“A relative! My husband is Mr. Everard Forrest,” Josephine said. “We were married four years ago last summer, and at his request, I have kept it a secret ever since. But my sister,” and she nodded toward Agnes, “saw me married, and I have my marriage certificate in my bag. Agnes, give me my satchel, please,” and she turned again to Agnes, who knew now that they were there unexpected and unknown, and her face was very white as she brought the satchel for Josephine to open.
Mrs. Markham was confounded and incredulous, and she showed it in her face as she dropped into a chair and stared wonderingly at her visitor, who, from a little box fastened with lock and key, abstracted a paper which she handed her to read.
“I know just how I must seem to you,” Josephine said. “You think me an adventuress, an impostor, but I am neither. I am Everard Forrest’s lawful wife, as this certificate will show you.”
Mrs. Markham did not reply, for she was reading that, at Holburton, New York, on the evening of the 17th of July, 18—, Mr. James E. Forrest, of Rothsay, Ohio, was united in matrimony to Miss Josephine Fleming, by the Rev. Mr. Matthewson. There could be no mistake apparently, unless this paper was a forgery and the woman a lunatic, and still Mrs. Markham could not believe it. She had a great respect and liking for Everard, and held him as a model young man, who would never stoop to deception like this, and then,—there was Rossie! and the kind-hearted woman felt a pang of pity and a throb of indignation as she thought how Rossie had been wronged and duped if this thing were true, and this woman confronting her so calmly and unflinchingly were really Everard’s wife.
“I cannot believe it. I will not believe it,” she thought; and as composedly as it was possible for her to do, she said:
“This is a strange story you tell me, and if it is true it bears very heavily against Mr. Forrest, who has never been suspected of being a married man.”
“I knew it; I guessed as much. Oh, Josey, why did you come before he sent for you? Let’s go away. You are not wanted here!” Agnes exclaimed, as she came swiftly to her sister’s side and laid her hand on her arm.
But Josephine shook it off fiercely, and in a tone she knew so well how to assume, said commandingly, as if speaking to a child:
“Mind your business, Agnes, and let me attend to my own affairs. I have kept quiet long enough; four years of neglect would try the patience of any woman, and if he does not choose to recognize me as his wife I shall compel him to do so. You saw me married; you know I am telling the truth. Speak, Agnes, did you not see me married to Everard Forrest?”
“Yes, I did, may God forgive me,” was Agnes’ meek reply, but still Mrs. Markham could not believe her, and was silent while Josephine went on: