CHAPTER XIV.

E-text prepared by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Josephine Paolucci, and the

Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

(https://www.pgdp.net)

FOR WOMAN'S LOVE

A Novel

by

MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH

Author of "The Hidden Hand," "Only a Girl's Heart," "Unknown,"

"The Lost Lady of Lone," "Nearest and Dearest," etc.

New York and London

Street & Smith, Publishers

1890

CHAPTER I.

A BRILLIANT MATCH.

"I remember Regulas Rothsay--or Rule, as we used to call him--when he

was a little bit of a fellow hardly up to my knee, running about

bare-footed and doing odd jobs round the foundry. Ah! and now he is

elected governor of this State by the biggest majority ever heard of,

and engaged to be married to the finest young lady in the country, with

the full consent of all her proud relations. To be married to-day and to

be inaugurated to-morrow, and he only thirty-two years old this blessed

seventh of June!"

The speaker, a hale man of sixty years, with a bald head, a sharp face,

a ruddy complexion, and a figure as twisted as a yew tree, and about as

tough, was Silas Marwig, one of the foremen of the foundry.

"Well, I don't believe Regulas Rothsay would ever have risen to his

present position if it had not been for his love of Corona Haught. No

more do I believe that Old Rockharrt would ever have allowed his

beautiful granddaughter to be engaged to Rothsay if the young man had

not been elected governor," observed a stout, florid-faced matron of

fifty-five. "How hard he worked for her! And how long she waited for

him! Why, I remember them both so well! They were the very best of

friends from their childhood--the wealthy little lady and the poor

orphan boy."

"That is very true, Mrs. Bounce," said a young man, who was a newcomer

in the neighborhood and one of the bookkeepers of the great firm. "But

how did that orphan get his education?"

"By hook and by crook, as the saying is, Mr. Wall. I think the little

lady taught him to read and write, and she loaned him books. He left

here when he was about thirteen years old. He went to the city, and got

into the printing office of _The National Watch_. And he learned the

trade. And, oh, you know a bright, earnest boy like that was bound to

get on. He worked hard, and he studied hard. After awhile he began to

write short, telling paragraphs for the _Watch_, and these at length

were noticed and copied, and he became assistant editor of the paper. By

the time he was twenty-five years old he had bought the paper out."

"And, of course, he made it a power in politics. I see the rest. He was

elected State representative; then State senator."

"Yes, indeed. You've hit it. And now he is going to marry his first love

to-day, and to take his seat as governor to-morrow," continued the

matron, with a little chuckle.

"Regulas Rothsay will never take his seat as governor," spoke a solemn

voice from the thicket on the right of the road along which the party

were walking to the scene of the grand wedding. All turned to see a

strange form step out from the shelter of the trees--a tall, gaunt,

swarthy woman, stern of feature and harsh of tone; her head covered with

wild, straggling black hair; her body clothed in a long, clinging

garment of dark red serge.

"Old Scythia," muttered the matron, shuddering and shrinking closer to

the side of the bookkeeper, for the strange creature was reported and

believed by the ignorant and superstitious of the neighborhood to be

powerful and malignant.

"Regulas Rothsay will never take his seat as governor of this State!"

As the beldame repeated and emphasized these words, she raised her hand

with a prophetic gesture and advanced upon the group of pedestrians.

"Now, then, you old crow! What are you up to with your croaking?"

demanded Mr. Marwig. "Look here, Mistress Beelzebub! Do you know that

you are a very lucky woman to live in a land where not only may a

barefooted boy rise to the highest honors by talent and perseverance,

but where a malignant old witch may torture and terrify her neighbors

without fear of the ducking stool or the stake?" he demanded.

The beldame looked at him scornfully, and disdained to reply.

"Wait!" said a stout, dark, middle-aged, black-whiskered man, Timothy

Ryland by name, and one of the managers of the "works" by state. "Wait,

I want to question this miserable lunatic. She may have got wind of

something. Tell me, old mother, why will not the governor-elect take his

seat to-morrow?"

"Because Fate forbids it," solemnly replied the crone.

"Will the governor be--murdered?"

"No; Regulas Rothsay has not an enemy in the world!"

"Will he be killed on the railroad, or kidnapped?"

"No!"

"Will he be taken suddenly ill?"

"No!"

"What then in the fiend's name is to prevent his taking his seat

to-morrow?" impatiently demanded the manager.

"An evil so dire, so awful, so mysterious, that its like never happened

on this earth!"

"Arrest her, Mr. Ryland! She ought to be locked up until she could be

sent to the asylum!" exclaimed old Marwig.

"I have no power to do so, my friend," replied the manager.

"Why, where is she?" inquired Mrs. Bounce, trembling. "Who saw her go?"

No one answered, but every one looked around. Not a trace of the witch

could be seen. She had passed like a dark cloud from among them, and was

gone.

It was a glorious day in June. A long, deep, green valley lay low

between two lofty ridges of the Cumberland mountains, running north and

south for ten miles, and near the boundary lines of three States. This

lovely vale was watered by a merry, sparkling little river called the

Whirligig, which furnished the power for the huge machinery of the great

firm of Rockharrt & Sons, proprietors of the Plutus iron mines and the

North End foundries, which supplied the mighty engines on the great

lines of railroad from the East to the West, and whose massive

buildings, forges, furnaces, store-houses and laborers' cottages

occupied all the ground between the foot of the mountain and the banks

of the river, on both sides of the Whirligig, at the upper or north end

of the valley, where a substantial bridge connected the two shores.

This settlement, called, from its position, North End, was quite a

thriving little village. North End was not only blessed with a mission

church, having a schoolroom in its basement, but it was provided with a

post-office, a telegraph, a drug store, kept by a regular physician, who

dispensed his own physic (advice and medicine, one dollar), and a

general store, where everything needed to eat, drink, wear or use

(except drugs), was kept for sale.

On this bright June morning, however, the great works were all stopped.

There was a general holiday, and as this was at the cost of the firm, it

gave general satisfaction. All the people of North End, except the aged,

infirm and infantile, were trooping down the valley, on the rough road

between the foot of the West Ridge and the side of the river, to a fete

to be given them at Rockhold on the occasion of the marriage of old

Aaron Rockharrt's granddaughter, Corona Haught, to Regulas Rothsay, the

governor-elect of the State.

It was a marriage of very rare interest to the workmen and their

families. To the men, because the governor-elect had been one of their

own class. The elders remembered him from the time when he was a

friendless orphan child, glad to run the longest errand or do the

hardest day's work for a dime, but also a very independent little

fellow, who would take nothing in the shape of alms from anybody. To the

women, because he was going to marry his first and only sweetheart, and

on the very day before his inauguration, so that she might take part in

the pageantry that was to be his first great success and triumph.

On one side of the river, at the foot of the East Ridge, stood Rockhold,

the country seat of the Rockharrts, in its own park, which lay between

the mountain and the river. The house itself was a large, heavy, oblong

building of gray stone, two stories high, with cellar and garret. From

the front of the house to the edge of the river extended a fair green

lawn, shaded here and there by great forest trees. Under many of these

trees, tables with refreshments were set, and seats were placed for the

accommodation and refreshment of the out-door guests. In sunny spots,

also, some white tents were raised and decorated with flags.

As a group of working men and women sat on the west bank of the river,

waiting impatiently for the return of the ferryboat, they saw, from

minute to minute, carriages drive up the lawn avenue, discharge the

occupants at the main entrance of the house, and then roll off to the

stable yard in the rear.

These seemed to come in a slow procession.

"Only the nearest relations and most intimate friends of the family are

invited to the ceremony. There have only been five carriages passed

since we have been sitting here, and I don't believe there was one come

before we came, or that there'll be another come after that last one,

which was certainly the groom's," said Old Marwig.

"Oh! was it, indeed? But how do you know?" demanded Mrs. Bounce.

"It is the new carriage from North End Hotel! And he and his groomsmen

had engaged it. That's how I know! Here comes the ferryboat! Now for

it!"

The boat touched the banks, and as many as could find room crowded into

it, and were speedily rowed across the river and landed on the other

side, where they found a few of the lawn party there before them.

"There is Mr. Clarence Rockharrt coming toward us!" said Mrs. Bounce, as

the party walked up from the landing, and a medium-sized, plump, fair

man of middle age, with a round, fresh face, a smiling countenance, blue

eyes and light hair, and in "a wedding garment" of the day, came down to

meet them, and shook hands with all, warmly welcoming them in the name

of his father. Then he led them up to the lawn and gave them chairs

among the unoccupied seats at the various tables.

"If you please, Mr. Clarence, is the groom in good health and sperrits?"

meaningly inquired Mrs. Bounce.

"Mr. Rothsay is in excellent health and spirits, thank you," replied

the gentleman, looking a little surprised at the question: an then

moving off quickly to receive some new arrivals.

The guests for the lawn party were constantly arriving, and the

ferryboat was kept busy plying from the shore to shore.

It is time now to introduce our readers to the house of Rockharrt.

Old Aaron Rockharrt, the head of that house, was at this time

seventy-five years of age and a wonder of health and strength. He was

called the "Iron King," no less from his great hardihood of body and

mind than from his vast wealth in mines and foundries. In size he was

almost a giant, with a large head covered by closely-curling, steel-gray

hair. His character may be summed up in a very few words:

Aaron Rockharrt was an incarnation of monstrous selfishness.

His manners to all, but especially to his dependants, were arrogant,

egotistical and overbearing. He was utterly destitute of sympathy or

compassion. There was no room for either in a soul so full of self. In

his opinion there was no one on earth, neither king nor Kaiser, saint

nor hero, so important to the universe as Aaron Rockharrt, head of

Rockharrt & Sons.

Yet Aaron Rockharrt had two redeeming points. He was strictly truthful

in word and honest in deed.

His wife was near his own age, a quiet, gentle, little old lady, small

and slim, with white hair half hidden by a lace cap. If she ever had any

individuality, it had been quite crushed out by the hard heel of her

husband's iron will. Their eldest son and second partner in the firm was

Fabian Rockharrt, a fine animal of fifty years old, though scarcely

looking forty. He had inherited all his father's great strength of body

and of mind, with more than his father's business talent; but he had

not inherited the truth and honesty of his father.

Yet there is no one wholly evil, and Fabian Rockharrt's one redeeming

quality was a certain good nature or benevolence which is more the

result of temperament than of principle. This quality rendered his

manner so kind and considerate to all his employes that he was the most

popular member of his family.

Clarence, the second son, was much younger than his elder brother, and

so diametrically opposite to him and to their father, both in person and

character, that he scarcely seemed to come of the same race.

He was really thirty-five years old, but looked ten years less, and was

a fair blonde, medium-sized and plump, with a round head covered with

light, curling yellow hair, a round, rosy face as bare as a baby's and

almost as innocent. He had not the satanic intellect of his father or

his brother, but he had a fine moral and spiritual nature that neither

could understand or appreciate.

There were yet two other exceptions to the family character of

worldliness and selfishness. There were Corona and Sylvanus Haught, a

sister and brother, orphan grand-children of Aaron Rockharrt, left him

by his deceased only daughter. Sylvanus, a fine, manly young fellow,

resembled his Uncle Clarence in person and in character, having the same

truthfulness, generosity and sincerity, but with a mocking spirit, which

turned evil into ridicule rather than into a subject of serious rebuke.

He was three years younger than his sister. Corona was a beautiful

brunette, tall, like all the Rockharrts, with a superbly developed form,

a fine head, adorned with a full suit of fine curly black hair, delicate

classic features, straight, low forehead, aquiline nose, a "Cupid's bow"

mouth, and finely curved chin. This was her wedding-day and she wore

her bridal dress of pure white satin, with veil of thread lace and

wreath of orange buds. Hers was the very triumph of a love match, for

she was about to wed one whom she had loved from earliest childhood, and

for whom she had waited long years.

Here was Corona Haught's great victory. She had seen his opponents, her

own family, bow down and worship her idol. Yet, at the culmination of

her triumph, on this her bridal day, why did she sit so pale and wan?

From her deep, sad reverie she was aroused by the entrance of her six

gay bridesmaids.

"Corona, love, good morning! Many happy returns, and so on!" said Flora

Fields, the first bridesmaid, coming up to the pale bride and kissing

her.

All the others followed the example, and then Miss Fields said:

"Cora, dear, 'the scene is set'--otherwise, the company are all

assembled in the drawing-room. Grandpapa and grandmamma are in their

seats of honor. The bishop, in his canonicals, is waiting; the groom and

his groomsmen are expectant. Are you ready?"

"I know getting married must be a serious, a solemn, even an awful thing

when it comes to the point. And most brides do look pale! But you--you

look ghastly! Come, take some composing spirits of lavender--do!"

"Yes; you may give me some. You will find the vial on the

dressing-table."

The restorative was administered, and then the "bevy of fair maids" left

the chamber and went down stairs.

There, in the great hall, they met the bridegroom and his six groomsmen;

for it was the custom of that time and place to have a groomsman for

each bridesmaid. The bridegroom and governor-elect was not a handsome

man--that was conceded even by his best friends--but he was tall and

muscular, with a look of strength, manliness and nobility that was

impressive. A son of the people truly, but with the brain of the ruler.

The whole rugged form and face assumed a gentleness and courtesy that

almost conferred grace and beauty upon him, as he advanced to greet his

bride.

Why did she shrink from him?

No one knew. It was only for a moment; and happily, he, in the

simplicity of a single, honest heart, had not seen the momentary

shudder.

He drew her hand within his arm, looked down on her with a beam of

ineffable tenderness and adoration, and then waited, as he had been

instructed to do, until the groomsmen and bridesmaids had formed the

procession that was to usher them into the drawing-room and before the

officiating bishop. They entered the crowded apartment. The bishop, in

his white robes, stood on the rug, supported by the Rev. Mr. Wells,

temporary minister of the mission church at North End, and the ceremony

began. All went on well until he came to that part where the officiating

minister must read--though a mere form this solemn adjuration to the

contracting lovers:

"'I require and charge ye both, as ye shall answer at the dreadful day

of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if

either of you know just cause why ye may not be united in matrimony, ye

do now declare it.'"

There was a pause, to give opportunity for reply, if any reply was to be

made--a mere form, as the adjuration itself was. Yet the bride shuddered

throughout her frame. Many noticed it, but not the bridegroom.

The ceremony went on.

"'Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?'"

Old Aaron Rockharrt, who stood on the right of the bridal party, stepped

forth, took his granddaughter's hand, and placed it in that of the

groom, saying, with visible pride:

"I do."

The rites went on to their conclusion, and the whole party were invited

into the dining-room, where the marriage feast was spread, where the

revelry lasted two full hours, and might have lingered longer had not

the bride withdrawn from the table, and, attended by her bridesmaids,

retired to her chamber to change her bridal robes for a plain traveling

suit of silver gray silk, with hat and gloves to match.

There the gentle, timid, old grandmother came to bid her pet child a

private good-by.

"Are you happy, my love--are you happy?" she inquired. "Why don't you

answer?"

"My heart is full--too full, grandma," evasively answered Corona

Rothsay.

"Ah, yes; that is natural--very natural. 'Even so it was with me when I

was young,'" sighed the old lady, who detected no evasion in the words

of her darling.

The bride went down stairs, where the bridegroom awaited her. There, in

the hall, were collected the members of her family, friends, neighbors

and wedding guests.

Some time was spent in bidding good-by to all these.

"But it is not good-by, really; for the majority of us will follow by a

later train, and be on hand for the inauguration to-morrow," said old

Aaron Rockharrt, who seemed to have recovered his youth on this proud

day.

"And, grandpa, be sure to bring grandma. Don't say that she is too old,

or too feeble, or too anything, to travel, because she is not; and she

has set her heart on seeing the pageantry to-morrow. Promise me before I

leave you," pleaded the bride.

"Very well; I will bring her," said Mr. Rockharrt, who would have

promised anything to his granddaughter on this auspicious occasion.

"You will find your traps all right, Cora. They went off by the early

train this morning," said Mr. Clarence.

"And I trust, Rothsay, that you will find my town house comfortably

prepared for your reception," said Mr. Rockharrt.

The bridegroom handed his bride into the carriage that was to convey

them to the railway station. The carriage crossed the ferry, and in a

few minutes reached the other side, and rolled toward the railway

station.

The road was at this hour very solitary, and the bridegroom and his

bride found themselves for the first time that day tete-a-tete. He

turned to her, and drew her head to his heart and whispered:

"Cora, speak to me! Call me your husband!"

"I--cannot. My heart is too full," the girl muttered evasively.

But his grand, simple, truthful spirit perceived no prevarication in her

words. If her heart was full, it was with responsive love of him, he

thought. He bent his face lower over her beautiful head, that lay upon

his bosom, and kissed her.

Soon they reached North End, where all the aged, infirm and infantile

who could not come to the wedding were seated at their cottage doors, to

see the carriage with the bridegroom and bride go by.

Smiling and bowing in response, the pair passed through the village and

went on their way toward the station which they reached at half-past one

o'clock.

They had to wait about ten minutes for the train to come up. They

remained in the carriage; for here, too, a small crowd of country people

had collected to see the bride and the bridegroom, who was also the

governor-elect.

The train from the East ran into the station. The bridal pair left the

carriage and went on the cars, and the governor-elect and his bride set

out for the State capital. It was a long afternoon ride, and the sun was

low when the train drew in sight of the State capital, and slowed into

the station.

An immense crowd had gathered to welcome the governor-elect, and as he

stepped out upon the platform, and stood with his bride on his arm, the

cheers were deafening. When these had in some measure subsided, the hero

of the hour returned thanks in a simple little speech. Then the

committee of reception came up and shook hands with the governor-to-be,

who next presented them in turn to his wife.

At last the pair were allowed to enter the carriage that was in waiting

to convey them to the town house of Aaron Rockharrt. Other carriages

containing members of the committee attended them. They passed through

the main street of the city.

The procession of carriages passed until it reached the Rockharrt

residence, opposite the government mansion, where the committee took

leave of the governor-elect and his bride, who entered their temporary

home alone, to be received and attended by obsequious servants.

There we also will leave them.

Visitors to the inauguration were arriving by every train.

Among the arrivals from the East came Aaron Rockharrt, with his wife,

his two sons, Fabian and Clarence, and his grandson, Sylvan, the

younger brother of Cora.

The main door of the mansion was open, and several gentlemen, wearing

official badges, stood without or just within it.

"By Jove! we are just in time, and it has been a close shave! That is

the committee come to take him to the State house!" exclaimed old Aaron

Rockharrt as he stepped out of the carriage, and helped his feeble

little wife to alight. He led her up the steps, followed by the other

three men of his party.

"Good morning, Judge Abbot. We are just in time, I find. We came up by

the night train, and a close shave it has been. Well, a miss is as good

as a mile, and we are safe to see the whole of the pageant," said the

old man, speaking to a tall, thin, gray-haired gentleman, who wore a

rosette on the lapel of his coat.

"Yes, sir; but here is a very strange difficulty--very strange, indeed,"

replied the official, with a deeply troubled and perplexed air, which

was shared by all the gentlemen who stood with him.

"What's the trouble, gentlemen? Is the chief justice ill, that his honor

cannot administer the oath, or what?"

"It is much worse than that--if anything could be worse," gravely

replied one of the committee.

"What is it then? A contested election at this late hour?"

"The governor-elect cannot be found. No one has seen him since eleven

o'clock last night. He is missing."

CHAPTER II.

A LOST GOVERNOR AND BRIDEGROOM.

"Missing!" echoed old Aaron Rockharrt, drawing up his huge frame to its

fullest height, and staring with strong black eyes in a defiant and

aggressive manner. "Missing! did you say, sir?" he repeated sternly.

"Yes, Mr. Rockharrt; ever since last night," replied Judge Abbot,

chairman of the committee, in much distress and anxiety.

"Impossible! Never heard of such a thing in the whole course of my life!

A bridegroom lost on the evening of his marriage! A governor lost on the

morning of his inauguration! I tell you, sir, it is impossible--utterly

and entirely impossible! How do you know, sir, that he has not been seen

by some one or other since last night? How do you know that he cannot be

found, somewhere, this morning?"

"All his household have failed to find him. Our messengers have been

sent in every direction without discovering the slightest clew to

his--fate," gloomily replied the judge.

Mr. Rockharrt turned to the porter, who was still in attendance at the

door, and demanded:

"Where is your mistress?"

The man, a negro and an old family servant of the Rockharrts, replied:

"The young madam is in the back drawing room, sir; and if you please,

sir, I think she would be all the better for seeing the old madam."

"Who is with her now?" shortly demanded Mr. Rockharrt, ignoring his

servant's suggestion, although Mrs. Rockharrt looked nervously anxious

to follow it "There is no one with her, sir."

"Alone! Alone! My granddaughter left alone on the morning after her

marriage? What do you mean by that? Where is your master?

"Show me in to your mistress at once. I will get at the bottom of this

mystery, or this villainy, as it is more likely to prove, before I am

through with the matter. And if my granddaughter's husband is not to be

found before the day is out, I will have all concerned in the plot

arrested for conspiracy!" exclaimed Mr. Rockharrt, with that utter

recklessness of assertion to which he was addicted in moments of

excitement.

The dismayed negro lowered his eyes and led the way. Aaron Rockharrt

strode on, followed by his timid and terrified old wife, his stalwart

sons, his mocking grandson, and the members of the committee. But the

old man, not liking such an escort, turned upon them, and said, with

sarcastic politeness and dignity:

"Gentlemen, permit me. It is expedient, under existing circumstances,

that I should first see my granddaughter alone."

The members of the committee bowed with offended dignity and withdrew to

the front of the hall.

Meanwhile Aaron Rockharrt sent back the members of his own family, and

strode solemnly into the drawing room, which was half darkened by the

closed window shutters.

"Now leave the room, sir; shut the door after you and stand on the

outside to keep off all intruders," commanded Mr. Rockharrt to the

servant who had admitted him.

When the door was closed upon him, Aaron Rockharrt discerned his

granddaughter, who sat in an easy chair in a dark corner of the back

drawing room, which was divided from the front by blue satin and white

lace portieres. Her deadly pallid face gleamed out from the shadows in

startling contrast to her jet black hair and the black dress which,

against all precedent, she wore on this the morning after her marriage.

The old man of iron went up and stood before her, looking at her in

silence for a few moments.

"Corona Rothsay," he began, sternly, "what is the meaning of this

unparalleled situation?"

"I--I--do not know."

"You do not know where your husband is on the morning after his marriage

and on the day of his expected inauguration?"

"No; I do not know."

"You seem to take this desertion or this death very quietly."

"What would be gained by taking it any other way?" she murmured, though

indeed she was not taking the situation quietly, but controlling

herself.

"How dare you say so to me?" severely demanded the old man, scarcely

able to control his wrath, though at a loss to know against whom to

direct it.

"You ask me a direct question. I give you a truthful answer."

"Answer me, truly!" rudely exclaimed Aaron Rockharrt, giving way, in his

blind egotism, to utter recklessness of assertion, to gross injustice

and exaggeration. "What have you done to him, Corona? Tell me that!"

She started violently and looked up quickly; her face was whiter, her

eyes wilder than before.

"What--have--you--done to him?" he sternly repeated, looking her full in

the deathly face.

"I? Nothing!" she answered, but her voice faltered and her frame shook.

"I believe that you have! You look as if you had! I have seen the devil

in you since we brought you home from Europe against your will;

especially within the last few days!"

Having hurled upon her this avalanche of abuse, he turned and strode

wrathfully up and down the room until he had got off some of his

excitement. Then, he came and stood before his granddaughter.

"How long has your husband been missing?" he abruptly inquired.

"Since last night," in a very low tone.

"When did you see him last? Tell me that!"

"I have already told you--last evening."

"Tell me all that has occurred from the time you both left Rockhold to

the time you entered this house which I placed at your disposal and to

which I sent you, to save you from the noise and bustle and excitement

of a crowded hotel, and to give you rest and quiet and seclusion. Yes!

and this the result! But go on and tell me. From the time you left

Rockhold to this time, mind you!"

"Very well, sir, I will tell you. Our journey, a series of ovations. Our

reception in this city was a triumph. We were met at the depot by a

great crowd, and by the committee with carriages, and we were escorted

to this house by a military and civil procession with a band of music.

They left us at the gate.

"We entered, and were received by the servants. As soon as I had changed

my dress we went down to dinner. After dinner we went into the drawing

room. A gentleman was announced on official business connected with the

ceremonies of to-day. He was shown into the library, and my husband went

to him. Many callers came. They talked with Mr. Rothsay in the library.

I remained in this room. At last the crowd began to thin off, and soon

all were gone. Mr. Rothsay came into this room--and sat down by my

side. We talked together for an hour or more. Then a card was brought

in. Mr. Rothsay took it, looked at it, and said:

"'I will see the gentleman. Show him into the front room.'

"Mr. Rothsay arose and went into the front room to receive his visitor.

It was late, and I was very tired, so I went up stairs to my chamber and

retired to bed. I have never seen my husband since."

And Corona dropped her face upon her hands and sobbed as if her heart

would break. She had utterly broken down for the first time.

"Good heavens! I don't understand it all! Had you had a lover's quarrel

now in that hour when you talked together in this parlor?" inquired the

old gentleman, his insane anger being now merged in wonder. "Had you

reproached him for spending so much time with his political friends

while you were waiting here alone?"

"Oh, no, no," replied Corona, between her convulsive sobs.

"Good heavens!" again exclaimed the old man. "When did you first miss

him?"

"When I came down in the morning. I thought then that he had been kept

up all night by his friends, and that I should meet him at breakfast. He

did not appear at breakfast. The servants searched for him all over the

house, but could not find him. I waited breakfast until I was faint with

fasting and suspense. Then I took a cup of coffee. On inquiry it was

found that Jasper had been the last to see him, and that he had not seen

him since he showed the visitor in. He did not show the visitor out. He

waited some time to do so, and fell asleep. When he awoke the visitor

had gone, and the drawing rooms were empty. The man supposed that Mr.

Rothsay had seen his friend to the door, and had then retired to bed.

And so he shut up the house and went to his room. No one discovered that

Mr. Rothsay was missing until this morning. When the inaugural committee

came two hours ago, the servants told them all that I have just told

you."

"Who was the last visitor? He might throw some light upon this dark,

evil subject. Who was he?" abruptly demanded Aaron Rockharrt.

"I do not know. No one seems to know. Jasper says he never saw him

before, nor ever heard his name."

"Couldn't he see it on his card?"

"Jasper cannot read, you must remember."

"Where is that card? Let me see it!"

"It cannot be found."

"Conspiracy! Treason! Murder!" interrupted Aaron Rockharrt. "The

governor-elect has been decoyed away from the house by that last caller,

and has been murdered! And the people in the house may not be as

innocent or ignorant as they pretend to be. I will go out and take

counsel with the committee," he said, and he turned and strode out of

the drawing room.

When he reached the hall, however, he found that the officials had gone

to pursue their search for the missing man elsewhere. The men of his own

party were nowhere to be seen. The porter, Jasper, was the only occupant

of the hall, and Aaron Rockharrt opened the hall door and walked out.

The military and civil escort were still on parade before the house,

waiting for the governor-elect.

Mr. Rockharrt's carriage was standing before the door. He entered it and

ordered the coachman to drive to police headquarters.

The hour for the inauguration of the new governor was approaching. The

procession to the State house should have been in motion by this time.

The people on the sidewalks, at the doors and windows, on the balconies,

and on the roofs, all along the line of march, were beginning to be

weary of waiting.

The officials who had the ceremonies of the occasion in hand waited

until three o'clock in the afternoon, and then, as the governor-elect

was nowhere to be found, as the necessity was imminent, the inaugural

procession was ordered to begin its march.

"Where is he? Where is Rothsay?" demanded the spectators one of the

other.

No one knew. No one had seen him. No one could, therefore, answer.

When the procession reached the State house, the lieutenant-governor,

Kennelm Kennedy, was sworn in, and the military companies and the civic

societies and the spectators all dispersed.

But where was the governor? That was the question of the hour. Why had

he not been inaugurated? was asked by everybody of everybody else. The

secret of his total and unexplained disappearance had not, indeed, been

closely kept. His intimate friends, his household servants and the

public officials knew it, but the general public did not.

The next morning the news came out, and the papers had sensational

head-lines and long accounts of the sudden and mysterious disappearance

of the governor-elect on the eve of his inauguration and of a bridegroom

on the evening of his wedding day.

Also there were rewards offered for any intelligence of Regulas Rothsay,

living or dead, and for the identification of the unknown visitor who

was supposed to have been the last to have seen him on the night of his

disappearance.

Days passed, and nothing came in answer to the advertisements. The

public at length reached in theory this conclusion: that the

governor-elect had been decoyed from the house by his latest visitor,

and had been secretly murdered in some remote quarter.

The Rockharrts did not return to Rockhold, but remained in town through

all the heat of that hot summer, because Aaron Rockharrt thought he

could best pursue his investigations on the scene of the mystery. But he

sent his sons to North End to look after the works.

Corona would see no one save the members of her own family. She kept her

room, and grieved without ceasing. On the ninth day after the

disappearance of her lover-husband she made an effort and came down into

the drawing room, to please the gentle old grandmother.

She sat there with the old lady, reading to her, until Mrs. Rockharrt

was called out by her tyrant to get something, it might be a book or a

paper, a cigar or a pipe, that he himself or a servant might have got

just as well, except that Aaron Rockharrt liked to have the ladies of

his family wait upon him.

What happened during the hour of the old lady's absence from the drawing

room no one knew, but when she returned she found her granddaughter in a

swoon on the carpet. In great alarm she called the servants to her

assistance. The unconscious girl was laid upon a sofa, and all means

were taken to restore her to her senses. Corona recovered her faculties

only to fall into the most violent paroxysms of anguish and despair.

From her ravings and self-reproaches Mrs. Rockharrt gathered that the

unfortunate girl had heard, or in some way learned, some fatal news.

She sent all the servants out of the room, locked the door, administered

a sedative to her child, and then, when the latter was somewhat calmer,

questioned her as to the cause of her distress.

"I have nothing to tell--nothing, nothing to tell! But take me away from

this place! Take me home to Rockhold, where I may be alone!"

"I will do all I can to comfort you, my dear," said Mrs. Rockharrt. "I

will speak to Mr. Rockharrt when he comes in."

No one but the snubbed, brow-beaten and humiliated wife knew all that

she engaged to suffer when she promised to speak to her lord and master.

Corona, soothed by the sedative that had been given her, and consoled by

the love and sympathy that had been lavished upon her, grew more

composed, and finally fell into a deep sleep from which she awoke

refreshed. But a rumor went through the house that the young lady had

got news which she did not choose to communicate.

Later in the day Mrs. Rockharrt deferentially proposed to the domestic

despot that they should return to Rockhold, as the weather was so

oppressive and the town house was so obnoxious to dear Corona, which was

quite natural under the trying circumstances.

Aaron Rockharrt glared at her until she cowered, and then he told her

that he should direct the movements of his family as he thought proper,

and that any suggestions from her or from his granddaughter were both

unnecessary and impertinent.

So they both had to bend under the iron will of Aaron Rockharrt.

At length, however, something happened to relieve them.

Mr. Rockharrt had not been neglecting his own business, while looking

after the missing governor-elect, nor had he been leaving it to his sons

and partners, whom he refused to trust. He had been corresponding with

his chief manager, Ryland. This correspondence had not been entirely

satisfactory, so at length he wrote to Ryland to come to the city for a

business talk. It was about the middle of August that the manager

arrived and was closeted with his chief. After two hours' discussion of

business matters, which ended satisfactorily, the manager, rising to

leave the study, observed:

"This is a bad job about the governor, sir!"

"I do not wish to talk of this matter," said Mr. Rockharrt.

"Very well, sir, I am dumb," replied the manager, taking up his hat to

leave the house.

"Do you go back to North End by the night train?" inquired Mr.

Rockharrt.

"Yes, sir! I must be at my post to-morrow morning, in order to carry out

your instructions."

"Quite right," said the head of the great firm. Then with strange

inconsistency, since he had declared that he wished to talk no more on

the subject of the lost governor, he suddenly inquired:

"What do the people of North End say about the disappearance of Governor

Rothsay?"

"Some say he was beguiled away by that man who called on him late at

night, and that he was murdered and his body made away with. But I beg

your pardon, sir, for repeating such dreadful things."

"Go on! What else do they say?"

"Well, sir, one says one thing, and one another; but they all agree that

Old Scythia could tell something if she chose."

"Old Scythia? And what has she to do with the loss of the governor?"

"Nothing that I know of, sir. But the people at North End say that she

has."

"Why do they say it?"

"Because, sir, on the day of the wedding, and the eve of the

inauguration, she did foretell, in the hearing of a score, that Mr.

Rothsay would never take his seat as governor."

"What! Absurd! Preposterous!"

"Of course it was, sir! Yet she did say that, sir, in the hearing of

twenty or more of us, and it was a strange coincidence, to say the

least, that her words came true. She said it in the presence of many

witnesses on the day before the intended inauguration, and when there

seemed no possibility of her words coming true. And strange to say, they

have come true."

Old Aaron Rockharrt mused for a few minutes and then replied:

"There is no such thing as divination, or soothsaying, or prophesy, or

fortune telling in this world. It is all coarse imposture, that can

deceive only the weakest mortals. You know that, of course, Ryland. It

follows, then, that this old woman could have had no knowledge of what

was going to happen unless she was in league with conspirators who had

planned to kidnap or murder the governor-elect."

"But, sir, if Old Scythia had been in league with any conspirators,

would she have betrayed them--beforehand?"

"No; unless she was too crazy to keep their secret. But--she may have

got wind of their plots in some way without their knowledge."

"Yes, sir," said Manager Ryland, who agreed to every opinion advanced by

his chief.

"Well, then, I shall go down to Rockhold to-morrow, and investigate this

matter for myself. In my capacity of justice of the peace I shall issue

a warrant to have that woman brought before me on a charge of vagrancy,

and then I shall examine her on this point. But, Ryland, you are to be

careful not to drop even a hint of my intention."

"Of course I will not, sir," replied the manager, and then, as there

seemed no more to do or say, he took his leave.

Old Aaron Rockharrt strode into the drawing room where his wife and

granddaughter sat, and astonished them by saying:

"Pack up your things this afternoon. We leave for Rockland by the first

train to-morrow morning."

He deigned no explanation, but turned and stalked off.

The three reached North End at noon. As their arrival was to be a

surprise, no carriage had been ordered to meet them. But the large,

comfortable hack from the North End Hotel was engaged, and in it they

rode on to Rockhold, where they pulled up two hours later, to the

astonishment and consternation of the household, who, be it whispered,

had almost as lief been confronted with his satanic majesty as to be

surprised by their despotic master.

Leaving his womenkind to get domestic affairs into order, the Iron King

went to the little den at the end of the hall, which he called his

study, and there made out a warrant for the arrest of Hyacinth Woods on

the charge of vagrancy. This he directed to William Hook, county

constable, and sent it off to the county seat by one of his servants. He

waited all the rest of the day for the return of the warrant with the

prisoner, but in vain.

The next day, in the afternoon, Constable Hook made his appearance

before the magistrate without the prisoner, and reported:

"She cannot be found. I went first to her hut on the mountain, but it

was in ruins. It had fallen in. I searched for the woman everywhere, and

only found out that she had not been seen by anybody since the day of

the grand wedding here," replied the officer.

"The old crone is lost on the same day that the young governor was

missing, eh? Very significant. I want you to take a paper for me to the

_Peakeville Gazette_. I will advertise a thousand dollars reward for the

discovery of that woman. She knows the fate of Rothsay."

CHAPTER III.

A MOUNTAIN IDYL--THE GIRL AND THE BOY.

On a fine day near the end of October, several years before the opening

of this story, the express train from the southwest was speeding on

toward North End. In one of the middle cars, which was not crowded, nor,

indeed, quite full, sat a girl and a boy--both dressed in deep mourning,

and both in charge of a tall, stout gentleman, also in deep mourning.

These children were Corona, aged seven, and Sylvanus, aged four, orphans

and co-heirs of John Haught, a millionaire merchant of San Francisco,

and of his wife, Felicia, only daughter of Aaron and Deborah Rockharrt,

of Rockhold. They had lost their parents during the prevalence of an

epidemic fever, and had been left to the guardianship of Aaron

Rockharrt. They were now coming, in charge of their Uncle Fabian--who

had been sent to fetch them--to their grandparents' house, which was to

be their home during their minority.

In front of these children sat a man of middle age and a boy of about

twelve years. They seemed to belong to the honorable order of working

men. Their clothing was old, worn and travel-stained. They had been

picked up only at the last past station, and looked as if they had

tramped a long way--weary and dejected. Each wore on his battered hat a

little wisp of a dusty black crape band. This was a circumstance which

much interested the little girl, Corona, who had a longer memory than

her baby brother, and had not yet done grieving after her father and her

mother, and she wanted to speak to the poor boy, and to tell him how

very sorry she was for him, but was much too timid for such a venture.

Neither the boy nor the man looked behind them, and so the children

never saw their faces during the ride to North End. Both parties got out

at the station. The Rockhold carriage was waiting for Fabian and his

charges. Nothing was waiting for the tramp and his son. Mr. Fabian

looked at them, and took in the whole situation. He put his nephew and

niece into the carriage, told the coachman to wait for him, and then

went up to the tramps.

"Looking for work?" he said, addressing the elder.

"Yes, sir," replied the latter, touching his old hat. "I have come a

long way to look for it, and I am bound now for Rockharrt & Sons'

Locomotive Works. Could you be so kind as to direct me where to find

them?"

"About three miles down this side of the river. You cannot miss them if

you follow this road. Stay--I am one of the firm. We have rather more

men than we want just now, but I will give you a line to our manager,

and he will find a place for you, and the boy, also," said plausible,

good-natured, lying, dishonest Fabian Rockharrt, as he drew a card from

his pocket and just wrote above his name:

"Take the bearer and his boy on."

Then on the opposite side of the card he wrote the superscription:

"Timothy Ryland, Manager North End Foundries."

He gave this to the tramp, who touched his hat again, and led off his

boy for their long walk to the works.

Fabian Rockharrt, with his nephew and niece, reached Rockland two hours

later.

Aaron Rockharrt and his younger son, Clarence, were absent, at the

works; but little Mrs. Rockharrt was at home.

Little Cora became the constant companion of the grandmother, who found

her well advanced in learning for a child of seven years. She could

read, write a little, and do easy sums in the first four simple rules of

arithmetic.

A school room was fitted up on the first floor back of the Rockhold

mansion. A nursery governess was found by advertisement.

She was a young and beautiful girl of the wax doll order of beauty, and

of not more than sixteen years of age. In person she was tall, slim and

fair, with red cheeks, blue eyes and yellow hair. Her very name, as well

as her presence, was full of the aromas of Araby the Blest. It was Rose

Flowers.

Rose smiled and bloomed and beamed on all, but most of all on Mr.

Fabian, who was at that time a very handsome and fascinating man of no

more than thirty, and to do her justice, she brought her young pupils

well on in elementary education.

No more was seen or heard of the tramp and his boy, who had come to seek

work at the foundries. They seemed to have been forgotten even by the

little girl whose sympathies had been touched by their appearance on the

train with their own party.

But early in February a catastrophe occurred which brought them back

most painfully to, her memory. There was an explosion in the foundry,

by which the man was instantly killed.

"Uncle Clarence," asked Cora of that person, "where is the boy belonging

to the poor man that was killed? You know they came in the cars with us

to North End Station. Oh! and they were so poor! Oh, and the boy had a

bit of old crape on his old hat! Oh, and I know he had no mother! But I

don't know whether the man was his father or his uncle. But, oh, Uncle

Clarence, dear, where is the boy?"

"I don't know anything about the boy, little one, but I will inquire and

tell you. I think the little chap has two more friends left, dear. You

are one. I am the other."

"Oh, Uncle Clarence, you are a dear ducky-ducky-darling! And when I am a

grown-up woman, I will marry you."

"Oh! well, all right, if you remain in the same mind, and--"

"I will never, never change my mind. I love you better than I do anybody

in the world, except Sylvan and grandma, and Miss Flowers and Tip!"

Clarence kept his word with the child about making inquiries as to the

fate of the boy in whom she was interested.

The boy was motherless, and, by the death of his father, had been left

utterly destitute. He had found a home with Scythia Woods, an eccentric

woman, who lived in a hut on the mountain side, half way between North

End and Rockhold, and he supported himself in a poor way by running

errands and doing little jobs about the works.

Little Cora Haught listened to this account of the poor, friendless,

self-reliant lad with the deepest sympathy.

"Uncle Clarence," she pleaded, "you are so rich. Why don't you give

that poor boy clothes, and shoes, and hats, and all he ought to have?"

"My good little girl, nothing would give me more delight, but that

fellow would see Rockharrt & Sons swallowed up by an earthquake before

he would take a cent from them that he had not earned."

"Oh, I like that--that is grand! But why don't you take him on and give

him good pay?"

"But, my dear, he is a boy, and cannot do regular heavy work. He is

quite uneducated, and cannot do any other except what he does."

Two months later, one lovely spring day, she saw him again for the first

time since their meeting on the train six months previous. He came to

Rockhold one Saturday afternoon to bring a letter from the manager to

the head of the firm. He came to the back door which opened from the

porch. He sent in his letter by the servant who came at his knock, and

he said he was to wait for an answer. Cora, in the back parlor, saw him,

recognized him, and ran out to speak to him.

Perhaps the tiny lady had some faint idea of the duties and

responsibilities of wealth and station. So she spoke to the boy.

"Are you Regulas Rothsay?" she inquired, in a soft tone.

"Yes, miss," replied the boy.

There was an awkward pause, and then the little girl said slowly:

"You won't let anybody give you anything, although you have no father

nor mother. Now, why won't you?"

"Because, I can work for all I want, all--but--" the boy began, and then

stopped.

"You have all but what?"

"A little schooling."

"Here's the answer, Rule! You are to run right away as fast as you can

and take it to Mr. Ryland," said a servant, coming out upon the porch

and handing a letter to the boy.

It was a week after this interview with the lad before Cora saw him

again.

He was on the lawn in front of the house. She was at the window of the

front drawing room. As soon as she espied him she ran out to speak to

him, and eagerly begged that she might teach him to read.

The boy, surprised at the suddenness and the character of such an offer,

blushed, thanked the little lady, and declined, then hesitated,

reflected, and then, half reluctantly, half gratefully, consented.

Cora was delighted, and frankly expressed her joy.

"Oh, Regulas, I am so glad! Now every afternoon when I have done my

lessons--I am in Comly's first speller, Peter Parley's first book of

history, and first book of geography, and I am as far as short division

in arithmetic, and round hand in the copy book--so as soon as I get

through with my lessons, and you get through with your work, you come to

this back porch, where I play, and I will bring my old primer and white

slate, and I will teach you. If you get here before I do, you wait for

me. I will never be long away. If I get here before you, I will wait for

you," she concluded.

The Iron King, Mr. Fabian, or Mr. Clarence, passing out of the back door

for an afternoon stroll in the grounds, would see the little lady seated

in one of the large Quaker chairs, her feet dangling over its edge, busy

with her doll's dresses, and furtively watching her pupil, who, seated

before her on one of the long piazza benches, would be poring over his

primer or his slate.

As time went on every one began to wonder at the earnestness and

constancy of this childish friendship.

So the lessons went on through all the spring and summer and early

autumn of that year.

Before the leaves had fallen Regulas had learned all she could teach

him.

Then their parting came about naturally, inevitably. When the weather

grew cold, the lessons could no longer be given out on the exposed

piazza, and the little teacher could not be permitted to bring her rough

and ragged pupil into the house.

Cora begged of her kind Uncle Clarence some of his old school books,

which she knew to be among the rubbish of the garret, which was her own

rainy-day play room in summer, and offered the books to the boy as a

loan from herself, because she dared not offer the lad a gift.

Later, she loaned him a "Boy's Life of Benjamin Franklin." It was that

book, perhaps, that decided the boy's destiny. He read it with avidity,

with enthusiasm. The impression made upon his mind was so deep and

intense that his heart became fired with a fine ambition. He longed to

tread in the steps of Benjamin Franklin--to become a printer, to rise to

position and power, to do great and good things for his country and for

humanity. He brooded over all this.

To begin, he resolved to become a printer.

So, when the spring opened, he came to Rockhold and bade good-by to his

little friend, and went, at the age of fourteen, to the city to seek his

fortune, walking all the way, and taking with him testimonials as to his

character for truth, honesty, and industry.

There were at that time three printing offices in that city. Rule

applied to the first and to the second without success, but when he

applied to the third--the office of the _Watch_--and showed his

credentials, the proprietor took him on.

He and his little friend corresponded regularly from month to month.

No one objected to this letter writing, any more than to the lesson

giving. It was but the charity of the little lady given for the

encouragement of the poor, struggling orphan boy.

* * * * *

It was nearly four years after the departure of Rule from the works at

North End to seek his fortune in a printing office of the neighboring

city. He had never yet returned to see his friends, though his

correspondence with Cora had been kept up.

In the four years that Rose Flowers had lived at Rockhold she had won

the hearts of all the household, from the master down to the meanest

drudge. She was, indeed, the fragrance of the house. All admired her

much and loved her more, and yet--

And yet in every mind there was a latent distrust of her, which seemed

unjust, and for which all who felt it reproached themselves--in every

mind but one.

The Iron King felt no distrust of the submissive, beautiful creature,

whom he continually held up to other members of his family as the very

model of perfect womanhood.

He did not see, he said, why she should now, when it was finally decided

that Cora should be sent to the young ladies' institute, at the city,

why Rose should leave the house. She might remain as companion for Mrs.

Rockharrt. But when this was proposed to Miss Flowers, the young

governess explained, with much regret, that, not anticipating this

generous offer, she had already secured another situation.

With tears in her beautiful eyes, Rose Flowers took the old man's hand

and pressed it to her heart and then to her lips as she bent her head

and cooed:

"I will remember all you have told me--all the wise and good counsel

you have ever given me, all the precious acts of kindness you have ever

shown me. And when I cease to remember them, sir, may heaven forget me!"

"There, there, my child. You are a baby--a mere baby!" said the Iron

King, as he patted her on the head and left her.

This interview occurred a few days before Christmas.

It was now Christmas morning, nearly four years after the departure of

Rule Rothsay. It was a fine clear, cold day. Bright with color was the

village of North End, where all the houses were decorated with holly,

and the people, in their Sunday clothes, were out in the streets on

their way to the church, which had been beautifully decorated for the

occasion.

The Rockharrt family--with the exception of old Aaron Rockharrt, who did

not choose to turn out that day, and Miss Rose Flowers, who stayed home

to keep him company and to wait on him--came early in their capacious

and comfortable family carriage. They had a large, square, handsomely

upholstered pew in the right-hand upper corner of the church.

When they were all quietly settled in their seats and the voluntary was

going on, the elders of the party bowed their heads to offer up their

preliminary prayers. But Cora, girl-like, looked about her, letting her

glances wander over the well-filled pews, and then up toward the

galleries. A moment later she suddenly gave a little start and

half-suppressed exclamation of delight.

Mrs. Rockharrt, who had finished her prayer, looked around in surprise

at the girl, who had committed this unusual indecorum.

"Oh, grandma, it is Rule! Rule, up there in the boys' gallery--look!"

Cora whispered, in eager delight.

The old lady raised her eyes and recognized Regulas Rothsay--but so

well grown, so well dressed, and well looking as to be hardly

recognizable, except from his strong, characteristic head and face. He

wore a neatly fitting suit of dark-blue cloth; neat woolen gloves

covered his large hands; his hair was trimmed and as nicely dressed as

such rough, tawny locks could be.

At length the beautiful service was finished, and the congregation filed

out of the church into the yard, where all immediately began shaking

hands with each other.

Presently Cora saw the youth come out of the church, look earnestly

about him until he descried her party, and then walk directly toward

her.

"Oh, Rule, I am so glad to see you! When did you get here? Why didn't

you come straight to Rockhold? Why didn't you write and tell me you were

coming?" Cora eagerly demanded, as she met him, and hurrying question

upon question before giving him time to answer the first one.

The youth raised his cap and bowed to the elder members of the party

before answering the girl. Then he said:

"I did not know that I could come until an hour before I started. I came

by the midnight express, and reached here just in time for church. I

have not seen, or I should say, I have not spoken to, any one here yet

except yourself.

"Last evening, being Friday evening, we were at work very late on our

Saturday's supplement, and a Christmas story in it. Very often we have

to work on Christmas night, if the next day is a week day; and every

Sunday night--that is, from twelve midnight, when the Sabbath ends--we

have to work to get out Monday morning's paper."

"Oh, yes; of course," said Fabian.

"Well, I never have had a whole holiday since I have been in the _Watch_

office; but last night, about half-past ten, after the paper had gone to

press, the foreman came to me, paid my wages up to the first of January,

and told me that I need not return to the office at midnight after

Sunday, but might have leave of absence until Monday morning, so as to

have time to go and spend Christmas with my friends if I wished to do

so."

Just then Clarence Rockharrt joined them and said, anxiously:

"Mother, dear, I think you had better get into the carriage. It is very

bleak out here, and you might take cold."

Mrs. Rockharrt at once took the arm of her youngest and best-beloved son

and let him lead her away to the spot where the comfortable family coach

awaited them.

Mr. Fabian started to follow with Cora.

"Come with us to the carriage door, Rule," said the girl, looking back

and stretching her hand out toward the youth.

"Yes! Come!" added pleasant Mr. Fabian.

Regulas touched his hat and followed. Fabian put his niece in the seat

beside her grandmother, and then turned to the youth and inquired:

"What are you going to do with yourself to-day?"

"I shall go down to my old home, sir, Mother Scythia's hut."

"Oh! Ah! Yes; I remember. You are going to stop there?"

"Yes, sir; but I shall try to see all old friends to-day or to-morrow,

and I should like to go to Rockhold to thank all the friends there who

have been kind to me, and to tell Mrs. Rockharrt and Miss Cora, who were

kindest of all, how I have got on in the city."

"Certainly! Certainly, Rule! Come whenever you like! And see here! It

is a long, rough road from here to old Scythia's Roost, which is right

on our way to Rockhold. Sorry we cannot offer you a seat in the carriage

but you see there are but four seats and there are already five people

to fill them."

"Oh, sir, I should not expect such a thing," said the youth.

"But I was about to say if you will mount to a seat beside the coachman,

you will be heartily welcome to what used to be my own 'most favoryte'

perch in my younger days. And we can set you down at the foot of the

path leading up to old Scythia's hut," concluded Mr. Fabian.

"Oh, do, Rule! Please do!" pleaded Cora.

Regulas, with his sturdy independence of spirit, would most likely have

declined this favor had not the girl's beseeching face and voice

persuaded him to accept it.

"I thank you very much, sir," he said, and promptly climbed to the seat.

Three miles down the road the carriage was pulled up at the foot of the

highest point of the mountain range, and Rule came down from his perch

beside the coachman, stepped up to the carriage window, took off his

hat, thanked the occupants for his ride, and then drew a neat, white

inch-square parcel from his vest pocket, and holding it modestly, said:

"I hope you will accept this, Miss Cora."

The girl took it with a smile, but before she could open her lips to

express her thanks, the youth had bowed, turned from the carriage, and

was speeding his way up the rough mountain path, springing from crag to

crag up to the ledge on which old Scythia's hut stood.

Cora opened the parcel and found an inch-square little casket of red

morocco. She opened this with a spring, and found a small gold heart

reposing in a bed of white satin.

"How pretty it is!" she said softly to herself, as she took the trinket

from its case. "Look, grandma, what Rule has brought me for a Christmas

gift! A little gold heart! A pure gold heart! His is a pure gold heart,

is it not?" she added, earnestly, as she placed the trinket in the

lady's hand.

Mrs. Rockharrt looked at it with interest, and then passed it on to her

eldest son.

The ride was continued, and presently the carriage was driven off the

boat and up the avenue leading to the house. As the vehicle drew up

before the front doors, a pretty picture might have been seen through

the drawing-room windows.

A bright fireside, an old man reclining in his luxurious arm-chair; a

beautiful girl seated on a hassock at his feet, reading to him, and at

intervals lifting her lovely blue eyes in childish adoration to his

face. They might have been grandfather and granddaughter, but they were,

in fact, old Aaron Rockharrt and Miss Rose Flowers--Merlin and Vivien

again, except that the Iron King was rather a rugged and unmanageable

Merlin.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Regulas Rothsay had climbed the rugged mountain path that led

to Scythia's hut. On the back of the broad shelf of rock on which the

hut stood was a hollow in the side of the precipice. Scythia had cleared

out this hollow of all its natural litter. Before this apartment she had

built another room, with no better material than fragments of rock found

on the spot, and filled in with earth, moss and twigs. She had roofed

this over with branches of evergreens piled thick and high, to keep off

rain and sun. A heavy buffalo robe, fastened with large wooden pins at

its top to the roof of the hut, served for a door. There was no window.

In the inner or cavernous apartment she had built a rude fire-place and

chimney going up through a hole in the rock. A pallet of rough furs and

coarse blankets lay in one corner of this room, and a few rude cooking

utensils occupied another. In the outer room there was a rough oak table

and two chairs.

Up before the edge of this natural shelf on which the hut stood appeared

the tops of a thicket of pine trees that grew on the mountain side fifty

feet below. Up behind this shelf arose other pines, height above height,

until their highest tops seemed to pierce the clouds.

When Rule reached this shelf, he found the tops of the pine trees, the

ground, and the hut all covered with snow.

"Good morning, mother! A merry Christmas to you!" said Rule, gayly.

"I hope you have made yourself as comfortable as possible in this

place," said the youth, anxiously.

"Yes, Rule! always as happy and as much at ease as my past will permit."

"Oh! what is--what was this terrible past?" inquired the youth--not for

the first time.

"It was, it is, and it ever will be! This past will be present and

future so long as I live on this earth. And some day, when time and

strife and woe have made you strong and hard and stern, I will lift the

veil and show you its horrible face! But not now, my boy! not now! Come

in."

As the weird woman said this she led the way into the hut, where the

rude table stood covered with a coarse white cloth and adorned with two

white plates and two pairs of steel knives and forks. Here the Christmas

dinner was eaten, and afterward the two began a close conversation.

"Mother," said the youth, "I shall have to leave here to-morrow night. I

should go away so much more contented if I could see you living down in

the village among people. Here you are dwelling alone, far from human

help if you should require it. The winter coming on!"

"Rule! I hate the village! I hate the haunts of human beings! I love the

wilderness and the wild creatures that are around me!"

"But, mother, if you should be taken ill up here alone!"

"I should get well or die; and it would not in the least matter which."

"But you might linger, you might suffer."

"I am used to suffering, and however long I might linger, the end would

come at last. Recovery or death, it would not matter which."

"Oh, Mother Scythia!" said the youth, in a voice full of distress.

"Rule! I am as happy here as my past will permit me to be. I abhor the

haunts of the human! I love the solitude of the wilderness. The time may

come when you too, lad, shall hate the haunts of the human and long for

the lair of the lion! You will rise, Rule! As sure as flame leaps to the

air, you will rise! The fire within you will kindle into flame! You will

rise! But--beware the love of woman and the pride of place! See!

Listen!"

The face of the weird woman changed--became ashen gray, her form became

rigid, her eyes were fixed, her gaze was afar off in distant space.

"What is it, mother?" anxiously demanded the youth.

"I see your future and the emblem of your future--a splendid meteor,

soaring up from the earth to the sky, filling space with light and

glory! Dazzling a million of eyes, then dropping down, down, down into

darkness and nothingness! That is you!"

"Mother Scythia!" exclaimed the youth, in troubled tones.

The weird woman never turned her head, nor withdrew her fearful, far-off

stare into futurity.

"That is you. You are but a poor apprentice. But from this year you will

soar, and soar, and soar to the zenith of place and power among your

fellows! You will be the blazing meteor of the day! You will dazzle all

eyes by the splendor of your success, and then, 'in an instant, in the

twinkling of an eye,' you will drop into night, and nothingness, and be

heard of no more!"

"Mother! Mother Scythia! Wake up! You are dreaming!" said Rule, laying

his hand on the woman's shoulder and gently shaking her.

"Oh, what is this? Rule! What is it?"

"You have been dreaming, Mother Scythia."

"Have I?" said the woman, putting her hands to her forehead and stroking

away the raven locks that over-shadowed it.

And gradually she recovered from her trance and returned to her normal

condition. When Rule was quite sure that she was all right again, he

said:

"Mother Scythia, I am going to Rockhold to see the friends there who

have been kind to me. But I will come back to spend the night with you."

"Well, lad, go. Why should I try to hinder you? You must work out your

destiny and bear your doom," she said, wearily, with her forehead bowed

upon her hands, as if she felt the heavy prophetic cloud still

over-shadowing and oppressing her.

"Mother Scythia, why do you speak so solemnly of me, and I only in my

nineteenth year?" gravely inquired the youth, who, though he had been

accustomed to the weird woman's strange moods and stranger words and

deemed them little less than the betrayals of insanity, yet now felt

unaccountably troubled by them.

"Yes; you are young, but the years fly fast; and I--I see the future in

the present. But go, my boy! enjoy the good of the present--your best

days, lad!--and come back this evening and you shall find your pallet of

sweet boughs and soft blankets ready for you," she said.

Rule stooped and kissed her corrugated forehead and then left the hut.

The sun was setting behind the mountain, which threw a dark shadow over

Scythia's Ledge and Rule's path, as he ran springing from rock to rock

down the precipice to the river's side. It was dark when he reached the

spot. But the lights from the windows of Rockhold on the opposite shore

gleamed out upon the snow with splendid effect.

Every window in the front of the building was shining with light that

streamed out upon the snow; for the shutters had been left unclosed on

purpose, this Christmas night.

Rule crossed the ferry and went, as he had been used to go, to the back

door, opening on the back porch, where, four years before, Cora used to

keep school for her one pupil. He rapped at the door, and Sylvan sprang

up and opened it. He was warmly welcomed, and spent a pleasant evening.

The rest of his vacation was spent in a way equally pleasant, and at

seven a.m., Monday, Rule was at work, type-setting in the _Watch_

office.

On the third of January following that Christmas there were three

departures from Rockhold. Miss Rose Flowers went East to enter upon her

new engagement. Corona Haught, in charge of her grandmother and her

Uncle Clarence, went West to enter the Young Ladies' Institute, in the

capital, and Master Sylvanus Haught went North, in the care of his Uncle

Fabian, to enter a boy's school.

CHAPTER IV.

A RETROSPECT.

It was near the close of a cold, bright day early in January, that Mrs.

Rockharrt and Corona Haught, escorted by Mr. Clarence, stepped from the

train at the depot of the capital city of their State--which must, for

obvious reason, be nameless--and were driven to the Young Ladies'

Institute, where the girl was left, and as the adieus were being said it

was explained to Cora that discretion and social conventionality

dictated that her correspondence with young Rothsay should cease.

Clarence stated that he would write to the youth and explain that the

rules of the school, also, forbade such a correspondence.

"I will also tell him that he can continue to send the _Watch_ to you,

with his own paragraphs marked as before," said Corona's uncle. "There

can be no law against that. I will correspond with Rule occasionally,

and keep you posted up as to how he is getting on. There can be no

school law against your uncle writing to you."

Cora Haught graduated when she was eighteen. In all these years she had

not seen Rule Rothsay. She only heard from him through his letters to

her Uncle Clarence, reported second hand to herself. She knew that in

these five years Rule had risen, step by step, in the office where he

had begun his apprenticeship; that he had risen to be foreman, then

sub-editor, and now he was part proprietor and one of the most powerful

political writers on the paper.

The workingmen's party wished to put him up as a candidate for the State

legislature. What a power he would have been for their cause in that

place! but when the subject was proposed to him, he admonished the

spokesman that he was, as yet, a little less than of legal age for an

office that required its holder to be at least twenty-five years old.

After Cora's graduation the Rockharrt family spent a week in their town

house, preparatory to a summer tour through the Northern States and

Canada.

One morning, while the whole family were sitting around the breakfast

table, old Aaron Rockharrt suddenly spoke:

"Fabian! Now that my granddaughter has left school, she will want a

companion near her own age. Miss Rose Flowers would suit very well. Have

you any idea where she is?"

"Miss Rose Flowers, my dear sir, is now Mrs. Slydell Stillwater, the--"

"Married!" interrupted all voices except that of the Iron King, who bent

his heavy gray brows as he gazed upon his son.

"Stuff and nonsense! How did you know anything about her marriage?"

demanded old Aaron Rockharrt.

"In the simplest and most natural way, sir. I saw it in the newspapers,

about three years ago. And, in point of fact, I forgot it and should

never have thought of it again but for your inquiries about the young

woman this morning. Her husband is Captain Slydell Stillwater, captain

and half owner of the East Indiaman Queen of Sheba," replied Mr. Fabian.

"Poor child! To be parted from her husband more than half her time. Is

Captain Stillwater now at sea?"

"I think he must be, sir, as there has hardly been time for his return

since he sailed soon after his marriage."

"Do you know where Mrs. Stillwater lives?"

"I do not, sir; but I might find out by inquiring of some mutual

acquaintance."

"Do so. And, Mrs. Rockharrt," the King added, turning to his little old

wife, "you will write a note to Mrs. Stillwater, inviting her to join

our party for a summer tour, and as our guest, remember. Fabian, you

will see that the note reaches the lady in time."

"I will do my best, sir," said Mr. Fabian.

"Very well," said the wife.

The note of invitation to Mrs. Stillwater was written. Mr. Fabian used

such dispatch in his search for the lady that his efforts were soon

rewarded with success. A letter came from Mrs. Stillwater, postmarked

Baltimore, in which she cordially thanked Mrs. Rockharrt for her

invitation, gratefully accepted it, and offered to join the Rockharrt

party at any point most convenient to the latter. This answer was

communicated to the family autocrat, who thereupon issued his commands:

"Write and say to Mrs. Stillwater that we will stop at Baltimore on our

way, and call for her at her hotel on Friday; but say that if she should

not be ready, we will wait her convenience."

This letter was also written and sent off.

Three days later the whole family left the capital for Baltimore, which

they reached at night. They went directly to the hotel where Mrs.

Stillwater was staying, and engaged rooms for their whole party.

They scarcely took time enough to wash the travel dust from their faces

and brush it from their hair, and change their traveling suits for

fresher dresses, before they hurried down stairs to their private

parlor, whence Mrs. Rockharrt sent her own and her granddaughter's cards

to Mrs. Stillwater's room.

A few minutes after, the young siren appeared.

"Heavens! how beautiful she is! More beautiful than before! Look, Cora!

Was there ever such a perfect creature?" said Mr. Clarence, under his

breath.

Cora looked at her former governess with a start of involuntary wonder

and admiration. Rose Stillwater was more beautiful than ever. Her

exquisite oval face was a little more rounded. Her fair complexion had a

richer bloom on the cheeks and lips. Her hair was darker in the shade

and brighter in the light; her blue eyes were softer and sweeter; her

graceful form fuller. She was dressed in some floating material that

enveloped her figure like a cloud.

She came, blooming, beaming, smiling, into the room, where all arose to

meet her. She went first to Mr. Rockharrt, and bent and almost knelt

before him, and raised his hand to her lips as if he had been her

sovereign; and then, before he could respond--for she saw that he was

slightly embarrassed as well as greatly pleased by this adoration--she

turned and sank into the arms of old Mrs. Rockharrt, and cooed forth:

"How sweet of you to remember your poor, lonely child and call her to

your side!"

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to be married, my dear?" was the

practical question of the old lady.

"It was shyness on my part. I dared not obtrude my poor affairs on your

attention until you should notice me in some way," she meekly replied,

and then she gracefully slipped out of Mrs. Rockharrt's embrace and went

and folded Cora to her bosom, murmuring:

"My own darling, how happy I am to meet you again! How lovely you are,

my sweet angel!"

"Oh, why did you not write to me that you were going to be married? I

should have so liked to have been your bridesmaid!" complained Cora.

"Sweetest sweet, if I had dreamed such honor and happiness were possible

for me, I should have written and claimed them with pride and delight.

But I dared not, my darling! I dared not. I was but a poor governess,

without any claims to your remembrance, and should not now be with you

had not the dear lady, your grandmamma, kindly recalled her poor

dependant to mind and brought me into her circle."

"Oh, Rose, do not speak so! I should hate to hear even the poorest maid

in our house speak so. You were never grandma's dependant, or anybody's

dependant. You were one of the noble army whom I honor more than I do

all the monarchs on earth," said Cora earnestly.

With remembrances and delightful chat the evening was wearing away, and

it was time for the party to retire to rest.

Two days after this the Rockharrts, with Cora Haught and Mrs.

Stillwater, left Baltimore for the North, _en route_ for Canada and New

Brunswick.

The party went first directly to Boston, where they stayed for a few

days, to attend the commencement of the collegiate school at which

Master Sylvanus Haught was preparing himself to become a candidate for

admission to the military academy at West Point; but where, as yet, he

had not distinguished himself by application to his studies.

On promising to do better, Sylvan was permitted to accompany his friends

on their summer tour.

The party spent the season in traveling, and it was not until the 15th

of September that they set out on their return South. They reached

Baltimore late in September, yet found the weather in that latitude

still oppressively warm, and roomed at a hotel.

Here it had been tacitly understood from the first that Mrs. Stillwater

was to remain, while the rest of the party should proceed on their

journey West.

But the family despot had become so habituated to the incense hourly

offered up to his egotism by Circe, that he felt her society to be

essential to his contentment. So he issued his commands to his wife to

invite Mrs. Stillwater to accompany the family party to Rockhold for a

long visit.

The old lady very willingly obeyed these orders, for she also desired

the visit from the fascinator, whose presence kept the tyrant in a good

humor and on his good behavior. So she pressed Rose Stillwater to

accompany them to their mountain home.

Rose Stillwater raised her beautiful soft blue eyes, brimming with tears

that ever came at will, gazed sorrowfully, penitently, deprecatingly,

into the lady's face and cooed:

"I feel as if it were a sin to refuse you! You who have been a mother to

me. And, oh! how dearly I should love to stay with you and wait on you

forever and forever! I could not conceive a happier life! But duty

constrains me to deny myself this delight, and to wrench myself away

from all I love."

"Duty? What duty, my dear girl? I do not understand that. You have no

children to take care of, no house to look after, no husband to please,

for Captain Stillwater is at sea. What duty, then, can you have which is

so pressing as to keep you away from your friends?"

"The Queen of Sheba was spoken and passed by the Liverpool and New York

ocean steamer Arctic on Saturday, within three days' sail of land. And

he may arrive here any hour. I must wait to receive him."

"Indeed! I did not know that. My dear, I congratulate you on your coming

happiness. I can urge you no more, of course. It is a sacred duty as

well as a sweet delight for you to remain here and meet your husband.

So, of course, we must resign ourselves to our loss; but I hope, my

dear, that you and your husband will come together at an early date and

make us a long visit."

"I hope so, too, dearest lady!"

When, a little later in the evening, the Iron King heard the result of

this interview, he was--as his wife had feared--dreadfully disappointed,

and consequently in one of his morose and diabolical tempers, and

sullenly set his despotic will against the reasonable wishes of

everybody else. He announced that they should all set forward the next

day. It was high time they should all be at home looking after house and

business. So it was settled.

As the party needed rest, they retired very early.

That night Cora Haught had a rather strange adventure, to relate which

intelligibly I must describe the situation of their rooms.

The suite occupied by the Rockharrt party was on the third floor of the

house, and consisted of five rooms in a row, on the left hand side of

the corridor, from the head of the stairs. The front room, overlooking

an avenue, was tenanted by Mr. and Mrs. Rockharrt, the next one was

occupied by Cora Haught, the third room was the private parlor of the

suite, the fourth room was that of Mrs. Stillwater, and the fifth, and

largest, was a double-bedded room, tenanted jointly by Mr. Fabian and

Mr. Clarence. All these rooms had doors communicating with each other,

and also with the corridor, all or any of which could be left open or

made fast at discretion.

Cora's room, between her grandparents' bed-chamber and their private

parlor, was the smallest, the closest and the warmest of the suite. That

September night was sultry and stifling. Scarcely a breath of air came

from without.

The girl could not sleep for the heat. Anathematizing her room as a

"black hole" of Calcutta, she lay tossing from side to side, and

listening for the hourly strokes of a neighboring clock, and praying for

the night to be over. She heard that clock strike eleven, twelve, one.

At length Cora thought that she would go into the private parlor next

her own room to get a breath of fresh air. She felt sure that there she

should be perfectly safe from intrusion, as she knew that the door

leading from the parlor into the corridor was secured from within by a

strong bolt, and the other two doors led, the one into her own little

room, and the other, on the opposite side, into Mrs. Stillwater's. So

that she would be as secluded as in her own chamber.

She slipped on a thin, dark blue silk dressing gown, thrust her feet in

slippers, opened the door and passed into the parlor.

The room was very dark, still and cool. The two side windows overlooking

the alley were open, and a rising breeze from the harbor blew in. Cora

went and sat down in an easy chair in the angle of the corner between an

open side window and her own room door.

The room was pitch dark. The darkness, the coolness, and the stillness

were all so soothing and refreshing to the girl's heated and excited

nerves that she sank back in her high, cushioned chair and dozed off

into sleep--into such a deep and dreamless sleep that she knew nothing

until she was awakened, or rather only half awakened, by the sound of a

key turning in a lock and a door creaking upon its hinges. The sound

seemed to come from the direction of Mrs. Stillwater's room; but Cora

was still half asleep, and almost unconscious of her whereabouts. As in

a dream, she heard some one tiptoe slowly across and jar a chair in the

deep darkness. She heard the bolt of the door leading into the corridor

grate as it was slipped back. This awakened her thoroughly. She was

about to call out:

"Who is there?"

Then a voice that she recognized even in its low, whispering tones spoke

and arrested the words on her lips. It said:

"Fabe! Fabe! is that you?"

"Yes. Is all quiet?"

"Yes; and has been so for hours. Come in. Pass around, feeling by the

wall until you reach the sofa. If you attempt to cross the room, you may

strike a chair or table and make a noise, as I did."

The unseen man cautiously crept around by the wall, feeling his way, but

occasionally striking and jarring a picture frame or looking glass as he

passed, and muttering good-humored little growls of deprecation, and

finally making the sofa creak as he struck and sat heavily down upon it.

Cora was wide awake now, and quite cognizant of the identity of the

invisible persons in the room as that of Mr. Fabian Rockharrt and Mrs.

Rose Stillwater.

It did not once occur to the girl that she was doing any wrong in

remaining there, in the parlor common to the whole party. Surprise and

wonder held her spellbound in her obscure seat.

The sofa on which they sat was between the two windows. She reclined in

the easy chair in the corner between the right-hand window and the door

of her room. She was so near them that she might have touched the sofa

by stretching out her hand.

Without dreaming of harm, she overheard their conversation.

Mr. Fabian was the first to speak.

"I say, Rose," he began, "I have a deuce of a hard time to get a

tete-a-tete with you. This is the first we have had for two months."

"And we could not have had this but for the accidental arrangement of

these convenient rooms," she whispered.

"Exactly. We must arrange for future plans to-night. I understand that

the old folks have been trying to persuade you to return home with us?"

"Yes; but, of course, I shall not go."

"Of course not; but how did you get out of it?"

"Oh, by raising the old gentleman."

"Do you mean the--the--the--de--"

"Certainly not. I mean my husband, the gallant Captain Stillwater, of

the East Indiaman Queen of Sheba, who has been spoken within three days'

sail of port, and is expected here every hour. So that, you see, I must

remain here to welcome my husband. It is my sacred duty," said the woman

demurely.

"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed Mr. Fabian, in a low, half-suppressed chuckle.

"Hush! Oh, be careful! You will be heard!" murmured Rose Stillwater, in

a frightened whisper.

"What! at this hour? Why, everybody in this suite is in his or her

deepest sleep. I say, Rosebud."

"What?"

"His Majesty the King of the Cumberland Mines has been in a demoniac

humor ever since he learned that you were not coming home with us."

"I know it, and I am very sorry for it, especially on his family's

account, but I could not help it."

"Certainly not. It would have been inconvenient and embarrassing. Look

here, Rosalie."

"Well?"

"If the aged monarch was not such a perfect dragon of truth, honesty and

fidelity, and all the cast-iron virtues, I should think that he was over

head and ears in love with you."

"Nonsense, Fabian! Mr. Rockharrt is old enough to be my grandfather, and

his hair is quite gray."

"If he were old enough to be your great-grandfather, and his hair was

quite white, it need make no difference in that respect, my dear. The

fires of Mt. Hecla burn beneath eternal snows."

"What rubbish you are talking, Fabian! But--to change the subject--when

will my house be ready? I warn you that I will not go back to that brick

block on Main Street in your State capital."

"You should not, Rosebella. Your home is finished and furnished; and a

lovelier bower of roses cannot be found out of paradise! It is simply

perfection, or it will be when you take possession of it."

"Yes; tell me all about it," whispered the lady, eagerly.

"It is a small, elegant villa, situated in the midst of beautiful

grounds in a small, sequestered dell, inclosed with wooded hills rising

backward into forest-crowned mountains, and watered by many little

springs rising among the rocks and running down to empty into a

miniature lake that lies shining before the house. It seems to be in the

heart of the Cumberlands, in the depth of solitude, yet it is not

fifteen minutes' walk by a forest footpath to the railway station at

North End."

"What shall we name this little Eden?"

"Rose Bower, and the locality Rose Valley."

"And when may I take possession?"

"Whenever you please. All is prepared and waiting the arrival of Mrs.

Stillwater, who has taken the house and engaged the servants through her

agent, and who is expected to reside there during the absence of her

husband, Captain Stillwater, on long voyages."

"How long are these false appearances to be kept up, and when are our

true relations to be announced?"

"Before very long, my sweet!"

"I hate this concealment! I know that I am a favorite with your father

and mother, so I cannot see why you have not told them and will not tell

them."

"Now, Rosamunda, don't be a little idiot! Be a little angel, as you

always have been! Am I not doing everything I can for your comfort and

happiness, only asking you in turn to be faithful and patient until I

can make you my wife before the whole world? My father does not like the

idea of my marrying--anybody! If he knew we were engaged to each other,

he would never forgive me, and that means he would cut me off from all

share in the patrimony. And we could not afford to lose that! Let me

tell you a secret, Rose. Though our firm does business under the name

'Rockharrt & Sons,' yet 'Sons' have a merely nominal interest in the

works while Rockharrt lives. So you see, I have very little of my own,

and if the autocrat should learn, even by our own confession, that we

had been--been--been--concealing our engagement from him, he would never

forgive either of us."

At this moment a step was heard passing along the corridor outside.

It caused the two unseen inmates of the parlor to shrink into silence,

and even when it had passed out of hearing it caused them, in renewing

their conversation, to speak only in the lowest tones, so that Cora

could no longer catch a word of their speech.

She would before this have risen and retired to her own room; but she

was afraid of making a noise, and consequently causing a scene.

Were those two, her Uncle Fabian and Mrs. Stillwater, only secretly

engaged? Secretly engaged? But whoever heard of a betrothed lover

providing a home for his betrothed bride to live in before marriage! And

then, again, was her Uncle Fabian really so dependent on his father as

he had represented to Rose? Cora had always understood that he had a

quarter share in the great business, and that Clarence had an eighth.

And, worse than all, had they been so deceived as to the condition of

Rose that, if she was Mrs. Stillwater at all, she was the widow and not

the wife of Captain Stillwater, since she was engaged to be married, if

not already married, to Mr. Fabian Rockharrt?

Altogether the affair seemed a blinding and confusing tissue of

falsehood and deception that amazed and repulsed the mind of the girl.

Bewildered by the mystery, lulled by the hum of voices whose words she

could not distinguish, fanned by the breeze from the harbor, and calmed

by the darkness, the wearied girl sank back into her resting chair,

closed her eyes, and lost the sequence of her thoughts in dreams--from

which she presently sank into dreamless sleep, which lasted until she

was awakened by the noise of the hotel servants moving about on their

morning duties, opening windows, rapping at doors to call up travelers

for early trains, dragging along trunks, and so on.

At breakfast Cora watched Mr. Fabian and Rose, because she could not

help doing so, and she certainly discovered signs of a secret

understanding between them--signs so slight that they would have been

unnoticed by any one who had not the key to the mystery. But how

sickening and depressing was all this! Rose Flowers, or Stillwater, or

Rockharrt--whichever name she could legally claim--was a fraud. Mr.

Fabian Rockharrt was another fraud. Those two were secretly engaged or

secretly married.

After breakfast the party were ready for their journey Then came the

leave-taking.

Every one, except Cora Haught, shook hands warmly with Rose Stillwater.

Mrs. Rockharrt embraced and kissed her fondly, and renewed and pressed

her invitation to the beauty to come and make a long visit.

Rose put her arms around the old lady's neck and clung to her, and, with

tearful eyes and trembling tones and loving words, assured her that she

would fly to Rockhold on the first possible opportunity, and, after many

caresses, she reluctantly turned away and went toward Cora.

The girl had lowered her blue veil, and tied it mask-like over her face,

in a way that women often do, but which Cora never did, except on this

occasion, when she wished to evade the sure to be offered kiss of Rose

Stillwater.

But Rose embraced her strongly and kissed her through the veil,

endearments which the young girl could not repel without attracting

attention, but which she only endured and did not return.

The party reached Rockhold on the evening of the second day's travel.

Old Aaron Rockharrt found himself so weary of traveling that he

announced his intention of remaining in Rockhold for the entire winter,

nor leaving it even to go to his town house for a few weeks during the

session of the legislature.

Cora was disappointed. She longed to go to Washington for the season--to

go into company, to go to balls and parties, concerts and operas, to

see new people and make new friends, perhaps to attract new admirers;

and as she was now nineteen years of age, she need not be too severely

criticised for so natural an aspiration.

Mr. Fabian was the most zealous and active member of the firm. He would

go to North End and stay two days at a time to be near his scene of

duty.

Time passed, but Rose Stillwater did not make her promised visit.

Old Aaron often referred to it, and worried his wife to write to her and

remind her of her promise. The old lady always complied with her

husband's requirements, and wrote pressing letters; but the beauty

always wrote back excusing herself on the ground of "the captain's" many

engagements, which confined him to the ship and her to his side.

So time passed, and nearly another year went by. The Rockharrts were

still at Rockhold.

A political crisis was at hand--the election for the State legislature.

The candidate for representative of the liberal party in that election

district was Regulas Rothsay.

The election day came at length, as anxious a day for Cora Haught as for

any one.

It was a grand success, a glorious triumph for the printer boy and for

the workingmen's cause as well. Rule Rothsay was elected representative

for his district in the State legislature by an overwhelming majority.

Cora was destined to a joyful surprise the next morning, when the

domestic autocrat suddenly announced:

"I shall take the family to my town house on the first of next week. My

last bill, which was defeated last year, may be passed this session."

Cora now, on the Irishman's principle of pulling the pig backward if

you want him to go forward, ventured on the assurance of counseling her

grandfather by saying:

"I would not approach Mr. Rothsay on the subject of this bill, if I were

you, sir."

"But you are not I, miss!" exclaimed the old man, opening his eyes wide

to stare her down. "And the new man is the very one to whom I shall

first speak. He is the most proper person to present the bill. He

represents my own district. His election is largely due to the men in my

own employ. I am surprised that you should presume to advise upon

matters of which you can know nothing whatever."

Cora bowed to the rebuke, but did not mind it in the least, since now

she felt sure of meeting Rule Rothsay in town.

On the following Monday the Rockharrts went to town.

Mr. Rockharrt met and compared notes with some of the lobbyists.

One veteran lobbyist gave him what he called the key to the riddle of

success.

"You appealed to reason and conscience!" said he. "My dear sir, you

should have appealed to their stomachs and pockets. You should have

given them epicurean feasts, and put money in your 'purse' to be

transferred to theirs!"

"Bribery and corruption! I would lose my bill forever! And I would see

the legislature--_exterminated_, before I would pay one cent to get a

vote," said the Iron King. And he used a much stronger as well as much

shorter word than the one underscored; but let it pass.

As soon as the morning papers announced--among other arrivals--that of

the new assemblyman, the Hon. Regulas Rothsay, Aaron Rockharrt sought

out the young legislator, and explained that he wished to get a charter

for a railroad that he wished to build. The company--all responsible

men--had been incorporated some time, but he had never succeeded in

getting a charter from the legislature.

Rule saw that the enterprise would be a benefit to the community at

large, and especially to the workingmen, the farmers, shop keepers and

mechanics; so when he had heard all the old Iron King had to say on the

subject, he promptly gave a promise which neither favor, affection nor

self-interest could ever have won from him, but which reason, conscience

and the public good constrained him to give--namely, to present the

petition for the charter to the assembly, and to support it with all his

might.

After this Regulas Rothsay came often and more often, until at length he

passed every evening with the Rockharrts when they were at home. Old

Aaron Rockharrt esteemed him as he esteemed very, very few of his fellow

creatures. Mrs. Rockharrt really loved him. Mr. Fabian and Mr. Clarence

liked him. Cora admired and honored him. He was made so welcome in the

family circle that he felt himself quite at home among them.

On the second of January the first business taken up was that of the

bill to charter the projected railroad. It was presented by Mr. Rothsay,

and referred to the proper committee.

The charter bill was reported with certain amendments, sent back again

and reported again, with modified amendments, laid on the table, taken

up and generally tormented for ten days, and then passed by a small

majority.

Rule had conscientiously done his best, and this was the result: Old

Aaron Rockharrt thanked him stiffly.

"You have worked it through, sir! No one but yourself could have done

it! And it is a wonder that even you could do so with such a set of

pig-headed rascals as our assemblymen. And now, will it pass the

senate?"

"I believe it will, Mr. Rockharrt. I have been speaking to many of the

senators, and find them well disposed toward it," said Rule.

To be brief, the bill was soon taken up by the senate; and after much

the same treatment it had received in the assembly, it came safely

through the ordeal, and was passed--again by a small majority.

Old Aaron Rockharrt was triumphant, in his sullen, dogged and

undemonstrative way.

But having gained his ends, for which alone he had come to the city, he

ordered his family to pack up and be ready to leave town for Rockhold

the next day but one.

But the worst was to come.

When all the household were assembled at luncheon, he shot his last

bolt.

"Now look you here, all of you! We are going to Rockhold to-morrow. I do

not wish to have any company there. I am tired of company! I hate

company! I am going to the country to get rid of company. So see that

you do not, any of you, invite any one to visit us."

The next morning the Rockharrt family left town for North End, where

they arrived early in the afternoon.

A monotonous season followed, at least for the two ladies, who led a

very secluded life at the dreary old stone house on the mountain side.

Winter, spring, summer and autumn crept slowly away in, the lonely

dwelling. In the last days of November he announced to his family, with

the usual suddenness of his peremptory will, that he should go to

Washington City for the winter, taking with him his wife and

granddaughter, and leaving his two sons in charge of the works, and that

they would be joined in Washington at Christmas by his grandson, for

whom he was about to apply for admission into the military academy at

West Point.

Regulas called frequently, and his attentions to Cora were marked.

The Rockharrt party went to Washington on the first of December, and

took possession of the suite of rooms previously engaged for them at one

of the large West End hotels.

One morning, when Rule was out of the way, being on a canvassing round

with Mr. Rockharrt among such members of Congress as had remained in the

city, Sylvan suddenly asked his sister:

"Cora, what's to make the pot boil?"

"What do you mean?" inquired the young lady, looking up from "Bleak

House," which she was reading.

"Who's to get the grub?"

"I--don't understand you."

"Oh, yes, you do. What are you and Rothsay to live on after you are

married? He is poor as a church mouse, and you are not much richer. You

are reported to be an heiress and all that, but you know very well that

you cannot touch a cent of your money until you are twenty-five years

old, and not even then if you have married in the interim without our

great Mogul's consent. Such are the wise provisions of our father's

will. Now then, when you and Rule are married, what is to make the pot

boil?"

"There is no question of marriage between Mr. Rothsay and myself,"

replied Cora, with a fine assumption of dignity, which was, however,

quite, lost on Sylvan, who favored her with a broad stare and then

exclaimed:

"No question of marriage between you? My stars and garters! then there

ought to be, for you are both carrying on at a--at a--at a most

tremendous rate!"

Cora took up her book and walked out of the room in stately displeasure.

No; there had been no question of marriage between them; no spoken

question, at least, up to this day.

This was true to-day, but it was not true on the following day, when

Cora and Rule, being alone in the parlor, fell into thoughtful silence,

neither knowing exactly why.

This was broken at last by Rule.

"Cora, will you look at me, dear?"

She raised her eyes and meet his fixed full and tenderly on hers.

"Cora, I think that you and I have understood each other a long time,

too long a time for the reserve we have practiced. My dear, will you now

share the poverty of a poor man who loves you with all his heart, or

will you wait for that man until he shall have made a home and position

more worthy of you? Speak, my love, or if you prefer, take some time to

think of this. My fate is in your hands."

These were calm words, uttered with much, very much, self-restraint; yet

eyes and voice could not be so perfectly controlled as language was, and

these spoke eloquently of the man's adoration of the woman.

She put her hand in his large, rough palm--the palm inherited from many

generations of hard workers--where it lay like a white kernel in a brown

shell, and she answered quietly, with controlled emotion:

"Rule, I would rather come to you now forever, and share your life,

however hard, and help your work, however difficult, than part from you

again; or, if this happiness is not for us now, I would wait for

years--I would wait for you forever."

"God bless you! God bless you, my dear! my dear! But is not this in your

own choice, Cora?"

"No; it is in my grandfather's."

"You are of age, dear."

"Yes. But not because I am of age would I disobey his will. He has

always done his duty by me faithfully. I must do mine by him. He is old

now. I must not oppose him. He may consent to our union at once, for you

are a very great favorite with him. But his will must be consulted."

"Of course, dear. I meant to speak to Mr. Rockharrt after speaking to

you."

"And to abide by his wishes, Rule?"

"If I must. But I would rather abide by yours only, since you are of

age," said the young man.

And what more was spoken need not be repeated here. The next day Rule

Rothsay called early, and asked to see Mr. Rockharrt.

"Ah! Ah! You come to tell me that you have seen Hunter, I suppose? How

does he stand affected toward my bill?" exclaimed the Iron King,

pointing to one chair for his guest and dropping into another himself.

"The truth is, Mr. Rockharrt, I came to see you on quite another

matter--"

The young man paused. The old man looked attentive and curious.

"It is a matter of the deepest interest to me--"

Again Rule paused, for Mr. Rockharrt was looking at him with bent brows,

staring eyes, and bristling iron gray hair and beard, or hair and beard

that seemed to bristle.

"Your granddaughter--" began Rule. "Your granddaughter has made me very

happy by consenting to become my wife, with your approbation," calmly

replied Rule.

"Oh!" exclaimed the old man, in a peculiar tone, between surprise and

derision. "And so you have come to ask my consent to your marriage with

my granddaughter?"

"If you please, Mr. Rockharrt."

"And so that is the reason why you worked so hard to get my railroad

bill through the legislature. Well, I always believed that every man had

his price; but I thought you were the exception to the general rule. I

thought you were not for sale. But it seems that I was mistaken, and

that you were for sale, and set a pretty high price upon yourself,

too--the hand of my granddaughter!"

The young man was not ill-tempered or irritable. Perfectly conscious of

his own sound integrity, he was unmoved by this taunt; and he answered

with quiet dignity:

"If you will reflect for a moment, Mr. Rockharrt, you will know that

your charge is untrue and impossible, and you will recall it. I took up

your railroad bill because I saw that its provisions would be beneficial

to the small towns, tradesmen and farmers all along the proposed

line--interests that many railroads neglect, to the ruin of parties most

concerned. And I took up this cause before I had ever met your

granddaughter since her childhood or as a woman."

"That is true. Well, well, the selfish and mercenary character of the

men, and women, too, that I meet in this world has made me, perhaps, too

suspicious of all men's motives," said the champion egotist of the

world, speaking with the air of the great king condescending to an

apology--if his answer could be called an apology.

Rule accepted it as such. He knew it was as near to a concession as the

despot could come. He bowed in silence.

"And so you want my granddaughter, do you?" demanded the old man.

"Yes, sir; as the greatest good that you, or the world, or heaven, could

bestow on me," earnestly replied the suitor.

"Rubbish! Don't talk like an idiot! How do you propose to support her?"

"By the labor of my brain and hands," gravely and confidently replied

Rule.

"Worse rubbish than the other! How much a year does the labor of your

brain and hands bring you in?--not enough to keep yourself in comfort!

And you would bring my granddaughter down to divide that insufficient

income with you"

"My income would provide us both with modest comforts," replied Rule.

"I think your ideas and our ideas of comfort may differ importantly. Now

see here, Mr. Rothsay, I do believe you to be a true, honest,

straightforward man; I believe you are attracted to Cora by a sincere

preference for herself, irrespective of her prospects; and you are a

rising man. Wait a year or two, or three. Take a few steps higher on the

ladder of rank and fame, and then come and ask me for my granddaughter's

hand, and if you are both of the same mind, I will give it to you.

There!"

"Mr. Rockharrt--" began Rule.

"There, there, there! I will not even hear of an engagement until that

time shall arrive. How do I know how you will pass through the ordeal of

a political career, or into what bad company, evil habits, riotous

living, dissipation, drunkenness, bribery and corruption,

embezzlements, ruin and disgrace you may not be tempted?"

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Rule.

"Amen! I believe you will stand the test, but I have seen too many

brilliant and aspiring young politicians go up like a rocket and come

down a burnt stick, to be very sure of any man in the same

circumstances."

"But, Mr. Rockharrt, such men were most probably brought up in wealth

and luxury. They were not trained, perhaps, as I have been, in the hard

but wholesome school of labor and self-denial."

"There may be something in that; but if you advance it as an argument

for me to change my mind in this matter of a prudent delay, it is thrown

away upon me. You should know me well enough to know that I never change

my mind."

Rule did know it. But he answered earnestly:

"I accept your conditions, Mr. Rockharrt. I will wait and work as long

for Cora as Jacob did for Rachel, if necessary. Cora has been the

inspiration of all that I have wrought, endured and achieved--and she

was all that to me long before I dreamed of aspiring to her hand in

marriage, and she will be as long as we both shall live in this world or

the world to come."

Rule bowed and left. He at once recounted to Cora the interview and the

condition imposed on him.

When the short season ended, and the city was tilted upside down and

emptied like a bucket of half its contents, the Rockharrts went with the

rest.

Old Aaron was in his very worst fit of sullen ferocity. He had not been

able to get a charter for clearing out the channel of the Cumberland

River (another pet project of his), or even to form a company strong

enough to undertake the enterprise.

After a while, out of restlessness, he started with his wife,

granddaughter and grandson for a tour to the Northern Pacific Coast. He

spent some time in traveling through that region of country, and

returned East.

He stopped at West Point to leave Sylvan Haught, who had successfully

passed his examination and received his appointment at the military

academy.

Then he took his womenkind home to Rockhold.

A few days later young Rothsay was elected senator.

Some weeks later Rothsay again pressed his suit on the attention of Mr.

Rockharrt.

But the old man was adamant.

"No, sir, no! You must have a firmer foundation to build upon than the

fickle favor of the public. Wait a year or two longer. Let us see

whether your success is to be permanent."

"But," urged Rule, "my chosen bride is twenty-three years of age, and I

am twenty-seven. Time is flying."

"What has that got to do with the question? If you were to marry this

morning, would that stop the flight of time? Would not time fly just as

fast as ever? Suppose you should not marry for two years? My

granddaughter would then be twenty-five and you thirty, and many wise

philosophers think that such are the relative ages at which man and

woman should marry. Then the Iron King cast a thunderbolt. He said:

"I am going to take my girl on a trip to Europe this summer. When we

return, it will be time enough to talk about marriage."

Rule bowed a reluctant admission to this mandate. He knew well that

argument would be thrown away upon the Iron King, and he knew that, even

if he himself were tempted to try to persuade Cora to marry him at

present, she would not do so in opposition to her grandfather's will.

Mr. Rockharrt had not as yet said one word to his family concerning his

intended trip to Europe, although he had been thinking of it, and laying

his plans, and making his arrangements, preparatory to the voyage, all

the winter.

So it was with amazement that Cora first heard of the matter from Rule

Rothsay, who came to her to report the result of his last attempt to

gain the consent of the old gentleman to his marriage with the

granddaughter.

A few days later the family despot announced to his subjects that he

should start for Europe in two weeks, taking his wife and granddaughter

with him, and leaving his two sons in charge of the works.

Active preparations went on for the voyage. Mr. Rockharrt went every day

to the works to lay out plans for the summer to be completed during his

absence.

Mrs. Rockharrt and Cora had few arrangements to make, for the autocrat

had warned them that they were to take only sufficient for the voyage,

as they could buy whatever they needed on the other side.

A few days before they left Rockhold, Rule Rothsay came uninvited to

visit his beloved Cora.

Mr. Rockharrt happened to be the first to see him, and received him

well.

When they were seated, Rule said:

"You refused to allow me to marry your granddaughter at present, and--"

"Now begin all that over again, Rothsay. I said that in two years you

can marry her and take her fortune, if you both choose, whether I like

it or not. That is all."

"Do you, however, sanction our engagement, Mr. Rockharrt? Shall your

granddaughter and myself be betrothed, openly betrothed, so that all may

know our mutual relations, before the ocean divides us? That is what I

would know now. That is what I have come down here to ask."

The old man ruminated for a few moments, and then answered:

"Well, yes; you may be, with the understanding that you will wait to

marry for two years longer. These two years will be a probation to both.

If you fulfill the promise of your youth, and rise to the position that

you can, if you will, attain, and if you remain faithful to her, and if

she remains true to you, you may then marry. With all my heart I shall

wish you well. But if either of you fail in truth and fidelity, the

defaulting one, whether it be you or she, shall never look me in the

face again," concluded the Iron King.

Rule's eyes lighted up with the fire of love and faith. He seized the

hand of the old man and shook it warmly, saying:

"You have made me very happy by your words, Mr. Rockharrt, and I assure

you, by all my hopes on earth or in heaven, that whatever may change in

time or eternity, my heart will never vary a hair's breadth from its

fidelity to its queen."

"I believe you, or rather I believe you think so."

A kind impulse, a rare one, moved the old man. Perhaps he reflected that

these two young people might, have defied him and married without his

consent had they pleased to do so; but they had submitted themselves to

his will, and as his favorite motto told him that "Government is

maintained by reward and punishment," he may have reasoned that this was

an occasion for reward. So he said to the young man, who had risen, and

was standing before him:

"Rothsay, we shall leave here for New York on Tuesday, to sail by the

Saturday's steamer for Liverpool. If your engagements admit of it, and

if you would like to spend the intervening time near Cora, we should be

pleased to have you stay here."

Rule spent three happy days at Rockhold, and in the evening of the third

day, the evening before they were to leave for Europe, he asked Mr.

Rockharrt if he might have the privilege of attending the travelers to

the seaport, and seeing them off by the steamer.

The Iron King found no objection to this plan. Mrs. Rockharrt was

pleased, and Cora was delighted with it.

Accordingly, on the next morning, they left Rockhold for New York, where

they arrived on the evening of the next day.

And on Saturday morning they went on board the steamer Persia, bound for

Liverpool.

They bade good-by to Regulas Rothsay, on the deck, at the last moment.

The signal gun was fired, and our party sailed away to a new life, in

which the faith of a woman was to be tempted and lost, and the career of

a man was to be wrecked.

It was in the third year of their absence that they returned from the

Continent to England. They reached London in February, in time to see

the grand pageant of the queen opening parliament. After which they

attended the first royal drawing room of the season, on which occasion

Mrs. Rockharrt and Miss Haught were presented to her Majesty by the wife

of the American minister.

Cora Haught was a new beauty and a new social sensation. She was,

indeed, more beautiful than she had been when she left America. A richly

colored Southern brunette was unique among British blondes. It was for

this, perhaps, she was so much admired.

Moreover, she was reported to be the only descendant of her grandfather

and the sole heiress of his fabulous wealth.

There was at this time another _debutant_ in society, a young man, the

Duke of Cumbervale, who had lately reached his majority and come into

his estates, or what was left of them--an ancient castle and a few

barren acres in Northumberland, an old hall and a few acres in Sussex,

and a town house in London; but his title was an historical one. His

person was handsome, his manners attractive, and his mind highly

cultivated.

Cora met him first at the queen's drawing room, and afterward at every

ball and party to which she went.

It was, perhaps, natural--very natural--that the handsome blonde man

should be attracted by the beautiful brunette woman, without thought of

the supposed fortune that might have redeemed his mortgaged estates and

supported his distinguished title. But why should the betrothed of

Regulas Rothsay have been fascinated by this elegant English aristocrat?

Surely no two men were ever more diametrically opposite than the

American printer and the English duke.

Regulas Rothsay was tall, muscular, and robust, with large feet and

hands, inherited from many generations of hard-working forefathers. His

movements were clumsy; his manners were awkward, except when he was

inspired by some grand thought or tender sympathy, when his whole person

and appearance became transfigured. His sole enduring charms were his

beautiful eyes and melodious voice.

The Duke of Cumbervale was slight and elegant in form, with small,

perfectly shaped hands and feet--derived from a long line of idle and

useless ancestors--finely cut Grecian profile, pure, clear, white skin,

fine, silken, pale yellow hair and mustache, calm blue eyes, graceful

movements, and refined manners.

Regulas Rothsay was a man of the people, who did not know any ancestry

behind his laboring father, who could not have told the names of his

grandparents.

The Duke of Cumbervale was descended from eight generations of

noblemen.

Cora Haught saw and felt this contrast between the two men, so opposite

in birth, rank, person, manner, character, and cultivation.

Not all at once could she become an apostate to her faith, pledged to

Rule. But, in truth, she had always loved him more as a sister loves a

dear brother than as a maiden loves her betrothed husband. She had not

seen him for three years. And she had seen so much since they had

parted! In truth, his image had grown dim in her imagination.

She wrote to him briefly from London that her engagements were so

numerous as to preclude the possibility of her writing much, but that at

the end of the London season they expected to return home. This was

before she had--

"Foregathered with the de'il,"

in the shape of the handsome, eloquent, and fascinating Duke of

Cumbervale.

Afterward a strange madness had seized her; a sudden revulsion of

feeling, amounting almost to repugnance, against the rugged man of the

people who had hewn out his own fortune, and who looked, she thought,

more like a backwoodsman than a gentleman. Yes; it was madness--such

madness as is sometimes the wreck of families.

The duke grew daily more impressive in his attentions, and Cora more

delighted to receive them. So the season went on. People began to

connect the names of the Duke of Cumbervale and the beautiful American

heiress.

Just about this time old Aaron Rockharrt walked into the breakfast room

of their apartments at Langham's with an American newspaper, which had

just come by the morning's mail, in his hands.

"Here is news!" he said. "Rothsay has been nominated as governor of

----! But perhaps this is no news to you, Cora. You may have received a

letter?" he added, turning to his granddaughter.

"I had a letter from Mr. Rothsay yesterday, but he said nothing on the

subject," replied the girl somewhat coldly.

"Well, if he should be elected--and I really believe he will be, for he

is the most popular man in the State--I shall throw no obstacles in the

way of your immediate marriage with him. You have been engaged long

enough--long enough! We shall set out for home on the first of next

month, and so be in full time for the election."

Cora did not reply. She grew pale and cold.

The Iron King looked at his granddaughter, bending his gray brows over

keenly penetrating eyes.

"See here, mistress!" he said. "You don't seem to rejoice in this news.

What is the matter with you? Have any of these English foplings and

lordlings, with more peers in their pedigrees than pennies in their

pockets, turned your head? If so, it is time for me to take you home."

Cora did not reply. Only the night before, at the ball given by the

Marchioness of Netherby, the Duke of Cumbervale had proposed to her, and

had been referred to her grandfather. He was coming that very morning to

ask the hand of the supposed heiress of the Iron King. Cora was that

very day intending to write to Rule and tell him the whole truth, and

ask him to release her from her engagement; and she knew full well that

he would have no alternative but to grant her request.

"Why do you not answer me, Corona? What is the matter with you?" again

demanded old Aaron Rockharrt.

But at that moment a waiter entered, and laid a card on the table before

the old gentleman. He took it up and read:

THE DUKE OF CUMBERVALE.

"What in the deuce does the young fellow want of me? Show him into the

parlor, William, and say that I will be with him in a few minutes."

The waiter left the room to do his errand, and was soon followed by Mr.

Rockharrt, who found the young duke pacing rather restlessly up and down

the room.

"Good morning, sir," said old Aaron, with stiff politeness.

The visitor turned and saluted his host.

"Will you not be seated?" said Mr. Rockharrt, waving his hand toward

sofa and chairs.

The visitor bowed and sat down. The host took another chair and waited.

There was silence for a short time. The old man seemed expectant, the

young man embarrassed. At length, when the latter opened his mouth and

spoke, no pearls and diamonds of wisdom and goodness dropped from his

lips; he said:

"It is a fine day."

"Yes, yes," admitted the Iron King, taking his hands from his knees, and

drawing himself up with the sigh of a man badly bored--"for London. We

wouldn't call this a fine day in America. But I have heard it said that

it is always a fine day in England when it don't pour."

"Yes," admitted the visitor; and then he driveled into the most inane

talk about climates, for you see this was the first time the poor young

fellow had ever ventured to

"Beard the lion in his den,"

so to speak, by asking: a stern old gentleman for a daughter's hand,

and this Iron King was a very formidable-looking beast indeed.

At length, Mr. Rockharrt, feeling sure that his visitor had come upon

business--though he did not know of what sort--said:

"I think, sir, that you are here upon some affairs. If it is about

railway shares--"

The old man was stopped short by the surprised and insolent stare of the

young duke.

"I know nothing of railway shares, sir," he answered.

"Oh, you don't! Well, I did not think you did. In what other way can I

oblige you?"

Indignation generally deprives a man of self-possession, but on this

occasion it restored that of the embarrassed lover. Feeling that he--the

descendant of a dozen dukes, whose ancestors had "come over with William

the Conqueror," had served in Palestine under King Richard, had

compelled King John to sign the Magna Charta, had gained glory in every

generation--was about to do this rude, purse-proud old tradesman the

greatest honor in asking of him his granddaughter in marriage, he said,

somewhat coldly:

"Miss Haught has made me happy in the hope of her acceptance of my hand,

pending your approval, and has referred me to you."

The Iron King stared at the speaker for a moment, and then said, quite

calmly:

"Please to repeat that all over again, slowly and distinctly."

The duke flushed to the edges of his hair, but he repeated his proposal

in plain words.

"You have asked Cora Haught to marry you?" demanded the Iron King.

"Yes, sir."

"What did she say?"

"She did me the honor to give me some hope, and she referred me to you,

as I have already explained."

"I don't believe it!" blurted the old man.

"Sir!" said the duke, in a low voice.

"I don't believe it! What! My granddaughter--mine--break her faith and

wish to marry some one else?"

"Mr. Rockharrt," began the duke, in a smooth tone--though his blood was

hot with anger--"I am sorry you should so forget the--"

"I forget nothing. I remember that you charge my

granddaughter--mine--with unfaithfulness! It is an insult, sir!"

"Really, Mr. Rockharrt, I do not understand you."

"I don't suppose you do! I never gave your order much credit for

intelligence."

Is this old ruffian mad or drunk? was the secret question of the duke,

whose tone and manner, always calm and polite, grew even calmer and more

polite as the Iron King grew more sarcastic and insulting.

"I would suggest that you speak to Miss Haught on this subject, that she

may confirm my statement," he said.

"I shall do nothing of the kind! I shall not entertain for an instant

the thought of the possibility of my granddaughter breaking her plighted

faith."

"I never knew that she was engaged. May I ask the name of the happy

man?"

"Regulas Rothsay; he is not a duke; he is a printer; also a senator, and

nominated for governor of his native State; sure to be elected, and then

he is to marry my granddaughter, who has been engaged to him many

years."

"But Miss Haught certainly authorized me to ask her hand of you."

When did this extraordinary acceptance take place?"

"Yesterday evening, at Lady Netherby's ball."

"After supper?"

"After supper."

"That accounts for it! You took too much wine, and misunderstood my

granddaughter's reply She must have referred you to me for an

explanation of her engagement, and consequent inability to entertain any

other man's proposal. That was it!"

"May I refer you to Miss Haught for confirmation of my words?"

"I say, as I said before, no."

"May I see the young lady herself?"

"No; but I will tell you something that may console you under your

disappointment. I have seen in several of your papers, in the society

columns, my granddaughter referred to as my sole heiress. I do not know

who is responsible for these reports, but you may have believed them,

though there is not a word of truth in them. My granddaughter is not my

sole heiress; not my heiress in the slightest degree. I have two

stalwart sons, partners in my business, both now in charge of the works

at North End, Cumberland mountains, and managing them extremely well,

else I could not be taking a long holiday here. These sons are heirs to

all my property. Nor is my granddaughter the heiress of her late father.

She has a brother, now a cadet at our military academy at West Point. He

inherits the bulk of his father's estate. My granddaughter's fortune is,

therefore, very moderate--quite beneath the consideration of an English

nobleman," concluded the old man, very grimly.

The young duke heard him out, and then answered;

"I trust, sir, that you will credit me with better motives in seeking

the hand of the young lady. It was her charm of person and of mind that

attracted me to her."

"Of course, of course; but, my dear duke, there is a plenty of sole

heiresses among the wealthy trades-people of London who would be proud

to buy a title with a fortune. Let me advise you to strike a bargain

with one of them. Now, as I have pressing business on hand, you will

excuse me."

The young duke arose, with a bow, and left the room, muttering to

himself: "What an unmitigated beast that old man is! I do like the girl;

she is a beautiful creature, but--I am well out of it after all."

Old Aaron Rockharrt made no false pretense of business to get rid of his

unwelcome visitor; he never made false pretense of any sort for any

purpose. He had pressing business on hand, though it was business which

had suddenly arisen during his interview with the duke, and had in fact

come out of it. No sooner had the young man left the house than the Iron

King went to the agency of the Cunard line, and secured staterooms for

himself and party in the Asia, that was to sail on the following

Saturday from Liverpool for New York.

When he re-entered his parlor at the Langham, he found his wife and Cora

seated there, the girl reading the _Court Journal_ to her grandmother.

"Put that tomfoolery down, Cora, and listen to me, both of you! This is

Wednesday. We leave London for Liverpool on Friday morning, and sail

from Liverpool for New York on Saturday. So you sent that man to me,

mistress?"

"Yes, sir," without looking up.

"For my consent to a marriage with him!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then the fellow did not mistake your meaning! Cora Haught! I could not

have believed that any girl who had any of my blood in her veins could

be guilty of such black treachery as to break faith with her betrothed

husband, and wish to marry another, just for the snobbish ambition to be

a duchess and be called 'her grace'!" said the Iron King, with all the

sardonic scorn and hatred of any form of falsehood that was the one

redeeming trait in his hard and cruel nature.

"Grandpa, it was not so! Indeed, it was not! Oh, consider! I had known

Rule Rothsay from my childhood, and loved him with the affection a

sister gives a brother; I knew of no other love, and so I mistook it for

the love surpassing all others that a betrothed maiden should give her

betrothed. But when I met Cumbervale and he wooed me, I loved truly for

the first time! loved, as he loves me!" she concluded, with trembling

lips and downcast eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Stuff and nonsense! Don't talk to me about love or any such sentimental

trash! I am talking of good faith between man and woman--words of which

you don't seem to know the meaning!"

"Oh, grandpa! yes, I do! But would it be good faith in me to marry Rule

Rothsay, when I love Cumbervale?"

"It would be good faith to keep your word, irrespective of your

feelings, and bad faith to break it in consideration of your feelings!

But you are too false to know this!"

"Oh, sir! pray do not set your face against my marriage with Cumbervale,

or insist on my marrying Rule! It would not be for Rule's good," pleaded

Cora.

"No; Heaven knows it would not be for his good! It had been better for

Rothsay that he had been blown up in the explosion that killed his

father, than that he had ever set eyes on your false face! But you have

given him your word, and you must keep it, or never look me in the face

again! You shall be married as soon as we reach Rockhold."

Cora raised her tearful face from her hands, and looked astonished and

wretched.

"Oh, you may gaze, but it is true. The fortune hunter has discovered

that he is on a false scent. There is no fortune on the trail. I told

him everything about you. I told him that you were not my heiress at

all, because I had two sons who would inherit all my property; that you

were not even your father's heiress, because you had a brother who would

inherit the larger portion of his; that, in point of fact, you were only

moderately provided for. He was startled, I assure you. I also told him

that for years you had been engaged to a young printer in your native

country, who would probably be the next governor of his native State. He

bowed himself out. I engaged our passage to New York by the Saturday's

steamer. You will never see the little dandy again. He was after a

fortune, and finding that you have none, he has forsaken you--and served

you right, for a base, treacherous, and contemptible woman, unworthy

even of his regard; for you are much lower in every way than he is, for

while he was seeking a fortune and you were seeking a title, you were

concealing from him the fact of your engagement to Rule Rothsay. You

were doubly false to Rule and to Cumbervale. Oh, Cora Haught! Cora

Haught! Are you not ashamed of yourself! Ashamed to look any honest man

or woman in the face! Ah! you do well to hide yours!" he concluded, for

Cora had lost all self-control, dropped her head upon her hands, and

burst into hysterical sobs and tears.

Did you ever see a small bantam hen ruffle up all her feathers in angry

defense of her chick? So did poor little, timid Mrs. Rockharrt in

protection of her pet. She ventured to expostulate with her tyrant for,

perhaps, the first time in their married life.

"Oh, Aaron, do not scold the child so severely. She is but human. She

has only been dazzled and fascinated by the young duke's rank, and

beauty, and elegance. She could not help it, being thrown in his company

so much. And you know they say that half the girls in London society are

in love with the handsome duke. We will take her home, and she will come

all right, and be our own, dear, faithful Cora again, and--"

Old Aaron Rockharrt, who had gazed at his wife in speechless

astonishment at her audacity in reasoning with him, now burst forth

with:

"Hold your jaw, madam," and strode out of the room.

A minute later a waiter came in and laid a note on the table before Cora

and immediately withdrew.

Cora took the missive, recognized the handwriting and seal, tore it open

and eagerly ran her eyes along the lines. This was the note:

CUMBERVALE LODGE, LONDON,

May, 1, 18--

MISS HAUGHT: For my indiscretion of last evening I owe

you an humble apology, which I beg you to accept with this

explanation, that, had I known, or even suspected, that your hand

was already promised in another quarter, I should never have

presumed to propose for it. I beg now to withdraw such a false

step.

Accept my best wishes for your happiness in a union with the more

fortunate man of your choice, and believe me to be now and ever,

Your obedient servant,

CUMBERVALE.

Scarcely had Cora's eyes fallen from the paper when Lady Pendragon's

carriage drove up to the door.

Glad of the interruption that enabled her to escape from the parlor, and

give way to the passion and grief and despair that were swelling her

heart to breaking, Cora hastened to her bed chamber and threw herself

down upon the couch in a paroxysm of sobs and tears.

Mrs. Rockharrt waited in the parlor to receive the visitor, but no

visitor came up. Only two cards were left for the two ladies, and then

the Countess of Pendragon rolled away in her carriage.

On Friday morning the Rockharrts left London. And on Saturday morning

they sailed from Liverpool. After a prosperous voyage of ten days they

landed at New York.

"My soul! there is Rothsay on the pier, waving his hand to us!"

exclaimed the Iron King, as he led his little wife down the gang plank,

while Cora came on behind them.

Yes; there was Rule, his tall figure towering above the crowd on the

pier, his rugged face beaming with delight, his hand waving welcome to

the returning voyagers. He received his friends as they stepped upon the

pier. He shook hands warmly with Mrs. Rockharrt, heartily with the Iron

King, and then, behind them, with Cora, and before Cora knew what was

coming she was folded in the arms and to the faithful breast of her

life-long lover--only for a moment; and then he drew her arm within his

own and led her on after the elder couple, whispering:

"Dear, this is the happiest day I have ever seen as yet, but a happier

one is coming--soon, I hope. Dear, how soon shall it be?"

"You must ask my grandparents, Rule. Their judgment and their

convenience must be consulted," she answered in a low, steady tone.

She had no thought now of breaking her engagement with Rule, though her

heart seemed breaking. She still loved that rugged man with the sisterly

affection she had always felt for him, and which, in her ignorance of

life and self, she had mistaken for a warmer sentiment, and resolved, in

wedding him, to do her whole duty by him for so long as she should live,

and she hoped and believed that that would not be very long.

Rothsay led the way to a carriage. When all were seated in this, the old

man leant toward the young one, and said:

"Well, I haven't had a chance to ask you yet. The election is over. How

did it go? Who is their man?"

"They chose me," answered Rothsay, simply.

Cora Haught's bosom was wrung by hopeless passion and piercing remorse.

Yet she tried to do her whole duty.

"If it craze or kill me I will wed Rule, and he shall never know what it

costs me to keep my word," she said to herself, as she lay sleepless and

restless in her bed on the night before her wedding morn. "Yes; I will

do my duty and keep my secret even unto death."

"'Even unto death!' but unto whose death?" whispered a voice close to

her ear--a voice clear, distinct, penetrating.

Cora started and opened her eyes. No one was near her. She sat up in

bed, and looked around the apartment. The night taper, standing on the

hearth, burned low. The dimly lighted room was vacant of any human being

except herself.

"I have been dreaming," she said, and she laid down and tried to compose

herself to sleep again. In vain! Memories of the near past, dread of the

nearer future, contended in her soul, filling her with discord. When

Cora arose on her wedding morning, she said to herself:

"Yes, this day I am going to marry Rule, dear, loving, faithful,

hard-working, self-denying Rule! A monarch among men, if greatness of

soul could make a monarch. In that sense no woman, peeress or princess,

ever made a prouder match. May Heaven make me worthier of him! May

Heaven help me to be a true, good wife to him!"

She said these words to herself, but oh! oh! how she shuddered as she

breathed them, and how she reproached herself for such shuddering! The

girl's whole nature was at war with itself. Yet through all the terrible

interior strife she kept her firm determination to be faithful to Rule;

to go through the ordeal before her, even though it should cost her life

or reason.

The external circumstances of this wedding were given in the first

chapter, and need not be repeated here.

My readers may remember the marble-like stillness of the bride as she

sat in her bridal robes, looking out from the front window of her

chamber on the bright and festive scene below, where all the work people

from the mines and foundries were assembled; they will remember how she

shivered when she was summoned with her bridesmaids to meet her

bridegroom and his attendants in the hall below; how when she met him at

the foot of the stairs she shrank from his greeting--emotion in which he

in his simple, loyal soul saw no repugnance, but only maiden reserve to

be reverenced, as he drew her arm within his own to lead her before the

bishop; how she faltered during the whole of the marriage ceremony; how

like a woman in a trance she passed through the scenes of the wedding

breakfast and those that immediately followed it; how in her own room,

where she went to change her wedding dress for a traveling suit, and

whither her gentle old grandmother had followed her for a private

parting, she had answered the old lady's anxious question as to whether

she was "happy," first by silence and then by muttering that her heart

was too full for speech; how when the bridegroom and the bride had

taken leave of all their friends at Rockhold, and were seated

_tete-a-tete_ in their traveling carriage, bowling along the river road,

at the base of the East Ridge toward the North End railway station, when

he passed his arm around her and drew her to his heart and murmured of

his love and his joy in her ear, and pleaded for some response from her,

she had only said that her heart was too full for speech, and he in his

confiding spirit had perceived no evasion in her reply, but thought, if

her heart was full, it was with responsive love for him.

My readers will recollect the railway journey to the State capital; the

procession through the decorated streets between the crowded sidewalks

from the railway station to the town house of Mr. Rockharrt, which had

been placed at the disposal of the governor-elect for the interval

between his arrival in the State capital and his inauguration.

The committee of reception escorted them to the gates of the Rockharrt

mansion and left them at the door. There we also left them, in the

second chapter of this story--and there we return to them in this place.

CHAPTER V.

THE GREAT RENUNCIATION.

When the governor-elect and his bride entered the Rockharrt town house,

they were received by a group of obsequious servants, headed by Jason,

the butler, and Jane, the housekeeper, and among whom stood Martha,

lady's maid to the new Mrs. Rothsay.

"Will you come into the drawing room and rest, dear, before going

upstairs?" inquired Mr. Rothsay of his bride, as they stood together in

the front hall.

"No, thank you. I will go to my room. Come, Martha!" said the bride, and

she went up stairs, followed by her maid.

Rule stood where she had so hastily left him, in the hall, looking so

much at a loss that presently Jason volunteered to say:

"Shall I show you to your apartment, sir?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Rothsay. And he followed the servant up stairs to a

large and handsomely furnished bed chamber, having a dressing room

attached.

Jason lighted the wax candles on the dressing table and on the mantel

piece, and then inquired:

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"No," replied Mr. Rothsay.

And the servant retired.

Rothsay was alone in the room. He had never set up a valet; he had

always waited on himself. Now, however, he was again at a loss. He was

covered with railway dust and smoke, yet he saw no conveniences for

ablution.

While he stood there, a shout arose in the street outside. A single

voice raised the cheer:

"Hoo--rah--ah--ah for Rothsay!"

He went to the front window of the room. The sashes were hoisted, for

the night was warm; but the shutters were closed. He turned the slats a

little and looked down on the square below. It was filled with

pedestrians, and every window of every house in sight was illuminated.

When the shouts had died away, he heard voices in the room. He was

himself accidentally concealed by the window curtains. He looked around

and saw his bride emerge from the dressing room, attired in an elegant

dinner costume of rich maize-colored satin and black lace, with

crocuses in her superb black hair. She passed through the room without

having seen him, and went down stairs followed by her maid.

He saw the door of the dressing room standing open and went into it. It

was no mere closet, but a large, well lighted and convenient apartment,

furnished with every possible appurtenance for the toilet. Here he found

his trunk, his valise, his dressing case, all unpacked--his brushes and

combs laid out in order, his dinner suit hung over a rack--every

requirement of his toilet in complete readiness as if prepared by an

experienced valet. All this he had been accustomed to do, and expected

to do, for himself. Who had served him? Had Corona and her maid?

Impossible!

He quickly made a refreshing evening toilet and went down stairs, for he

was eager to rejoin his bride. He found her in the drawing room; but

scarcely had he seated himself at her side when the door was opened and

dinner announced by Jason.

They both arose; he gave her his arm, and they followed the solemn

butler to the dining room, which was on the opposite side of the front

hall and in the rear of the library.

An elegant tete-a-tete dinner but for the presence of the old butler and

one young footman who waited on them.

They did not linger long at table, but soon left it and returned

together to the drawing room.

They had scarcely seated themselves when the door bell rang, and in a

few moments afterward a card was brought in and handed to Mr. Rothsay,

who took it and read:

A.B. Crawford.

"Show the judge into the library and say that I will be with him in a

few moments," he said to the servant.

"He is one of the judges of the supreme court of the State, dear, and I

must go to him. I hope he will not keep me long," said Mr. Rothsay, as

he raised the hand of his bride to his lips and then left the room.

With a sigh of intense relief Cora leaned back in her chair and closed

her eyes.

People have been known to die suddenly in their chairs. Why could not

she die as she sat there, with her whole head heavy and her whole heart

faint, she thought.

She listened--fearfully--for the return of her husband, but he did not

come as soon as he had hoped to do; for while she listened the door bell

rang again, and another visitor made his appearance, and after a short

delay was shown into the library.

Then came another, and still another, and afterward others, until the

library must have been half full of callers on the governor-elect.

And presently a large band of musicians halted before the house and

began a serenade. They played and sang "Hail to the Chief," "Yankee

Doodle," "Hail Columbia," and other popular or national airs.

Mr. Rothsay and his friends went out to see them and thank them, and

then their shouts rent the air as they retired from the scene.

The gentlemen re-entered the house and retired to the library, where

they resumed their discussion of official business, until another

multitude had gathered before the house and shouts of--

"Hoo-rah-ah ah for Rothsay!" rose to the empyrean.

Neither the governor-elect nor his companions responded in any way to

this compliment until loud, disorderly cries for--

"Rothsay!"

"Rothsay!"

"Rothsay!"

constrained them to appear.

The governor-elect was again greeted with thundering cheers. When

silence was restored he made a short, pithy address, which was received

with rounds of applause at the close of every paragraph.

When the speech was finished, he bowed and withdrew, and the crowd, with

a final cheer, dispersed.

Mr. Rothsay retired once more to the library, accompanied by his

friends, to renew their discussion.

Cora, in her restlessness of spirit, arose from her seat and walked

several times up and down the floor.

Presently, weary of walking, and attracted by the coolness and darkness

of the back drawing room, in which the chandeliers had not been lighted,

she passed between the draped blue satin portieres that divided it from

the front room and entered the apartment.

The French windows stood open upon a richly stored flower garden, from

which the refreshing fragrance of dewy roses, lilies, violets, cape

jasmines, and other aromatic plants was wafted by the westerly breeze.

Cora seated herself upon the sofa between the two low French windows,

and waited.

Presently she heard the visitors taking leave.

"The committee will wait on you between ten and eleven to-morrow

morning," she heard one gentleman say, as they passed out.

Then several "good nights" were uttered, and the guests all departed,

and the door was closed.

Cora heard her husband's quick, eager step as he hurried into the front

drawing room, seeking his wife.

She felt her heart sinking, the high nervous tension of her whole frame

relaxing. She heard the hall clock strike ten. When the last stroke died

away, she heard her husband's voice calling, softly:

"Cora, love, wife, where are you?"

She could bear no more. The overtasked heart gave way.

When, the next instant, the eager bridegroom pushed aside the satin

portieres and entered the apartment, with a flood of light from the room

in front, he found his bride had thrown herself down on the Persian rug

before the sofa in the wildest anguish and despair and in a paroxysm of

passionate sobs and tears.

What a sight to meet a newly-made, adoring husband's eyes on his

marriage evening and on the eve of the day of his highest triumph, in

love as in ambition!

For one petrified moment he gazed on her, too much amazed to utter a

word.

Then suddenly he stooped, raised her as lightly as if she had been a

baby, and laid her on the sofa.

"Cora--love--wife! Oh! what is this?" he cried, bending over her.

She did not answer; she could not, for choking sobs and drowning tears.

He knelt beside her, and took her hand, and bent his face to hers, and

murmured:

"Oh, my love! my wife! what troubles you?"

She wrenched her hand from his, turned her face from him, buried her

head in the cushions of the sofa, and gave way to a fresh storm of

anguish.

When she repulsed him in this spasmodic manner, he recoiled as a man

might do who had received a sudden blow; but he did not rise from his

position, but watched beside her sofa, in great distress of mind,

patiently waiting for her to speak and explain.

Gradually her tempest of emotion seemed to be raging itself into the

rest of exhaustion. Her sobs and tears grew fainter and fewer; and

presently after that she drew out her handkerchief, and raised herself

to a sitting position, and began to wipe her wet and tear-stained face

and eyes. Though her tears and sobs had ceased, still her bosom heaved

convulsively.

He arose and seated himself beside her, put his arm around her, and drew

her beautiful black, curled head upon his faithful breast, and bending

his face to hers, entreated her to tell him the cause of her grief.

"What is it, dear one? Have you had bad news? A telegram from Rockhold?

Either of the old people had a stroke? Tell me, dear?"

"Nothing--has--happened," she answered, giving each word with a gasp.

"Then what troubles you, dear? Tell me, wife! tell me! I am your

husband!" he whispered, smoothing her black hair, and gazing with

infinite tenderness on her troubled face.

"Oh, Rule! Rule! Rule!" she moaned, closing her eyes, that could not

bear his gaze.

"Tell me, dear," he murmured, gently, continuing to stroke her hair.

"I am--nervous--Rule," she breathed. "I shall get over it--presently.

Give me--a little time," she gasped.

"Nervous?" He gazed down on her woe-writhen face, with its closed eyes

that would not meet his own. Yes, doubtless she was nervous--very

nervous--but she was more than that. Mere nervousness never blanched a

woman's face, wrung her features or convulsed her form like this.

"Cora, look at me, dear. There is something I have to say to you."

She forced herself to lift her eyelids and meet the honest, truthful

eyes that looked down into hers.

"Cora," he said, with a certain grave yet sweet tone of authority,

"there is some great burden on your mind, dear--a burden too heavy for

you to bear alone."

"Oh, it is! it is! it is!" she wailed, as if the words had broken from

her without her knowledge.

"Then let me share it," he pleaded.

"Oh, Rule! Rule! Rule!" she wailed, dropping her head upon his breast.

"Is your trouble so bitter, dear? What is it, Cora? It can be nothing

that I may not share and relieve. Tell me, dear."

"Oh, Rule, bear with me! I did not wish to distress you with my folly,

my madness. Do not mind it, Rule. It will pass away. Indeed, it will. I

will do my duty by you. I will be a true wife to you, after all. Only do

not disturb your own righteous spirit about me, do not notice my moods;

and give me time. I shall come all right. I shall be to you--all that

you wish me to be. But, for the Lord's love, Rule, give me time!" she

pleaded, with voice and eyes so full of woe that the man's heart sank in

his bosom.

He grew pale and withdrew his arm from her neck. She lifted her head

from his breast then and leaned back in the corner of the sofa. She

trembled with fear now, lest she had betrayed her secret, which she had

resolved to keep for his own sake. She looked and waited for his words.

He was very still, pale and grave. Presently he spoke very gently to the

grieving woman.

"Dear, you have said too much and too little. Tell me all now, Cora. It

is best that you should, dear."

"Rule! oh, Rule! must I? must I?" she pleaded, wringing her hands.

"Yes, Cora; it is best, dear."

"Oh, I would have borne anything to have spared you this. But--I

betrayed myself. Oh, Rule, please try to forget what you have seen and

heard. Bear with me for a little while. Give me some little time to get

over this, and you shall see how truly I will do my duty--how earnestly

I will try to make you happy," she prayed.

"I know, dear--I know you will be a good, dear wife, and a dearly loved

and fondly cherished wife. But begin, dear, by giving me your

confidence. There can be no real union without confidence between

husband and wife, my Cora. Surely, you may trust me, dear," he said,

with serious tenderness.

"Yes; I can trust you. I will trust you with all, through all, Rule. You

are wise and good. You will forgive me and help me to do right." She

spoke so wildly and so excitedly that he laid his hand tenderly,

soothingly, on her head, and begged her to be calm and to confide in him

without hesitation.

Then she told him all.

What a story for a newly-married husband to hear from his wife on the

evening of their wedding day!

He listened in silence, and without moving a muscle of his face or form.

When he had heard all he arose from the sofa, stood up, then reeled to

an arm chair near at hand and dropped heavily into it, his huge,

stalwart frame as weak from sudden faintness as that of an infant.

"Oh, Rule! Rule! your anger is just! It is just!" cried Cora, wringing

her hands in despair.

He looked at her in great trouble, but his beautiful eyes expressed only

the most painful compassion. He could not answer her. He could not trust

himself to speak yet. His breast was heaving, working tumultuously. His

tawny-bearded chin was quivering. He shut his lips firmly together, and

tried to still the convulsion of his frame.

"Oh, Rule, be angry with me, blame me, reproach me, for I am to

blame--bitterly, bitterly to blame. But do not hate me, for I love you,

Rule, with a sister's love. And forgive me, Rule--not just now, for

that would be impossible, perhaps. But, oh! do forgive me after a while,

Rule, for I do repent--oh, I do repent that treason of the heart--that

treason against one so worthy of the truest love and honor which woman

gives to man. You will forgive me--after a while--after a--probation?"

She paused and looked wistfully at his grave, pained, patient face.

He could not yet answer her.

"Oh, if you will give me time, Rule, I will--I will banish every

thought, every memory of my--my--my season in London, and will devote

myself to you with all my heart and soul. No man ever had, or ever could

have, a more devoted wife than I will be to you, if you will only trust

me and be happy, Rule. Oh!" she suddenly burst forth, seeing that he did

not reply to her, "you are bitterly angry with me. You hate me. You

cannot forgive me. You blame me without mercy. And you are right. You

are right."

Now he forced himself to speak, though in a low and broken voice.

"Angry? With you, Cora? No, dear, no."

"You blame me, though. You must blame me," she sobbed.

"Blame you? No, dear. You have not been to blame," he faltered, faintly,

for he was an almost mortally wounded man.

"Ah! what do you mean? Why do you speak to me so kindly, so gently? I

could bear your anger, your reproaches, Rule, better than this

tenderness, that breaks my heart with shame and remorse!" cried Cora,

bursting into a passion of sobs and tears.

He did not come near her to take her in his arms and comfort her as

before. A gulf had opened between them which he felt that he could not

pass, but he spoke to her very gently and compassionately.

"Do not grieve so bitterly, dear," he said. "Do not accuse yourself so

unjustly. You have done no wrong to me, or to any human being. You have

done nothing but good to me, and to every human being in your reach. To

me you have been more than tongue can tell--my first friend, my muse, my

angel, my inspiration to all that is best, greatest, highest in human

life--the goal of all my earthly, all my heavenly aspirations. That I

should love you with a pure, single, ardent passion of enthusiasm was

natural, was inevitable. But that you, dear, should mistake your

feelings toward me, mistake sisterly affection, womanly sympathy,

intellectual appreciation, for that living fire of eternal love which

only should unite man and woman, was natural, too, though most

unfortunate. I am not fair to look upon, Cora. I have no form, no

comeliness, that any one should--"

He was suddenly interrupted by the girl, who sprang from her seat and

sank at his feet, clasped his knees, and dropped her head upon his hands

in a tempest of sobs and tears, crying:

"Oh, Rule! I never did deserve your love! I never was worthy of you! And

I long have known it. But I do love you! I do love you! Oh, give me time

and opportunity to prove it!" she pleaded, with many tears, saying the

same words over and over again, or words with the same meaning.

He laid both his large hands softly on her bowed head and held them

there with a soothing, quieting, mesmeric touch, until she had sobbed,

and cried, and talked herself into silence, and then he said:

"No, Cora! No, dear! You are good and true to the depths of your soul;

but you deceive yourself. You do not love me. It is not your fault. You

cannot do so! You pity, you esteem, you appreciate; and you mistake

these sentiments as you mistook sisterly affection for such love as only

should sanctify the union of man and woman."

"But I will, Rule. I will love you even so! Give me time! A little time!

I am your own," she pleaded.

"No, dear, no. I am sure that you would do your best, at any cost to

yourself. You would consecrate your life to one whom yet you do not

love, because you cannot love. But the sacrifice is too great, dear--a

sacrifice which no woman should ever make for any cause, which no man

should ever accept under any circumstances. You must not immolate

yourself on my unworthy shrine, Cora."

"Oh, Rule! What do you mean? You frighten me! What do you intend to do?"

exclaimed Cora, with a new fear in her heart.

"I will tell you later, dear, when we are both quieter. And, Cora,

promise me one thing--for your own sake, dear."

"I will promise you anything you wish, Rule. And be glad to do so. Glad

to do anything that will please you," she earnestly assured him.

"Then promise that whatever may happen, you will never tell any human

being what you have told me to-night."

"I promise this on my honor, Rule."

"Promise that you will never repeat one word of this interview between

us to any living being."

"I promise this, also, on my honor, Rule."

"That is all I ask, and it is exacted for your own sake, dear. The fair

name of a woman is so white and pure that the smallest speck can be seen

upon it. And now, dear, it is nearly eleven o'clock. Will you ring for

your maid and go to your room? I have letters to write--in the

library--which, I think, will occupy me the whole night," he said, as he

took her hand and gently raised her to her feet.

At that moment a servant entered, bringing a card.

Mr. Rothsay took it toward the portiere and read it by the light of the

chandelier in the front room.

"Show the gentleman to the library, and say that I will be with him in a

few minutes," said Rothsay.

"If you please, sir, the lights are out and the library locked. I did

not know that it would be wanted again to-night. But I will light up,

sir."

"Wax candles? It would take too long. Show the gentleman into this front

room," said the governor-elect.

The servant went to do his bidding.

Then Rothsay turned to Cora, saying:

"I must see this man, dear, late as it is! I will bid you good night

now. God bless you, dear."

And without even a farewell kiss, Rothsay passed out.

And Cora did not know that he had gone for good.

She rang for her maid and retired to her room, there to pass a

sleepless, anxious, remorseful night.

What would be the result of her confession to her husband? She dared not

to conjecture.

He had been gentle, tender, most considerate, and most charitable to her

weakness, never speaking of his own wrongs, never reproaching her for

inconstancy.

He had said, in effect, that he would come to an understanding with her

later, when they both should be stronger.

When would that be? To-morrow?

Scarcely, for the ceremonies of the coming day must occupy every moment

of his time.

And what, eventually, would he do?

His words, divinely compassionate as they had been, had shadowed forth a

separation between them. Had he not told her that to be the wife of a

husband she could not love would be a sacrifice that no woman should

ever make and no man should ever accept? That she should not so offer up

her life for him?

What could this mean but a contemplated separation?

So Cora lay sleepless and tortured by these harrassing questions.

When Rule Rothsay entered the front drawing room he found there a young

merchant marine captain whom he had known for many years, though not

intimately.

"Ah, how do you do, Ross?" he said.

"How do you do, Governor? I must ask pardon for calling so late, but--"

"Not at all. How can I be of use to you?"

"Why, in no way whatever. Don't suppose that every one who calls to see

you has an office to seek or an ax to grind. Though, I suppose, most of

them have," said the visitor, as he seated himself.

Rothsay dropped into a chair, and forced himself to talk to the young

sailor.

"Just in from a voyage, Ross?"

"No; just going out, Governor."

Rothsay smiled at this premature bestowal of the high official title,

but did not set the matter right. It was of too little importance.

"I was going to explain, Governor, that I was just passing through the

city on my way to Norfolk, from which my ship is to sail to-morrow. So I

had to take the midnight train. But I could not go without trying for a

chance to see and shake hands with you and congratulate you."

"You are very kind, Ross. I thank you," said Rothsay, somewhat wearily.

"You're not looking well, Governor. I suppose all this 'fuss and

feathers' is about as harassing as a stormy sea voyage. Well, I will not

keep you up long. I should have been here earlier, only I went first to

the hotel to inquire for you, and there I learned that you were here in

old Rockharrt's house, and had married his granddaughter. Congratulate

you again, Governor. Not many men have had such a double triumph as you.

She is a splendidly beautiful woman. I saw her once in Washington City,

at the President's reception. She was the greatest belle in the place.

That reminds me that I must not keep you away from her ladyship. This is

only hail and farewell. Good night. I declare, Rothsay, you look quite

worn out. Don't see any other visitor to-night, in case there should be

another fool besides myself come to worry you at this hour. Now

good-by," said the visitor, rising and offering his hand.

"Good-by, Ross. I wish you a pleasant and prosperous voyage," said

Rothsay, rising to shake hands with his visitor.

He followed the young sailor to the hall, and seeing nothing of the

porter, he let the visitor out and locked the door after him.

Then he returned to the drawing room. Holding his head between his hands

he walked slowly up and down the floor--up and down the floor--up and

down--many times.

"This is weakness," he muttered, "to be thinking of myself when I should

think only of her and the long life before her, which might be so joyous

but for me--but for me! Dear one who, in her tender childhood, pitied

the orphan boy, and with patient, painstaking earnestness taught him to

read and write, and gave him the first impulse and inspiration to a

higher life. And now she would give her life to me. And for all the good

she has done me all her days, for all the blessings she has brought me,

shall I blight her happiness? Shall I make her this black return? No,

no. Better that I should pass forever out of her life--pass forever out

of sight--forever out of this world--than live to make her suffer. Make

her suffer? I? Oh, no! Let fame, life, honors, all go down, so that she

is saved--so that she is made happy."

He paused in his walk and listened. All the house was profoundly

still--all the household evidently asleep--except her! He felt sure that

she was sleepless. Oh, that he could go and comfort her! even as a

mother comforts her child; but he could not.

"I suppose many would say," he murmured to himself, "that I owe my first

earthly duty to the people who have called me to this high office; that

private sorrows and private conscience should yield to the public, and

they would be right. Yet with me it is as if death had stepped in and

relieved me of official duty to be taken up by my successor just the

same--"

He stopped and put his hand to his head, murmuring:

"Is this special pleading? I wonder if I am quite sane?"

Then dropping into a chair he covered his face with his hands and wept

aloud.

Does any one charge him with weakness? Think of the tragedy of a whole

life compressed in that one crucial hour!

After a little while he grew more composed. The tears had relieved the

overladen heart. He arose and recommenced his walk, reflecting with more

calmness on the cruel situation.

"I shall right her wrongs in the only possible way in which it can be

done, and I shall do no harm to the State. Kennedy will be a better

governor than I could have been. He is an older, wiser, more experienced

statesman. I am conscious that I have been over-rated by the people who

love me. I was elected for my popularity, not for my merit. And now--I

am not even the man that I was--my life seems torn out of my bosom. Oh,

Cora, Cora! life of my life! But you shall be happy, dear one! free and

happy after a little while. Ah! I know your gentle heart. You will weep

for the fate of him whom you loved--as a brother. Oh! Heaven! but your

tears will come from a passing cloud that will leave your future life

all clear and bright--not darkened forever by the slavery of a union

with one whom you do not--only because you cannot--love."

He walked slowly up and down the floor a few more turns, then glanced at

the clock on the mantel piece, and said:

"Time passes. I must write my letters."

There was an elegant little writing desk standing in the corner of the

room and filled with stationery, mostly for the convenience of the

ladies of the family when the Rockharrts occupied their town house.

He went to this, sat down and opened it, laid paper out, and then with

his elbow on the desk and his head leaning on the palm of his hand, he

fell into deep thought.

At length he began to write rapidly. He soon finished and sealed this

letter. Then he wrote a second and a longer one, sealed that also.

One--the first written--he put in the secret drawer of the desk; the

other he dropped into his pocket.

Then he took "a long, last, lingering look" around the room. This was

the room in which he had first met Cora after long years of separation;

where he had passed so many happy evenings with her, when his official

duties as an assemblyman permitted him to do so; this was the room in

which they had plighted their troth to each other, and to which, only

six hours before, they had returned--to all appearance--a most happy

bride and groom. Ah, Heaven!

His wandering gaze fell on the open writing desk, which in his misery he

had forgotten to close. He went to it and shut down the lid.

Then he passed out of the room, took his hat from the rack in the hall,

opened the front door, passed out, closed it behind him, and left the

house forever.

Outside was pandemonium. The illuminations in the windows had died down,

but the streets were full of revelers, too much exhilarated as yet to

retire, even if they had any place to retire to; for on that summer

night many visitors to the inauguration chose to stay out in the open

air until morning rather than to leave the city and lose the show.

Once again the hum and buzz of many voices was broken by a shrill cry

of:

"Hooray for Rothsay!" which was taken up by the chorus and echoed and

re-echoed from one end to the other of the city, and from earth to sky.

Poor Rothsay himself passed out upon the sidewalk, unrecognized in the

obscurity.

An empty hack was standing at the corner of the square, a few hundred

feet from the house.

To this he went, and spoke to the man on the box:

"Is this hack engaged?"

"Yes, sah, it is--took by four gents as can't get no lodgings at none of

the hotels, nor yet boarding houses--no, sah. Dere dey is ober yonder in

dat dere s'loon cross de street--yes, sah. But it don't keep open, dat

s'loon don't, longer'n twelve o'clock--no, sah. It's mos' dat now, so

dey'll soon call for dis hack--yes, sah!"

Rothsay left the talkative hackman and passed on.

A hand touched him on the arm.

He turned and saw old Scythia, clothed in a long, black cloak of some

thin stuff, with its hood drawn over her head.

Rothsay stared.

"Come, Rule! You have tested woman's love to-day, and found it fail you;

even as I tested man's faith in the long ago, and found it wrong me!

Come, Rule! You and I have had enough of falsehood and treachery! Let us

shake the dust of civilization off our shoes! Come, Rule!"

CHAPTER VI.

THE WIDOWED BRIDE.

The amazement and confusion that followed the discovery of the

mysterious disappearance of Governor-elect Regulas Rothsay, on the

morning of the day of his intended inauguration, has been already

described in an earlier chapter of this story.

The most searching inquiries were made in all directions without any

satisfactory result.

Then advertisements were put in all the principal newspapers in all the

chief towns and cities throughout the country, offering large rewards

for any information that should lead to the discovery of the missing man

or of his fate.

These in time drew forth letters from all points of the compass from

people anxious to take a chance in this lottery of a reward, and who

fabricated reports of the lost governor having been seen in this, that,

or the other place, or of his body having been found here, there or

elsewhere.

Prompt investigation proved the falsehood of these fraudulent letters in

every instance.

No one really knew the fate of the missing man. No one but Cora Rothsay

had even the clew to the cause of his disappearance; and she--from her

sensitive pride, no less than from her sacred promise not to reveal the

subject of her communicaton to her husband on that fatal evening of his

flight or of his death--kept her lips sealed on that subject.

Days, weeks and months passed away without bringing any authentic news

of the lost ruler.

At length hope was given up. The advertisements were withdrawn from the

papers.

Still occasionally, at long intervals of time, vague rumors reached his

friends--a sailor had seen him in the streets of Rio de Janeiro; a fur

trader had found him in Washington Territory; a miner had met him in

California--but nothing came of all these reports.

One morning, late in December, there came some news, not of the actual

fate of the governor, but of the long-lost man who had seen the last of

him alive.

Despite the bitter pleading of the poor, bereaved bride, who dreaded the

crowded city and desired to remain in seclusion in the country, old

Aaron had removed his whole family to their town house for the winter.

They had been settled there only a few days, and were gathered around

the breakfast table, when a card was brought in to Mr. Rockharrt.

"'Captain Ross!' Who, in the fiend's name, is Captain Ross? And what

does he want at this early hour of the morning?" demanded the Iron King,

after he had read the name on the card. Then, as he scrutinized it, he

saw faintly penciled lines below the name and read:

"The late visitor who called on Governor-elect Rothsay on the evening of

his disappearance."

"Show the man in the library, Jason," exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt,

rising, leaving his untasted breakfast, and striding out of the room.

In the library he found a young skipper, tall, robust, black bearded and

sun burned.

"Captain Ross?" said the old man, interrogatively.

"The same, at your service, sir--Mr. Rockharrt, I presume?" said the

visitor with a bow.

"That's my name. Sit down," said the Iron King, pointing to one chair

for his visitor and taking another for himself.

"So you were the last visitor to Mr. Rothsay, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, can you give any information regarding the disappearance of my

grandson-in-law?"

"No, sir; but learning that I had been advertised for, I have come

forward."

"At rather a late date, upon my soul and honor! Where have you been all

this time?"

"At sea. When I called upon Mr. Rothsay, it was to congratulate him on

his position and to bid him good-by. I was on the eve of sailing for

India, and, in fact, left the city by the night's express and sailed the

next morning. I think we must have been out of sight of land before the

news of the governor's disappearance was spread abroad."

"What explanation can you give of his sudden disappearance?"

"None whatever, sir."

"Then, in the demon's name, why have you come forward at all at this

time?"

"Because I was advertised for."

"That was months ago."

"But months ago I was at sea and knew nothing of the matter. I have but

just returned from a long voyage, and hearing among other matters that

Governor Rothsay had been missing since the day of his inauguration,

that Governor Kennedy reigned in his stead, and that the latest visitor

of the missing man had long been wanting, I have come."

"Do you appreciate the gravity of your own position, sir, under the

circumstances?" sternly demanded the Iron King.

"I--don't--understand you," said the skipper, in evident perplexity.

"You don't? That is strange. You are the last man--the last person--who

saw Governor-elect Rothsay alive, at eleven o'clock on the night of his

disappearance. After that hour he was missing, and you had run away."

The young sailor smiled.

"Steamed away, and sailed away, you should say, sir. I see the suspicion

to which your words point, and will answer them at once: On that night

in question I was a guest of the Crockett House. I was absent from that

house only half an hour--from a quarter to eleven to a quarter after

eleven--during which time I walked to this house, saw the

governor-elect, and walked back to the hotel, only to pay my bill, take

a hack and drive to the railway station. Do you think that in half an

hour I could have done all that and murdered the governor, and made away

with his body besides, Mr. Rockharrt?"

"You would have to prove the truth of your words, sir," replied the Iron

King.

"That is easily done by the people at the hotel. I did not tell them

where I was going. I never even thought of telling them. But they know

I was only gone half an hour; for before going out, or just as I was

going out, I ordered the carriage to be ready to take me to the depot at

a quarter past eleven."

"They may have forgotten all about you."

"Not at all. I am an old customer, though a young man. They know me very

well."

"Then it is very strange that when every anxious inquiry was made for

this latest visitor of the governor-elect, these hotel people did not

come forward and name you."

"But I repeat, sir, that they did not know that I was that latest

visitor. I did not think of telling any one that I was going to see

Rothsay before I went, or of telling them that I had been to see him

after I went. They had no more reason to identify me with that late

caller than any other guest at the hotel, or, in fact, any other man in

the world. Come, Mr. Rockharrt, you have complimented me with one of the

blackest suspicions that could wrong an honest man, but I will not

quarrel with you. I know very well that the last person seen with a

missing man is often suspected of his taking off. As for me, I invite

the most searching investigation."

"Why did you come here, after so long an interval?" demanded the Iron

King, in no way mollified by the moderation of his visitor.

"As I explained to you, I come now because I have just heard that I had

been advertised for; and after this long interval because I have been

for months at sea. I had, however, another motive for coming--to tell

you of the strange manner of Regulas Rothsay during my interview with

him--a manner that does not seem to have been observed by any one else,

for all speak and write of his health and extraordinarily good spirits

on the evening of his arrival in the city only a few hours before I saw

him, when he seemed very far from being in good health or good spirits.

In fact, a more utterly broken man I never saw in my life."

"Ah! ah! What is this you tell me? Give me particulars! Give me

particulars!" said the Iron King, rising and standing over his visitor.

"Indeed, I do not think I can give you particulars. The effect he seemed

to produce was that of a general prostration of body and mind. On coming

into the room where I waited for him, he looked pale and haggard; he

tottered rather than walked; he dropped into his chair rather than sat

down in it; his hands fell upon the arms rather than grasped them; he

was gloomy, absent-minded, and when he spoke at all, seemed to speak

with great effort."

"Ah! ah! ah!" exclaimed the Iron King.

"I thought the fatigue and excitement of the day had been too much for

him. I made my visit very short, and soon bade him good-night. He wished

me a prosperous voyage, but did not invite me to visit him on my

return--a kindness that he had never before omitted."

"Ah, ah ah!" again exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt.

"Then I thought his manner and appearance only the effect of excessive

fatigue and excitement. Now, seen in the light of future events, I

attach a more serious meaning to them."

"What! what! what!" demanded the Iron King.

"I think that some fatal news, from some quarter or other, had reached

him; or that some heavy sorrow had fallen upon him; or, worse than all,

sudden insanity had overtaken him! That, under the lash of one or

another, or all of these, he fled the house and the city, and--made away

with himself."

"Now, Heaven forbid!" exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, dropping into his

chair.

"One favor I have to ask you, Mr. Rockharrt, and that is, that the most

searching investigation be made of my movements on that fatal evening of

the governor's disappearance."

"It shall be done," said the Iron King.

"I shall remain at the David Crockett until all the friends of the late

governor are satisfied so far as I am concerned. And now, having said

all I have to say, I will bid you good morning," concluded the visitor

as he arose, took up his hat, bowed, and left the room.

Old Aaron Rockharrt returned to the breakfast table, where his

subservient family waited.

The coffee, that had been sent to the kitchen to be kept hot, was

brought up again, with hot rolls and hot broiled partridges.

The old man resumed his breakfast in silence. He did not think proper to

speak of his visitor, nor did any member of the family party venture to

question him.

And this was well, so far as Cora was concerned.

Any allusion to the agonizing subject of her husband's mysterious

disappearance was more than she could well bear; and to have hinted in

her presence that some hidden sorrow had driven him to self-destruction

might almost have wrecked her reason.

Cora now never mentioned his name; yet, as after events proved, he was

never for a moment absent from her mind.

The old grandmother, who could not speak to Cora on the subject, and who

dared not speak to her lord and master on any subject that he did not

first broach, and yet who felt that she must talk to some one of that

which oppressed her bosom so heavily, at length confided to her youngest

son.

"I do think Cora's heart is breaking in this suspense, Clarence! If Rule

had died there would have been an end of it, and she would have known

the worst and submitted to the inevitable! But this awful suspense,

anxiety, uncertainty as to his fate, is just killing her! I wish we

could do something to save her, Clarence!"

"I wish so, too, mother! I see how she is failing and sinking, and I own

that this surprises me! I really thought that Cora was fascinated by

that fellow in London." (This was the irreverent manner in which Mr.

Clarence spoke of his grace the Duke of Cumbervale.) "And I thought that

she only married Rothsay from a sense of duty, keeping her word, and all

that sort of thing! I can't understand her grieving herself to death for

him now!"

"Oh, Clarence! she was fascinated by the rank and splendor and personal

attractions of the young duke! Her fancy, vanity, ambition and

imagination were fired; but her heart was never touched! She had not

seen Rothsay for so long a time that his image had somewhat faded in her

memory when this splendid young fellow crossed her path and dazzled her

for a time! It was a brief madness--nothing more! But you can see for

yourself how really she loved Rothsay when you see that anxiety for his

fate is breaking her heart."

"I see, mother dear; but I don't understand! And I don't know what on

earth we can do for her! If my father does not think proper to suggest

something, we must not, for if we should do so it would make matters

much worse."

"Yes," sighed the old lady; and the subject was dropped.

Clarence had said that he did not understand Cora's state of mind. No;

nor did old Mrs. Rockharrt. How could they, when Cora had not understood

herself, until suffering brought self-knowledge?

From her childhood up she had loved Rule Rothsay as a sister loves a

favorite brother. In her girlhood, knowing no stronger love, on the

strength of this she accepted the offered hand of Rothsay, and was

engaged to be married to him. She meant to have been faithful to him;

but it was a long engagement, during which she traveled with her

grandparents for three years, while the memory of her calmly loved

betrothed husband grew rather dim. Then came her meeting with the

handsome and accomplished young Duke of Cumbervale, and the infatuation,

the hallucination that enslaved her imagination for a period. Then began

the mental conflict between inclination and duty, ending in her

resolution to forget her English lover and to be true to Rule.

Up to the very wedding day she had suppressed and controlled her

feelings with heroic firmness, but on the evening of that day, while

waiting for her husband, the long, severe tension of her nerves utterly

gave way, and when found in a paroxysm of tears and questioned by him,

in her wretchedness and misery she had confessed the infidelity of her

heart and pleaded for time to conquer it.

She had expected bitter reproaches, but there were none. She had dreaded

fierce anger, but there was none. She had anticipated obduracy, but

there was none. There was nothing but intense suffering, divine

compassion, and infinite renunciation. He pitied her. He soothed her. He

defended her from the reproaches of her own conscience. He protected her

by an imposed provision that for her own sake she should not tell others

what she had told him. And then--

He laid down all the honors that his life-long toil and self-denial had

won for her sake, and he went out from his triumphs, went out from her

life--out, out into the outer darkness of oblivion, to be seen no more

of men, to be heard of no more by men. All for her sake. And before the

majesty of such infinite love, such infinite renunciation, her whole

soul bowed down in adoration. Yes, at last, in the hour of losing him

she loved him as he longed to be loved by her. She had but one desire on

earth--to be at his side. But one prayer, and that was her "vital

breath"--for his return.

She felt herself to be unworthy of the measureless love that he had

given her--that he still gave her, if he still lived, for his love had

known no shadow of turning, nor ever would suffer change.

But, oh! where in space was he? How could she reach him? How could she

make him hear the cry of her heart?

One message, like a voice from the grave, had, indeed, come to her from

him since his disappearance, but it had been sent before he left the

house; it was in the letter he had written and placed in the secret

drawer of her writing desk before he went forth that fatal night, a

"wanderer through the world's wilderness."

She had found it on that day, about three weeks after his loss, when she

had come into the parlor for the first time since her illness, and when,

left alone for a few minutes by her grandmother, she had gone to her

writing desk, and in the idleness of misery had begun carelessly,

aimlessly, to turn over her papers. In the same mood she pressed the

spring of the secret drawer, and it sprang open and projected the letter

before her. She recognized his handwriting, seized the paper and opened

it. It contained only a few words of farewell, with a prayer for her

happiness and a parting blessing.

There was no allusion made to the cause of their separation. Probably

Rule had thought of the letter falling into other hands than hers; so he

had refrained from referring to her secret, lest she should suffer

reproach from her family.

Cora read this letter with deep emotion over and over again, until she

found herself staring at the lines without gathering their meaning, and

then she felt herself growing giddy and faint, for she was still very

weak from recent illness, and she hastily dropped the letter into the

desk and shut down the lid, only just before a film came over her eyes,

a muffled sound in her ears, and oblivion over her senses. This is the

swoon in which she was found by Mrs. Rockharrt, and for which she could

give no satisfactory reason.

When Cora recovered from that swoon her first care, on the first

opportunity, was to go to her writing desk to look for her precious

letter--Rothsay's last letter to her. No one had opened her desk or

disturbed its contents.

She found her letter; pressed it to her heart and lips many times; then

made a little silken bag, into which she put it; then tied it around her

neck with a narrow ribbon.

And from that day it rested on her heart. It was her priceless treasure

to be cherished above all others, "the first to be saved in fire or

flood." It was the only relic of her lost love with his last good-by,

and prayers and blessings. It was her magic talisman, still connecting

her in some occult way with the vanished one. It was her anchor of hope,

still promising in some mysterious manner the final return of her lost

husband.

While Cora mourned and dreamed away these first days of the family's

return to their town house, old Aaron Rockharrt was sifting the evidence

of the story told by Captain Ross; he proved the truth of the skipper's

account; and he failed to connect the young man's late visit on that

fatal night with the almost simultaneous disappearance of Rothsay.

The season passed on. Mr. and Mrs. Rockharrt gave dinner parties and

supper parties; and received and accepted invitations to similar

entertainments in return; but no persuasions nor arguments could prevail

on Cora to go into any society. Not even the iron will of the Iron King

could conquer in this matter. His granddaughter was his own personal

property, and one of the attractions of his house; it was in her place

to wear her best clothes and costliest jewels, and to show herself to

his guests; and her persistent refusal to do this put him in a gloomy,

teeth-grinding, impotent rage.

"Cora is of age! She has a very sufficient provision. And now if she

does not return to her duty and render herself amenable to my authority

and obedient to my commands, I shall order her to find another home; for

I mean to be master of my own house and of everybody in it!" he said,

savagely, to his timid wife, one evening when she was doing valet's duty

by dressing his hair for a dinner party.

"Oh, Aaron! Aaron! have pity on the poor, heartbroken girl!" pleaded the

old lady, falling into a fit of trembling that interfered with her task.

"Hold your tongue and heed my words, for I shall do as I say. And mind

what you are about now! You have scratched my ear with the bristles of

the brush."

"I beg your pardon, Aaron, but my hand shakes so."

"If that young woman don't submit herself to my will, and obey my

orders, I will pack her out of this house. And then, perhaps, your

nerves will be quieter! I'll do it, for I am not particularly fond of

having grass widows about me," he growled.

She made no reply. She could not trust herself to speak. It required all

her self-control to steady her hands so as to complete her master's

toilet.

Then she had to dress herself in haste and agitation to be ready in

time to accompany her husband to the dinner party at the executive

mansion, which was now occupied by Lieutenant-Governor Kenelm

Kennedy--and from which the Iron King would not allow his wife to absent

herself.

Old Aaron Rockharrt was the lion of the evening, as he was the lion of

every party in the State capital, probably because he owned the lion's

share of the State's wealth, and had more money, perhaps, than the

State's treasury. He enjoyed this beast worship, and came to his town

house every season and went into general society to receive it.

Mrs. Rockharrt was very anxious to have a talk with her granddaughter,

to warn her of impending danger and to implore her to obey the wishes of

her grandfather, but the poor old lady had no opportunity.

Cora sat up for her grandparents, in case they should need any of her

services on their return.

They came in very late, and then the exactions of the domestic tyrant

kept his wife in attendance on him until they were all in bed.

CHAPTER VII.

NEWS OF THE MISSING MAN.

The next morning, while Aaron Rockharrt slept the sleep of the

dead-in-selfishness, his wife arose and crept into the bedroom of her

granddaughter.

Cora was awake, but not yet up.

"Oh, grandma, you will get your death of cold! walking about the house

in your night gown. What is it? What do you want? Can I do anything for

you?" cried the girl, springing out of bed to turn on the heat of the

register, and then wrapping a large shawl around the old lady, and

putting her into the cushioned easy chair.

"Now what is it, dear grandma? What can I do for you?" she inquired, as

she drew on her own wadded dressing gown and sat on the side of the bed

near the old lady.

"You can do something to set my mind at ease, my dear; but it will be

painful for you, and I do not know whether you will do it," said the old

lady with timid hesitation.

"I can do this, dear? Then, of course, I will do it," replied the girl.

"It is almost too much to ask of you, my child."

"There is nothing, nothing that I would not do to give you peace--you,

poor dear, who have so little peace," said Cora, tenderly, smoothing the

silver hair away from the wrinkled brow of the old lady, who began to

drop a few weak tears of self-pity, excited by Cora's sympathy.

"Well, my child," she said, "your grandfather is going to have a little

talk with you soon--on the subject of your self-seclusion. Oh! my poor

child, do not resist him, do not provoke, do not disobey him. Oh! for my

sake, Cora, for my sake, do not!"

"Dearest dear, I will leave undone anything in the world you wish me not

to do. I will no longer rebel against my grandfather's authority, even

when he exercises it in such a despotic manner," said Cora, raising the

clasped hands of the old lady and pressing them to her lips.

Mrs. Rockharrt gathered the girl in her arms and kissed her, with a few

more weak tears, but with no more words.

She did not tell Cora of the cruel threat made by the tyrant to turn

her out of doors if she failed to obey him, and she hoped that the girl

might never hear of it, lest in her wounded pride she might forestall

the threat and leave the house of her own accord.

"Now be at ease, dear," said Cora, soothingly. "No more trouble--"

A bell rang sharply and cut off the girl's speech.

"Oh, there he is awake! I must go to him," exclaimed the timid old

creature.

Cora made her toilet, and then went down to the breakfast parlor, where

she found the two old people about to sit down to the table. She bade

her grandfather good morning and then took her place.

During breakfast Aaron Rockharrt said:

"Mrs. Rothsay, you will come to me in the library as soon as we leave

the table. I have something to say to you that must be said at once and

for the last time."

"Very well, sir," replied the girl.

Half an hour later she was closeted with her grandfather.

"Madam, I do not intend to waste much time over you this morning. I

merely mean to put a test question, whose answer shall decide my future

course in regard to you."

"Very well."

"I must preface my question by reminding you that you have constantly

disregarded my wishes and disobeyed my orders by refusing to see my

guests or to go out in company with me."

"Yes."

"When honored with an invitation to the state dinner at the executive

mansion you declined to go, even though I expressed my will that you

should accompany me."

"Yes."

"But for the future I intend to be master of my own house and of every

living soul within it. Now, then, for my test question. You have

received cards to the ball to be given at the house of the chief justice

to-morrow evening. I wish you to attend it, and my wish should be a

command."

"Of course."

"What is your answer? Think before you speak, for on your answer must

depend your future position in my house."

Cora was silent for a few moments.

"Sir," she began at length, "you are a just man, at least, and you will

not refuse to hear and consider my reasons for seclusion."

"I will consider nothing! I know them as well as you do. Morbid

sensitiveness about your peculiar position; morbid dread of facing the

world; morbid love of indulging in melancholy. And I will have none of

it! None of it! I will be obeyed, and you shall go out into society, or

else--"

"'Or else' what will be the alternative, sir?"

