Markham’s remonstrance Rossie had insisted upon getting up and being partly dressed. “I must see Everard,” she said. “You can’t understand, and I can’t explain, but he will come to me, and I must see him alone. “Yes. Tell him to come up; I am ready for him,” she said to Aunt Axie. And Everard advanced, with a sinking heart, and knocked at Rossie’s door just as a black-robed figure, with a white wool shawl wrapped around it, started to come up the stairs. CHAPTER XXXIV. EVERARD AND ROSSIE. The voice which said “Come in” did not sound like Rossie’s at all, nor did the little girl sitting in the chair look much like the Rossie he had last seen, flushed with health and happiness, and the light of a great joy shining in the eyes which now turned so eagerly toward him as he came in. On the stairs outside there was the rustling of skirts, and he heard it, and involuntarily slid the bolt of the door, and then swiftly crossed to where Rossie’s face was upturned to his with a smile of welcome, and Rossie’s hands were both outstretched to him as she said: