The great black eyes were full of tears, and Rossie’s face twitched painfully as she compelled herself to make this effort in Everard’s behalf. But it was lost on Josephine, who, thoroughly deceitful and treacherous herself, could not believe that this young girl really meant what she said; it was a piece of acting to cover her real feeling, but she affected to be touched, and wiped her own eyes, and said despondingly that the time was past, she feared, the opportunity lost for her to regain her husband. He did not care for her any longer; his love was given to another, and she looked straight at Rossie, who neither spoke nor made a sign that she heard or understood, but she looked so very white and tired that Josephine arose to go, after thanking her again for her kindness and generosity, and assuring her that everything about the house should be kept just as she left it, and that in case she changed her mind after trying the life of a governess, and wished to return, she must do so without any reference to her convenience or pleasure. And so the interview ended, and Josephine went back to her room and Agnes, to whom she said that she had found Miss Hastings rather pretty, and that she was on the whole a nice little body, and had acted very well about the house, “though,” she added: “I consider it quite as much mine as hers. That old man was crazy, or he would never have left everything to her, and he tried afterward to take it back, it seems, and right the wrong he had done. She told me all about it, and how his eyes followed her, and shut and opened as she talked to him. It made me so nervous to think of those eyes; I believe they will haunt me forever. And Everard never told me that, but let me believe his father died just as angry with him as ever. I tell you, Agnes, I am beginning to hate that man quite as much as he hates me, and if I were sure of as comfortable a living and as good a position elsewhere as he can give me here, I’d sue for a divorce to-morrow, and get it, too, and then,—‘away, away, to my love who is over the sea.’” She sang the last words in a light, flippant tone, and then sat down to write to Dr. Matthewson, whose last letter, received before she left Europe, was still unanswered. Three weeks after this interview Rosamond left Rothsay for St. Louis, where she was to be governess to Mrs. Andrews’ children on a salary of three hundred dollars a year. Everard and Josephine both went to the depot to see her off, the one driving down in the carriage with her, and making a great show of regret and sorrow, the other walking over from his office, and maintaining the utmost reserve and apparent indifference, as if the parting were nothing to him; but at the last, when he stood with Rossie’s hand in his, there came a look of anguish into his eyes, and his lips were deathly white as he said good-by, and knew that all which made life bearable to him was leaving him, forever.