"You leave my house! I will have no rebel in my family!"

Had Cora followed the impulse of her proud and outraged spirit, she

would have walked out of the library, gone to her room, put on her

bonnet and cloak, and left the house, leaving all her goods to be sent

after her; but the girl thought of her poor, gentle, suffering

grandmother, and bore the insult.

"Sir," she said, with patient dignity, "do you think that it would have

been decorous, under the peculiar circumstances, for me to appear in

public, and especially at a state dinner at the executive mansion?"

"Madam, I instructed you to accept that invitation and to attend that

dinner! Do you dare to hint that I would counsel you to any indecorous

act?"

"No, sir; certainly not, if you had stopped to think of it; but

weightier matters occupied your mind, no doubt."

"Let that go. But in the question of this ball? Do you mean to obey me?"

"Grandfather, please consider! How can I mix with gay scenes while the

fate of my husband is still an awful mystery?"

"You must conquer your feelings, and go, or--take the consequences!"

"Even if I could forget the tragedy of my wedding day, and mix with the

gay world again, what would people say?"

"What would people say, indeed? What would they dare to say of my

granddaughter?"

"But, sir, it would be contrary to all the laws of etiquette and

conventionality."

"My granddaughter, madam, should give the law to fashion and society,

not receive it from them!" said the Iron King, throwing himself back in

his arm chair as if it had been his throne.

Cora smiled faintly at this egotism, but made no reply in words.

"To come to the point!" he suddenly exclaimed--"Will you obey me and

attend this ball, or will you take the other alternative?"

Cora's heart swelled; her eyes flashed; she longed to defy the despot,

but she thought of her meek, patient, long-suffering grandmother, and

answered coldly:

"I will go to the ball, sir, since you wish it."

"Very well. That will do. Now leave the room. I wish to read the morning

papers."

Cora went out to find her grandmother and to relieve the lady's

anxiety; old Aaron Rockharrt threw himself back in his arm chair with

grim satisfaction at having conquered Cora and set his iron heel upon

her neck. Yes; he had conquered Cora through her love for her poor,

timid, abused grandmother. But now Fate was to conquer him.

But Fate had decided that Cora should not attend that ball, or any other

place of amusement, for a long time. And he was just on the brink of

discovering the impertinent interference of Fate in human affairs, and

especially those of the Iron King.

He took up a Washington paper--a government organ--and read, opening his

eyes to their widest extent as he read the following head-lines:

A MYSTERY CLEARED UP.

_THE FATE OF GOVERNOR REGULAS ROTHSAY_.

Killed by the Comanches on November 1st.

A dispatch from Fort Security to the Indian Bureau, received this

morning, announces another inroad of the Comanches upon the new

settlement of Terrepeur, in which the inhabitants were massacred

and their dwellings burned. Among the victims who perished in the

flames in their own huts was Regulas Rothsay, late Governor-elect

of ----, and at the time of his death a volunteer missionary to

this treacherous and bloodthirsty tribe.

Another man, under the circumstances, might have been unnerved by such

sudden and awful news, and let fall the paper, but not the Iron King.

He grasped it only with a firmer hand, and read it again with keener

eyes.

"What under the heavens took that man out there? Had he gone suddenly

mad? That seems to be the only possible explanation of his conduct. To

abandon his bride on the day of his marriage--to abandon his high

official position as governor of this State on the day of his

inauguration, and without giving any living creature a hint of his

intention, to fly off at a tangent and go to the Indian country and

become a missionary to those red devils, and be massacred for his

pains--it was the work of a raving maniac. But what drove him mad?

Surely it was not his high elevation that turned his head, for if it had

been, his madness would never have taken this particular direction of

flying from his honors. No! it is as I have always suspected. He heard,

in some way, of the girl's English lover, and he, with his besotted

devotion to her, was just the man to be morbidly, madly jealous, and to

do some such idiotic thing as he has done, and get himself murdered and

burned to ashes for his pains! Yes; and it serves him right!--it serves

him--right!"

He sat glowering at the paragraph, and growling over his news for some

time longer, but at length he took it up and walked over to the back

parlor, where he felt sure he should find his two women.

Mrs. Rockharrt and Cora, who sat at a table before the gloomy coal fire,

and were engaged in some fancy needlework, looked up uneasily as he

entered; not that they expected bad news, but that they feared bad

temper.

"Cora," he began, "I shall not insist on your going to the ball

to-morrow."

She looked up in surprise, and a grateful exclamation was on her lips,

but he forestalled it by saying:

"I suppose the news is all over the city by this time. I am going out

to hear what the people are saying about it, and to see if the

government house and the public offices are to be hung in mourning.

There--there it is told in the first column of this paper."

And with cruel abruptness he laid the newspaper on the table between the

two women, and pointed out the fatal paragraph.

Then he stalked out of the room, and called his man-servant to help him

on with his heavy overcoat.

That house, on the previous night, had been one blaze of light in honor

of the State dinner. Now, as well as he could see dimly through the

falling snow, it was all closed up, and men on ladders were festooning

every row of windows with black goods.

"Yes, of course. It is as I expected. The news has gone all over the

town already," said old Aaron Rockharrt, as he strode through the

snowstorm to the business center of the city.

Every acquaintance whom he met stopped him with the same question in

slightly different words.

"Have you heard?" and so forth.

Every intimate friend he encountered asked:

"How does Mrs. Rothsay bear it?" or--

"What on earth ever took the governor out there?"

To all questions the Iron King gave curt answers that discouraged

discussion of the subject. He walked on, noticing that the stores and

offices of the city were being festooned with mourning, and that

notwithstanding the severity of the storm the street corners were

occupied by groups talking excitedly of the fatal news.

He went into the editorial rooms of all the city newspapers and wished

and attempted to dictate to the proprietors the manner in which they

should write of the tragic event which was then in the minds and on the

tongues of all persons.

As he spent an hour on the average at each office, it was late in the

winter afternoon when he got home. It was not yet dark, however, and he

was surprised to see a man servant engaged in closing the shutters.

He entered and demanded severely why the servant shut the windows before

night.

The old man looked nervous and distressed, and answered vaguely:

"It is the missus, sah."

The idea that his wife should take the liberty of ordering the house to

be closed for the night at this unusual hour of the afternoon, without

his authority, enraged him:

"Help me off with my ulster," he said.

When the servant had performed this office the master said:

"Serve dinner at once."

And then he strode into the back parlor, which was the usual sitting

room of his wife and granddaughter. The room was empty and darkened.

More than ever infuriated by fatigue, hunger, and the supposed disregard

of his authority, he came out and walked up stairs to look for his wife

in her own room. He pushed open the door and entered. That room was also

dark, only for the faint red light that came from the coal fire in the

grate. By this he dimly perceived a female form sitting near the bed,

and whom he supposed to be his wife.

"Why, in the fiend's name, is the whole house as dark as pitch?" he

roughly demanded, as he went to a front window and threw open the

shutters, letting in the white light of the snow storm.

"Grandfather!"

It was the voice of Cora that spoke, and there was a something in its

tone that struck and almost awed even the Iron King.

He turned abruptly.

Cora had risen from her chair and was now standing by the bed. But on

the bed lay a little, still, fair form, with hands folded over its

breast, with the eyes shut down forever, and all over the fair, wan,

placid face was "the peace of God which passeth all understanding."

"What is this?" demanded Old Aaron Rockharrt, as he came up to the bed.

"Look at her. She rests at last. I have been with her twenty years, and

this is the first time I have ever seen her rest in peace."

Old Aaron Rockharrt stood like a stone beside the bed, gazing down on

the dead.

"She is safe now, never more to be startled, or frightened, or tortured

by any one. 'Safe, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary

are at rest,'" continued Cora.

Still Old Aaron stood like a stone beside the bed and gazed down on the

dead.

Suddenly, without moving or withdrawing his gaze from where it rested,

he asked in a low, gruff tone:

"How did this happen?"

"She fainted in her chair, and died in that faint."

"When? where? from what?"

"Within an hour after you had left us together in the back parlor, with

the paper containing the news of my husband's death," answered Cora,

speaking in a tone of most unnatural calmness.

"Had that excitement anything to do with her swoon?"

"I do not know."

"Give me the particulars."

"We--or, rather, she--first took up the paper, and without knowing what

the news was that you told us to look at, gave it to me, and asked me to

read it. I, as soon as I saw what it was--I lost all control over

myself. I do not know how I behaved. But she took the paper, to see what

it was that had so disturbed me, and then, she, too, became very much

agitated; but she tried to console me, tried for a long while to comfort

me, standing over my chair, and caressing and talking. At last she left

me, and sat down and leaned back in her own chair. I was trying to be

quiet, and at last succeeded, and then I arose and went to her, meaning

to tell her that I would be calm and not distress her any more. When I

looked at her, I found that she had fainted. I rang and sent off for a

doctor instantly, and while waiting for him did all that was possible to

revive her, but without effect. When the doctor came and examined her

condition he pronounced her quite dead."

"This must have occurred four or five hours ago. Why was I not sent

for?"

"You were sent for immediately. Messengers were dispatched in every

direction. But you could nowhere be found. They did not, indeed, know

where to look for you."

"Now close the window again, and then go and leave me alone; and do not

let any one disturb me on any account," said the old man, who had not

once moved from the bedside, or even lifted his gaze from the face of

the dead.

"I have telegraphed to North End for Uncle Fabian and Clarence, also to

West Point for Sylvanus. Sylvan cannot reach here before to-morrow, but

my uncles will be here this evening. Shall I send you word when they

arrive?"

"No. Let no one come to me to-night."

"Shall I send you up anything, grandfather?"

"No, no. If I require anything I will ring for it. Go now, Cora, and

leave me to myself."

The girl went away, closing the door behind her. As she descended the

stairs she heard the key turned, and knew that her grandfather had so

shut out all intruders.

He who had come home hungry and furious as a famished wolf never

appeared at the dinner that he had so peremptorily ordered to be served

at once, but shut himself up fasting with his dead. If his eyes were now

opened to see how much he had made her suffer through his selfishness,

cruelty, and despotism all her married life--if his late remorse

awoke--if he grieved for her--no one ever knew it. He never gave

expression to it.

CHAPTER VIII.

"THE PEACE OF GOD WHICH PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING."

In the late dawn of that dark winter day Mr. Clarence came down into the

parlor, and found Cora still there, with one gas jet burning low.

"Up so early, my dear child?" he said, as he took her hand and gave her

the good morning kiss.

"I have not been in bed," she replied.

"Not in bed all night! That was wrong. How cold your hands are? Go to

bed now, dear."

"I cannot. I do not wish to."

"My poor, doubly bereaved child, how much I feel for you!" he said, in a

tender tone, and still holding her hand.

"Do not mind me, Uncle Clarence. I do not feel for myself. I am numb. I

feel nothing--nothing," she replied.

Mr. Clarence, still holding her hand, led her to a large easy chair, and

put her in it.

Then he went and rang the bell.

"Tell the cook to make a strong cup of coffee as quickly as she can, and

bring it up here to Mrs. Rothsay," he said to the man who answered the

call.

The latter touched his forehead and left the room.

Mr. Clarence had tact enough not to worry his niece with any more words.

He went and opened one of the front windows to look out upon the wintry

morning. The ground was covered very deeply with the snow, which was now

falling so thickly as to obscure every object.

When the servant entered with the coffee, Mr. Clarence himself took it

from the man's hand, and carried it to his niece and persuaded her to

drink it.

The servant meanwhile, mindful of the proprieties, when he saw the front

window open, went and closed it, and then passed down the room and

opened both the back windows, which gave sufficient light to the whole

area of the apartment.

Finally he turned off the gas, and taking up the empty coffee service,

left the room.

Presently after Mr. Fabian came in, and greeted his niece and his

brother in a grave, muffled voice.

A little later breakfast was served.

"Some one should go up to see if grandpa will have anything sent to him.

Will you, Uncle Fabian?" inquired Cora, as they seated themselves at the

table.

Mr. Fabian left his chair for the purpose, but before he had crossed the

room they heard the heavy footsteps of the Iron King coming down the

stairs.

He entered the dining room, and all arose to receive him. He came up

and shook hands with each of his sons in turn and in silence. Then he

took his place at the table. The three younger members of the family

looked at him furtively, whenever they could do so without attracting

his attention, and, perhaps, awakening his wrath.

Some change had come over him, but not of a softening nature. His hard,

stern, set face was, if possible, more stony than ever.

Neither Mr. Clarence nor Cora dared to speak to him; but Mr. Fabian,

feeling the silence awkward and oppressive, at length ventured to say:

"My dear father, in this our severe bereavement--"

But he got no further in his speech. Old Aaron Rockharrt raised his hand

and stopped him right there, and then said:

"Not one word from any one of you to me or in my presence on this event,

either now or ever. It happened in the course of nature. Drop the

subject. Fabian, how are matters going on at the works?"

"I do not know, sir," replied Mr. Fabian, speaking for the first and

last and only time, abruptly and indiscreetly to his despotic father.

But the Iron King took no notice of the words, nor did he repeat the

question. He drank one cup of coffee, ate half a roll, and then arose

and left the table, without a word. He did not return to his dead wife's

chamber, which he probably knew would now have to be given up to

dressers of the dead and to the undertakers.

He went and locked himself in the library, and was seen no more that

day.

Cora, with her woman's intuition, understood the accession of hardness

that was worn as a mask to conceal grief and remorse.

"Be patient with him, Uncle Fabian. He is your father, after all. And

he suffers! Oh, he suffers! Yes; much more than any of us do," she said.

"Do you think so, Cora?" inquired Mr. Fabian, looking at her in

surprise.

"I know he does," she answered.

"Well, he has good reason to!" concluded Mr. Fabian. Then, after a

pause, he added: "But I am sorry I spoke roughly to my father! I will

make it up to him, or try to do so, by extra deference."

Then they all arose from the table.

Mr. Fabian and Mr. Clarence to attend to the business of the mournful

occasion, which Old Aaron Rockharrt, in his proud, reserved, absorbed

sorrow, seemed to have ignored or forgotten.

Cora stepped away to her grandmother's room, to have a quiet hour beside

the beloved dead before the undertaker should come in and take

possession.

"It is only her body that is dead, I know. But the hands had caressed me

and the lips kissed me; and, right or wrong, I love that body as well as

the heavenly soul that lived within it! The flesh cleaves to the flesh.

And so long as we are in the flesh we will, we must, haunt the shrines

that contain the bodies of those we love," she thought, as reverently

she entered the chamber of death, closed the door, and went up to the

bed whereon lay the tenantless temple in which so lately lived the most

loving, the most patient spirit she had ever known!

But what is this! Into what strange sphere of ineffable peace has Cora

entered? She could not understand the change that came over her. She had

a gentle impulse to close her eyes to all visible matters and yield

herself up to the sweetness of this sphere. Her dear one was living, was

young again, was happy, was sleeping, watched by angels, who would

presently awaken her to the eternal life.

Cora knelt down by the bed and lifted up her heart to the Lord of life

in silent, wordless, thoughtless, profoundly quiet aspiration. She did

not wish to move or speak, or form a sentence even in her mind. She

found her state a strange one, but she did not even wonder at it, so

deep was the calm that enveloped her spirit.

Not long had she knelt there in this rapt serenity, when she was

conscious that some one was rapping softly at the door. This did not

disturb her. She arose from her knees, still in deep peace, went to the

door, and said:

"Presently. I will open presently. Wait a moment."

Then she went back to the bed, turned down the sheet, and gazed upon the

beloved face. How placid it was, and how beautiful. Death had smoothed

every trace of age and care from that little fair old face. She lay as

if sleeping, and almost smiling in her sleep--

"As though by fitness she had won

The secret of some happy dream."

Cora stooped and kissed the placid brow, then covered the face, and went

to open the door.

The gray-haired old Jason was waiting outside.

"If you please, ma'am, it is the--"

"I know, I know," said Cora, quietly. "Show them in."

And she passed out and went to her own room.

Her front windows were closed; but through the slats of the shutters she

saw that it was still snowing fast.

"What a winding sheet this will make for her grave," she thought, as she

looked out upon the wintry scene.

There was no wind, the fine white snow fell softly and steadily, giving

only the dimmest view of the government house on the opposite side of

the square draped in mourning.

The funeral of Mrs. Rockharrt took place on the third day after her

death. The snow had ceased, and the winter sun was shining brightly from

a clear blue sky on a white world, whose trees wore pendent diamonds

instead of green leaves, and as every house in the city was hung in

black for the dead governor, the effect of all this glare and glitter

and gloom was very weird and strange, as the funeral cortege passed from

the Rockharrt home to the Church of the Lord's Peace.

After the rites were over, the family returned to their city home, but

only for the night; for preparation had been already completed for their

removal to Rockhold, there to pass the year of mourning.

Old Aaron Rockharrt never changed from his look of stony immobility. If

he mourned for his patient wife of more than half a century, no outward

sign betrayed his feelings. If his spirit suffered with suppressed

grief, his strong frame bore up under it without the slightest

weakening.

On the afternoon of his return from his wife's funeral he shut himself

up in his library and remained there all the evening, refusing to come

to dinner, calling for a bottle of wine and a sandwich and desiring

afterward to be left alone.

Later in the evening he sent for Mr. Fabian to come to him, and there

opened to his eldest son and partner, in whose business talents he had

great confidence, a scheme of speculation so venturous, so gigantic that

the younger man was shocked and staggered, and began to lose faith in

the sound intellect of the Iron King.

"This will make us twice told the wealthiest men in the United States,

if not in the whole world," concluded Old Aaron Rockharrt.

"If it should succeed," said Mr. Fabian, dubiously.

"It shall succeed; I say it. We shall go down to Rockhold to-morrow

morning and the next day to the works, and there I shall give my whole

mind to this matter and make it succeed, do you hear? Make it succeed!

And place my name at the head of the list of wealthy men of this age."

Mr. Fabian did not dare to raise any objection.

"I am pleased, sir," he said, "that you find in this new enterprise an

object of so much interest to engage your mind. Employ me in any way you

think fit. I am quite at your service, as it is my bounden duty to be."

"Very well; that is as it should be. Now I am going to bed. Good night,"

said the Iron King, abruptly dismissing his son, then rising and ringing

for his valet, whose office, since the patient old lady's death, was now

no longer a sinecure.

It seems passing strange that a man of seventy-six years, who had just

lost his life-long and beloved companion--for in his own selfish way he

loved her after a sort, and perhaps more than he loved any human being

in the world--and who must expect before many years to follow her,

should be so full of this world's avarice and ambition; so eager to make

more, and more, and more money, and to stand at the head of the list of

all the wealthiest men in the land. Strange, yet the name of such a one

is legion. But in the case of Old Aaron Rockharrt there might have been

this additional motive--the necessity to seek refuge from the pains of

grief and remorse in the anxieties and activities of speculation. So he

was very eager to get back as soon as possible to business and to enter

at once upon the enterprise he had planned.

Cora was also anxious to leave the city, which she knew was in a fresh

ferment of gossip and conjecture on the subject of her lost husband, the

deceased governor-elect. The news from the Indian Territory had renewed

all the public interest in the mystery of his disappearance.

For some months before this news arrived, the community had settled down

to the conviction that the missing governor had been murdered and his

body made away with, although, as there was no proof to establish the

fact of their theory, there was no thought of inaugurating the

lieutenant-governor as chief magistrate of the State.

Yet, now, when the startling news came that the missing statesman had

been killed by the Comanches in the wilds of the Indian Reservation, far

from any agency, and that he had been living and preaching there as a

volunteer missionary for many months before the massacre, the mystery of

his sudden and unexplained disappearance from the State capital on the

day of his inauguration was not cleared up and made intelligible, but

darkened and rendered more inscrutable.

It was easy enough to understand why a missing man might have been lured

away from his dwelling by some false letter or plausible message, and

murdered in some secret place where his body lay buried in earth or

water, for such crimes were not unfrequent.

But that a bridegroom should secretly depart on the evening of his

wedding day, that a governor should take flight on the evening before

his inauguration, was a course of action only to be explained on the

ground of insanity; and yet Regulas Rothsay was always considered one of

the most level-headed and mentally well balanced among the rising young

statesmen of the country.

Conjecture had once been wild as to the cause of his disappearance--had

he been murdered, or kidnapped, or both? Those were the questions then.

Conjecture was now rampant as to the cause of his sudden flight and self

expatriation to the Indian Territory. Had he suddenly gone mad? Or

committed a capital crime which was on the eve of discovery? These were

the questions now.

Every newspaper was full of the problem, which none but one could solve,

and she was bound to secrecy.

But it gave her inexpressible pain to know that his motives and his

character were being discussed and censured for that course of conduct

for which only herself was to be blamed, and which only she could

explain. A word from her would show him in a very different light before

his critics. But she must not speak that word to save his reputation.

So Cora was anxious to leave the city.

The next morning the whole family set out on their return journey to

Rockhold, where they arrived early in the afternoon. They found

everything in good order, for Cora had taken the precaution to write to

the housekeeper, and warn her of the return of the family.

The grief of the servants for the loss of their kind and gentle old

mistress broke out afresh at the sight of the young lady. And it was

long before the latter could soothe and quiet them.

Fortunately Mr. Rockharrt had gone at once to his room, and so he

escaped annoyance from their loud lamentations, and they escaped stern

rebuke for their want of self-control.

The two young Rockharrts had left the family party at North End, to

inspect the condition of the works, and were to remain there overnight.

Old Aaron Rockharrt, Sylvanus Haught, and Cora Rothsay were, therefore,

the only ones who sat down at the once full dinner table.

The meal passed in almost utter silence, for neither Sylvan nor Cora

ventured to address one word to the hard old man who, whenever they had

spoken to him since his loss of his wife, had replied in short, harsh

words, or not replied at all. The brother and sister, therefore, only

spoke in suppressed tones, at intervals, to each other.

After dinner the old man bade them an abrupt good night, and left the

room to retire to his own chamber. Cora felt sorry for him, despite all

his harshness. She stepped after him and asked:

"Grandfather, can I be of any service to you at all? Help you at your--"

He stopped her by turning and bending his gray brows over the fierce

black eyes which fixed her motionless. He stared at her for an instant

and then said:

"No. Certainly not," and turned and went up stairs.

Cora walked slowly back into the drawing room, at the open door of which

stood Sylvan, who had heard all that passed.

"You had better let the old man alone, Cora. Or you'll have your head

bitten off. I don't want to break the fifth commandment by saying

anything irreverent of our grandfather, but indeed, indeed, indeed it is

as much as one's life, or at least as one's temper, is worth to speak to

him," said the young man.

"I never reverenced my grandfather as much as I do now, Sylvan," gravely

replied the young lady.

"That is all right! Reverence him as much as you please; but don't go

too near the old lion in his present mood. Come and sit down on the sofa

by me, sister, and let us have a pleasant talk--"

"Pleasant talk! Oh, Sylvan!"

"Well, then, Cora, dear sister, a cozy, confidential talk. Do you know

we have not had one for years and years and years?"

They sat down side by side holding each other's hands in silence for a

little while, when Cora said:

"Do you think you will graduate next year, Sylvan?"

"Yes, Cora, certainly."

"And then you will come home for a long visit."

"For a short one, on leave."

"And afterward, Sylvan?"

"Well, afterward I shall be ordered out to 'The Devil's Icy Peak.'"

"What!"

"That was Aunt Cassy's name for all remote parts, you know. 'Devil's Icy

Peak,' which in my destination means some remote frontier fort, among

hostile Indians, border ruffians, grizzly bears, buffaloes,

rattlesnakes, mosquitoes, malaria, and other wild beasts. There is where

they send all the new-fledged military officers from West Point, and

there they may spend the best part of their lives," said Sylvan.

"Unless they have influence with the higher authorities. If they have

such influence, they may be sent to choice posts near the great cities,

in reach of all the best society, best libraries, and all the luxuries

and advantages of the highest civilization."

"Yes, I know; but--" said the young cadet, hesitatingly.

"You, or rather our grandfather, has influence enough to have you

ordered to Washington, New York, Portsmouth--any place."

"Yes, I know; but--"

"But what, Sylvan?"

"Cora, our grandfather's influence is that of wealth--great wealth--and

it is a mighty power in this world at this age; but, you see, Aaron

Rockharrt would not use it in such a way. He would not consider it

honest to do so. Nor would I have it either. No; since the government

has given me a free military education, I think it my duty to go exactly

wherever they may order me, without attempting to evade orders through

the influence of friends or money."

"You are entirely right, dear brother. And I tell you this: Though I

must and will remain with my grandfather so long as he shall need me--so

long as he shall live--yet, when he departs, if you should be stationed

at one of those border posts, I will go out and join you, Sylvan," said

Cora Rothsay, taking both his hands and pressing them warmly.

"No, dear sister; you shall not make such a sacrifice for me," he

answered.

"But after my aged grandfather, whose days on earth cannot be long, whom

have I in this world to live for but you, Sylvan?"

"Other interests in life, I hope, will arise, sister, to give you

happiness," he replied.

Cora shook her head, and as the waiter now entered the parlor with the

bedroom candles, she lighted one, bade her brother good night, and

retired.

The next morning, as but one day of his leave of absence remained, the

young cadet bade good-by to his friends, and left Rockhold for West

Point, where he arrived the next morning just in time to report for

duty, and save his honor.

Old Aaron Rockharrt went up to North End, where his sons awaited him;

there to inspect the works, and commence proceedings toward that vast

enterprise which the Iron King had planned out while in the city.

And from this day forth. "Rockharrt & Sons" devoted all their energies

to this mammoth speculation, while, as the months passed, it grew into

huge and huger proportions, and great and greater success.

Old Aaron Rockharrt's spirits rose with the splendor of his fortune.

He was nearly seventy-seven years of age, yet he said to himself, in

effect: "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years."

Cora, meanwhile, living a secluded and almost solitary life at Rockhold,

occupied herself with a labor of love, in writing the life of her late

husband, with extracts from his letters, speeches, and newspaper

articles. In doing this her soul seemed once more joined to his.

In this manner the year of mourning passed, and the month of January was

at hand.

CHAPTER IX.

TURMOIL OF THE WORLD.

The Rockharrts were again in the State capital. It was but thirteen

months since the death of his wife and since the news of the murder of

his grandson-in law had been received--calamities which had doubly

bereaved the family, and thrown them in the deepest mourning--yet the

Iron King, elated by his marvelous financial success, had thrown open

his house to society, and insisted that his granddaughter should do its

honors.

Cora, who, since the death of the grandmother, had deeply pitied the

grandfather, yielded to his wishes in this respect, though much against

her secret inclination. She did not leave off her widow's mourning, but

she modified it when she presided at the head of the Rockharrt table on

those frequent occasions of the sumptuous and unrivaled dinners given by

the Iron King to those whose fortunes he was making, with his own, by

his mammoth enterprise.

The old man was certainly the lion of the season. He had steadily gone

on from step to step on the ladder of fame (for enormous wealth), until

now he was quoted as not only the richest man of his State, but as one

of the ten richest men in the world.

It was at this time that Mr. Fabian bethought himself of taking a wife.

It was indeed quite time that he should marry, if he ever intended to do

so. He was nearly fifty-two years of age, though looking no more than

forty; his erect and active figure, his fresh and smooth complexion, his

curling brown hair and beard, his smiling countenance and cheerful

demeanor, rendered him quite an attractive man to young ladies, who

credited him with fully twenty years less than his due.

There was, at this time, among the lovely "rosebuds" opening in the

fashionable drawing rooms of the city, a sweet "wood violet," otherwise

Violet Wood; a perfect blonde, with perfect features and a petite

figure. Her beauty was peculiar; she was very small, very dainty; her

hair the palest yellow, her face so white that almost the only color on

her features were her deep blue eyes and crimson lips.

She was an orphan heiress, without any near relation in the world.

Though but eighteen years of age, and just from school, she had already

entered on the possession of her fortune by the terms of her father's

will. She lived with her former guardians, the Chief Justice Pendletime

and his wife.

They had given a grand ball to introduce their ward into society. The

Rockharrts had been invited, of course. And they had all been present.

The Wood Violet, as admirers transposed her name, was equally, of

course, the belle of the evening.

The tall, towering sunflower, Mr. Fabian, fell instantly and

irrecoverably in love with this tiny white wood violet. Many others fell

in love with her, but none to the depth of Mr. Fabian. He resolved to

"take time by the forelock," "not to let the grass grow under his feet"

in this love chase.

The very next morning he said to his father:

"You have lately expressed a wish to see me married, sir. I have been,

in obedience to your commands, looking out for a wife. I think I have

found a woman to suit me, and, what is more to the purpose, to suit you,

sir. However, if I should be mistaken in your taste, I shall, of course,

give up the thought of proposing to her," added artful Mr. Fabian, who

felt perfectly sure that his father would approve his choice.

"Who is she?" demanded the Iron King.

"Miss Violet Wood, the ward of Chief Justice Pendletime."

"You could not have made a wiser choice. You have my full approval. And

the sooner you are married, the better I shall like it."

Mr. Fabian bowed in silence.

"And you remember that we were planning to send a confidential agent to

Europe to establish syndicates for our shares in the principal cities.

Now you can utilize your wedding tour by taking your bride to Europe and

looking after this business in person."

"Yes, of course," assented Mr. Fabian.

"Other details may be thought of afterward. You had better begin to call

on the lady. It is well to be the first in the market."

"Of course, sir."

This ended the conference.

Mr. Fabian groomed himself into as charming a toilet as a gentleman's

morning suit would admit. He then set forth in his carriage and made the

round of the three conservatories of which the town could boast before

he could find a cluster of white wood violets to pin on the lapel of his

coat. He also got a splendid and fragrant bouquet, and armed with these

fascinators he drove to the house of the chief justice and sent in his

card.

The ladies were at home. He was shown into the drawing room, where, oh!

beneficence of fortune, he found his inamorata alone.

In a pale blue cashmere home dress trimmed with swan's down and lace,

she looked fairer, sweeter, daintier, more suggestive of a wood violet

than ever.

She left her seat at the piano and came to meet him, saying simply:

"Good morning, Mr. Rockharrt. Mrs. Pendletime will be down presently.

She is not in good health, and so she slept late this morning after the

ball. Oh! what lovely, lovely flowers! For me? Oh! thank you so much,

Mr. Rockharrt," she added, as Mr. Fabian, with a deep bow and a sweet

smile, presented his offering.

Mr. Fabian made good use of his time, and had advanced considerably in

the good graces of his fair little love before the lady of the house

entered.

Mrs. Chief Justice Pendletime greeted Mr. Fabian most graciously,

inquiring after the health of his father.

A little small talk, a few compliments, and the delightful chat was

broken into by the arrival of other callers, fine youths, admirers of

Violet Wood and secret aspirants to her favor. Even most amiable Mr.

Fabian felt a strong desire to kick them all out of the drawing room,

through the front door and into the street.

He made himself doubly agreeable to the beauty and her chaperon, and

finally offered them a box at the opera for the next evening, and when

it was accepted he at last took leave.

"I have got the inside track and mean to keep it!" he said to himself,

as he drove homeward. And he did keep it. He was really a very

fascinating man when he chose to be so, and he generally did choose to

be so. And he could "make love like an angel." Now, whether he really

won the affections of Violet Wood by his charms of person and address,

or whether he only dazzled the girl's imagination by the splendor of his

wealth and position, or whether her guardians advocated his cause with

the beauty, or whether there was something of all these influences at

work upon her will, I do not quite know. But certain it is that when Mr.

Fabian, after two weeks' courtship, offered his heart, hand, and fortune

to the little beauty, she accepted them, and not only accepted, but

seemed very happy in doing so.

The betrothed lover pleaded for an early wedding day. Violet Wood

answered that she would consult her chaperon and abide by her decision.

Mr. Fabian then took the precaution to see Mrs. Pendletime, and pray

that the marriage might take place early in February. The lady answered

that she would consult her young protegee and be governed by her wishes.

Mr. Fabian bowed, thanked her warmly, shook hands with her cordially and

left the house. He went straight home, took from his safe a casket of

diamonds he had bought for his bride, and saying to himself:

"I can get Violet another and twice as costly a set; and what I need now

is to save time." He called Jason and dispatched him with this casket

and his card done up in a neat parcel, and directed to Mrs. Chief

Justice Pendletime. So prompt had been his action that the chaperon

received this silent bribe before she had spoken to her protegee on the

subject of fixing a day for her marriage.

Now the fire of these diamonds threw such a radiant light on the matter

that Mrs. Pendletime saw at once, and quite clearly, that February,

early in February, was the very best time for the wedding.

She sent for her protegee, and had a talk with her. Now Violet Wood was

by nature a simple-hearted, good-humored girl, who loved to be well

dressed, well housed, well served, and, above all, to be much petted,

especially by such a charming master of the art as was Mr. Fabian. She

also loved to oblige her friends.

So she yielded to the arguments of Mrs. Pendletime and consented to be

married in February--only not during the first week in February, but

about the middle of the month--the fourteenth, say. Saint Valentine's

day, the birds' bridal day, would be a very appropriate time for a wood

violet to wed.

When Mr. Fabian came to pay his usual visit the next morning, Mrs.

Pendletime received him, thanked him profusely for his munificent gift,

telling him at the same time that she should certainly never have

accepted such a costly present from any one who was not connected or

about to be connected with her family. Mr. Fabian bowed deprecatingly

and asked if he might be permitted to see Miss Wood. Surely he might,

she had only intercepted him to thank him for his gift. Then she told

him that he would find Violet alone in the drawing room. He went in, and

found the little creature perched upon the music stool, before the open

piano, trying a new piece of music. She lighted down like a little bird

from a twig and came to meet him. He greeted his betrothed with more

warmth of love than a younger man might have ventured upon--but, then,

Mr. Fabian was no freshman in the college of love. And Violet, though

she did not like to be squeezed so tight and kissed so much, thought it

was all right, since he was her first lover and her betrothed husband.

She was not sufficiently in love with him to be afraid of him. This was

as if one of her school girl friends had hugged and kissed her so much.

When they were seated side by side on the sofa, Mr. Fabian told her that

immediately after their wedding breakfast they should take the train for

New York and thence sail for Liverpool. They should reach London near

the beginning of the fashionable season, which is not winter, as with

us, but spring.

Violet listened in the rapture of anticipation.

"And at the end of the London season we will make a leisurely tour

through England--see the monuments of its great old history; palaces and

castles of kings and chieftains who have been dust for ages. Then the

homes and haunts of the great poets and painters."

The door opened, and the servant announced a visitor. Mr. Fabian, secure

now of his prize, arose and said good morning, leaving Violet to

entertain one of her young adorers. Mr. Fabian went home and sought his

father in the library, where the old man now passed much of his time.

"Well, my dear sir, it is all settled. With your approbation, we--Miss

Violet Wood and myself--will be married on the fourteenth proximo, and

leave for Europe immediately afterward," said Mr. Fabian, seating

himself.

"That is right. I am glad that you will sail in February. You will

thereby escape the winds of March and the tempests of the spring

equinox," said the Iron King, sententiously.

"I am very glad you approve," said Mr. Fabian.

Old Aaron Rockharrt nodded in silence.

Fabian looked at him; saw that the old man looked grave, depressed, yet

stern and strong as adamant. He felt very sorry for his father. His own

present happiness rendered good-natured Mr. Fabian very compassionate

toward the lonely old widower. He had something, inspired by this

compassion, to suggest to the old man, yet he feared to do so

straightforwardly.

"Father," he said at length, for he didn't mind lying the least in the

world--"Father, I heard a strange report about you this morning."

"Indeed! What was it? That I had failed in business, or quadrupled my

fortune?" inquired the egotist, who was always interested when the

question concerned himself.

"Neither, sir. I heard you were going to be married."

"Fabian!" sternly exclaimed the Iron King, darkly gathering his brows.

"Yes, sir," said the benevolent Mr. Fabian, who, now that the ice was

broken, could go on lying glibly with the best intentions and without

the slightest scruple; "yes, sir; you know such rumors must necessarily

get afloat about such a fine-looking, marriageable man as yourself."

"Ah! and since the community have made so free, pray what lady's name

have they honored me by associating with mine?" inquired the Iron King

somewhat sarcastically, yet not ill-pleased to learn that he was still

to be considered a great prize in the matrimonial market.

"Why, of course there could be but one lady in the question; and

equally, of course, you will be able to place her," said Mr. Fabian,

smiling.

"Upon my soul, I am not."

"Well, then, the lady to whom you are reported to be engaged is the

beautiful Mrs. Bloomingfield."

"Who?"

"The beautiful and accomplished Mrs. Bloomingfield, with whom you sat

and talked during the whole evening of the governor's State dinner

party."

"Oh, the widow of General Bloomingfield, who died three years ago. Yes,

I remember her--a very fine creature, most certainly--but I never

dreamed of her in the light of a wife. In fact, I never dreamed of

marrying again," said the Iron King, speaking with unusual gentleness.

Mr. Fabian laughed in his sleeve. He thought of the soft place in the

hard head of the Iron King, a weak part in the strong character of old

Aaron Rockharrt--personal vanity.

"With all possible respect and submission, my dear father, I would

suggest that if you never thought of marrying again, you should do so

now."

"Fabian, I am seventy-seven years old."

"In years, yes; but that is nothing to you. You are not half that age in

health, strength, vigor, and activity of mind and body. What man of

forty do you know who has anything approaching your energy?"

"None that I know of, indeed, Fabian," said the Iron King, softening

into complacency.

"No, none," assented Mr. Fabian. "Men die of old age at almost any time

in their lives--at forty, fifty, sixty, seventy--but you in your

strength of manhood are likely to reach your hundredth year and to be a

hale old man then. Now, and for many years to come, you will not be old

at all."

"Yes; I think I have twenty-five or thirty years longer to live."

"And will you live those years in loneliness? Cora will be sure to

marry. A young woman like Cora will not wear the willow long, believe

me. And when Cora leaves you, what then will you do? You have no other

daughter or granddaughter. As for my promised wife, you yourself made it

a condition of our marriage that we should have an establishment of our

own."

"For the dignity of the house of Rockharrt. Yes, Fabian."

"And when Cora shall have left you, you will be alone--you who require

the gentle ministrations of woman more than any man I ever knew."

"Fabian!" exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, suddenly and suspiciously,

bringing his strong black eyes to bear pointedly upon the face of his

son. "What is your motive in wishing me to marry?"

"Heaven bear me witness, sir, that my motive, my only motive, is your

own comfort and happiness," said Fabian, and this time he spoke the

truth.

"I believe you, Fabian. But this lady with whom the world associates my

name is too young for me. She cannot be more than twenty-five," said Old

Aaron Rockharrt reflectively.

"Well, sir! What did the sages and prophets recommend to David? A young

woman to comfort the king. I am not very well posted in Bible history,

but I think that is the story," said Mr. Fabian.

CHAPTER X.

ANOTHER FINE WEDDING.

The marriage of Mr. Fabian Rockharrt and Miss Violet Wood was to be the

great event of the winter.

When the approaching wedding was announced in the newspapers of the day,

it caused a sensation, I assure you. Mr. Fabian Rockharrt, the eldest

son of the renowned millionaire, the confirmed bachelor, for whom "caps"

had been "set" for the last twenty-five years; who had flirted with

maidens who were now wives of elderly men and mothers of grown-up

daughters, and in some cases even grandmothers of growing boys and

girls--Mr. Fabian Rockharrt to be won at last by a little wood violet!

Preposterous!

The fourteenth of February, Saint Valentine's Day, the Birds' Wedding

Day, dawned in that Southern climate like a May day. The snow had

vanished weeks before; the ground was warm and moist; the grass was

springing; the trees were budding; the wood violets were opening their

sweet eyes in sheltered nooks of the forest.

I do not know in what mood Violet Wood arose on that momentous morning

of her life--probably in a very pleasant one. Her chaperon confided to

an intimate friend that the child was not in love; that she had never

been in love in her life, and did not even know what being in love

meant; but that she was rather fond of the fine fellow who adored her,

flattered her, petted her, promised her everything she wanted, and whose

enormous wealth constituted him a sort of magician who could command the

riches, the splendors, the luxuries, and all the delights of life! She

was full of rapturous anticipations of extravagant enjoyments.

Mr. Fabian Rockharrt, utterly unprincipled as he was, yet had the grace

to recognize the purity of the young being whom he was about to make his

wife. He was very kind hearted and good humored with every one; he

really loved this girl, as he had never loved any one in all his life;

and it was his pleasure to indulge her in every wish and whim--even to

suggest and create in her mind more wishes and more whims, such as she

never could have imagined, so that he might have the joy of gratifying

them.

Before starting to church that morning his father called him into the

library for a private interview, and lectured him as if he had been a

lad of twenty-one, who was about to contract marriage--lectured him on

the duties of a husband, of the master of a household and the head of a

family.

The arrival of Mr. Clarence from North End, and of Mr. Sylvan from West

Point by the same train, to be present at the wedding, interrupted the

bridegroom's reflections.

"It is now nine o'clock, boys. You have just time to get your breakfast

comfortably and dress yourselves properly before we leave for the

church. So look sharp," was the greeting of Mr. Fabian, as he shook

hands with his brother and his nephew.

At ten o'clock the carriage containing Mr. Rockharrt, Mrs. Rothsay and

Cadet Haught left the house for the church, which they entered by the

central front door, from which they were marshaled up the center aisle

to their seats in the right hand front pew.

At a quarter past ten the bridegroom, with his best man, Clarence

Rockharrt, followed in another very handsome carriage.

They drove around to the side of the church, and passed in through the

rector's door to the vestry on the left of the chancel, where they

awaited the arrival of the bride's party, and through the open door of

which they looked in upon the splendidly decorated and crowded church.

An affluence of rare exotic flowers everywhere. The green-houses of the

State capital and of three neighboring cities had been laid under

contribution by Mr. Fabian, and had yielded up their sweetest treasures

for this occasion. Floral arches spanned the center aisle from side to

side, all the way up from the door to the chancel; festoons of flowers

were looped from the galleries on three sides of the church; wreaths of

flowers were wound around the pillars from floor to ceiling; the railing

around the chancel was covered with flowers; the pulpit and reading desk

were hidden under flowers. The pews were filled with the beauty,

fashion, and aristocracy of the capital, and a splendid crowd they

formed. Every lady held a rich bouquet; every gentleman wore a rare

boutonniere.

Mr. Fabian looked at his watch from moment to moment. We have scarcely

ever seen a more impatient bridegroom than Mr. Fabian Rockharrt. But,

then, childish disorders go hard with elderly folks. Just as the clock

struck eleven, with dramatic punctuality, the gentlemanly

white-satin-badged ushers threw open the double doors, and the bride's

procession entered. She wore a trained dress of rich white satin, with

an overskirt, berthe and veil, all of duchess lace, looped, fastened and

festooned here and there and everywhere with orange buds; and a

magnificent set of diamonds, consisting of a coronet, necklace,

ear-drops, brooch, and bracelets--too much for the little

creature--lighting her up like fireworks as she passed under the blaze

of the sunlit windows. She carried in her white-gloved hand a bouquet of

white wood violets, with her monogram in purple violets in the center.

She was leaning on the arm of her guardian, the chief justice, followed

by eight bridesmaids.

The bishop, with two other clergymen, in their white vestments, entered

and took their places at the altar. The choir struck up Mendelssohn's

wedding march. The bride's procession came slowly up under all the

floral arches of the center aisle to the floral hedge around the

chancel.

The bridegroom came gayly out of the vestry room to meet her, smiling,

radiant, tripping as if he had been a slim young lover of twenty,

instead of a tall and heavy giant of fifty odd. He took her hand, lifted

it to his lips, and led her to the altar, where both knelt. The

bridesmaids grouped behind them. The best man stood on the groom's

right. Old Aaron Rockharrt, Mrs. Rothsay and Cadet Haught came out of

their pew and formed a group behind the bridegroom.

Mrs. Chief Justice Pendletime, and a few intimate friends, came out of

her pew and grouped behind the bride and her maids.

The rest of the congregation remained in their pews, but stood up, and

those in the rear raised on tiptoes and craned their necks to witness

the proceedings. As soon as the bridegroom and the bride had knelt under

the floral arch, from the high center of which hung a wedding bell of

white wood violets, the bishop and his assistants stepped down from the

high altar steps, and opened their books.

The rites commenced, and went on without any unusual disturbance of

their course until they came to the question:

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

Her guardian, the chief justice, a portly, ponderous person, was moving

solemnly forward to perform this duty, when--

Old Aaron Rockharrt--not from officiousness, but out of pure simple

egotism--took the bride's hand and placed it in that of the groom,

saying:

"I do."

You may judge the effect of this. The bride was mildly amazed; the

bridegroom was deeply annoyed; the chief justice, the rightful owner of

the thunder, was highly offended, and withdrew back in solemn dignity.

Meanwhile the ceremony went on to its end. The benediction was

pronounced, and congratulations were in order.

The marriage feast was a great success, like most other affairs of the

kind. The chief justice had not got over the affront given him at the

church, but he could not show resentment in his own house, and on the

occasion of his young ward's wedding breakfast. As for Old Aaron

Rockharrt, he had not the faintest idea that he had committed any breach

of propriety. The deuce, you say! Was it not his own eldest son's

wedding? Had he not a right to give away the bride? He never even asked

himself the question. He took it for granted as a matter of course.

Besides, was not he the greatest man present? And should not he do just

as he thought fit? So in utter ignorance of any offense given to any

one, the Iron King unbent his stiffness for once, and was very genial to

every one, especially to the chief justice, who, secretly offended as he

was, could not but respond to this friendliness.

Among the wedding guests around the board was the beautiful widow, Mrs.

Bloomingfield. Mrs. Pendletime had requested Mr. Rockharrt to take her

to the table, and he had offered her his arm, placing her at the board,

and seated himself beside her. The Iron King looked at the lady with

more interest than he would have felt had not Mr. Fabian invented a

rumor to the effect that he, Aaron Rockharrt, was addressing her.

He looked at the lady on his left critically. Yes; she was very

beautiful--very beautiful indeed! And, of course, she would accept him

at once if he should offer her his hand! Very beautiful! A tall, finely

rounded, radiant blonde, with a suit of warm auburn hair, which she wore

in a mass of puffs and coils high on her head; a brilliant, blooming

complexion, damask rose cheeks, redder lips, blue eyes, and a pure,

fine Roman profile--that means, among the rest, a hooked nose--a very

elegant and aristocratic nose indeed, but still a hooked nose. She

carried her head high, and her well turned chin a little forward, her

lip a little curled. All that meant a high spirit, intolerance of

authority, and danger, much danger, to a would-be despot. Oh! very

handsome, and very willing to marry the old millionaire. But--no! the

Iron King thought not! She would give him too much trouble in the

process of subjugation. He would none of her.

Cadet Haught, watching this pair from the opposite side of the table,

whispered to his sister, who sat on his right:

"As I live by bread, Cora, there is the aged monarch flirting with the

handsome widow! A thing unparalleled in human history. Or is it dreaming

I am?"

Cora lifted her languid dark eyes, looked across the table and answered:

"She is trying to flirt with him, I rather fancy."

"Wasted ammunition, eh, Cora?"

"I do not know," replied the young lady.

And then the increasing talk and laughter all around the table rendered

any tete-a-tete difficult or impossible. And now began the toast

drinking and the speech making. It need not be told how Mr. Rockharrt

toasted the bride, how the chief justice responded in behalf of his late

ward, how Mr. Fabian toasted the bridesmaids, how Mr. Clarence responded

on the part of the young ladies, how with this and that and the other

observance of forms, the breakfast came to an end and the bishop gave

thanks.

The bride retired to change her dress for a traveling suit of navy blue

poplin, with hat and feather to match, and a cashmere wrap. Then came

the leave-taking, and the jubilant bridegroom handed his bride into the

elegant carriage, while his best man, Clarence, gave the last order.

"To the railway station."

This was the final farewell, for Mr. Fabian had asked as a particular

favor that no one of the wedding party should attend them to the depot.

Their luggage had been sent on hours before, in charge of the maid and

the valet. Half an hour's drive brought them to the station in time to

catch the 3:30 train East.

"At last, at last I have you away from all those people and all to

myself!" exulted Fabian, as he seated his wife in the corner of the car,

and turned the opposite seat that they might have no near fellow

passenger. For as yet palace cars were not.

The maid and valet were seated on the opposite side of the car.

The train started.

The speed was swift, yet seemed slow. It was the way train they were on,

and it stopped at every little station. They could not have got an

express before midnight, and that would have been perilous to their

chance of catching the steamer on which their passage to Europe was

engaged.

The journey was made without events until about sunset, when the train

reached the little mountain station of Edenheights, where it stopped

twenty minutes for refreshments.

"What a lovely scene!" said the bride, looking down from the window on

her left, into the depths of a small valley lighted up by the last rays

of the setting sun streaming through the opening between two wooded

hills.

"Yes, dear, lovely, if I can think anything lovely besides yourself," he

replied.

"Look, what a sweet cottage that is almost hidden among the trees. An

elegant cottage of white freestone built after the Grecian order. How

strange, Fabian, to find such a bijou here in this wild, remote

section."

"Probably the residence of some well-to-do official connected with our

works," said Mr. Fabian, carelessly; then--"Will you come out to the

refreshment rooms and have some tea? See, they are on the opposite side

of the train."

Violet turned and looked on a very different scene. No wooded and

secluded valley with its one lovely cottage, but a row of open saloons

and restaurants, crowded and noisy.

"No; I think I will not go in there. It is not pretty. You may send me a

cup of tea. I will sit here and enjoy this beautiful valley scene. And

oh, Fabian! Look there, coming up the hillside, what a beautiful woman!"

Mr. Fabian looked out and saw and recognized Rose Stillwater and saw

that she had recognized him. She was coming directly toward the train.

"Sit here, my love; I will go and bring you some refreshments. Don't

attempt to get out, dearest; to do so might be dangerous. I will not be

long," he said, hastily, and rising, he hurried after the other

passengers out of the car.

But instead of going into the railway restaurant he went back to the

rear of the train, placed himself where he stood out of sight of his

wife and of all his fellow passengers, yet in full view of the

approaching woman.

"What devil brings that serpent here?" he muttered to himself. "I must

intercept her. She must not go on board the train. She must not approach

my little wood violet. Good heavens, no!"

But the woman turned aside voluntarily from her course to the stationary

train and walked directly toward himself.

"Well, Rose," he said, in as pleasant a voice as his perturbation of

mind would permit him to use.

"Well, Fabian," she answered.

She was as white and hard as marble; her lips when she ceased to speak

were closed tightly, her blue eyes blazed from her hard, white face.

"What brings you here?" he inquired.

"What brings me here, indeed! To see you. Only this morning I heard of

your intended business. Only this morning, after the morning train had

left. If there had been another train within an hour or two, I should

have taken it and gone to the city and should have been in time to stop

the wicked wedding."

"What a blessing that there was not! You could not have stopped the

marriage. You would only have exposed yourself and made a row."

"Then I should have done that."

"I don't think so. It would not have been like you. You are too cool,

too politic to ruin yourself. Come, Rose," looking at his watch, "there

are but just sixteen minutes before the train starts. I have just

fifteen to give you, because it will take me one minute to reach my

seat. Therefore, whatever you have to say, my dear, had better be said

at once."

"I have not come here to reproach you, Fabian Rockharrt," she said,

fixing him with her eyes.

"That is kind of you at all events."

"No; we reproach a man for carelessness, for thoughtlessness, for

forgetfulness; but for baseness, villainy, treachery like yours it is

not reproach, it is--"

"Magnanimity or murder! I suppose so. Let it be magnanimity, Rose. I

have never done you anything but good since I first met your face, now

twenty years ago. You were but sixteen then. You are thirty-six now,

and, by Jove! handsomer than ever."

"Thank you; I quite well know that I am. My looking glass, that never

flatters, tells me so."

"Then why, in the name of common sense, can you not be happy? Look you,

Rose, you have no cause to complain of me. When even in your childhood,

you--"

"How dare you throw that up to me!" she exclaimed.

He went on as if he had not heard her.

"Were utterly lost and ruined through the villainy of your first

lover--what did I do? I took you up, got a place for you in my father's

house as the governess of my niece."

"Well, I worked for my living there, did I not? I gave a fair day's work

for a fair day's wages, as your stony old father would say."

"Certainly, you did. But you would not have had an opportunity of doing

so in any honest way if it had not been for me."

"How dare you hit me in the teeth with that!"

"Only in self-defense, my Rose."

"It was with an ulterior, a selfish, a wicked end in view. You know it."

"I know, and Heaven knows that I served you from pure benevolence and

from no other motive. Gracious goodness! why, I was over head and ears

in love with another woman at that time. But you, Rose, you made a dead

set at me. You did not care for me the least in life, but you cared for

wealth and position, and you were bound to have them if you could."

"Coward!" she hissed, "to talk to me in this way."

"I am not finding fault with you the least in the world. You acted

naturally on the principles of self-interest and self-preservation. You

wanted me to marry you, but I could not do that under the circumstances.

By Jove! though, I did more for you than I ever did for any other living

woman and with less reward--with no reward at all, in fact. When your

time was up at Rockhold I settled an income on you, and afterward, in

addition to that, I gave you that beautiful cottage, elegantly furnished

from basement to roof. And what did I ever get in return for all that?

Flatteries and fair words--nothing more. You were as cold as a stone,

Rose."

"I would not give my love upon any promise of marriage, but only for

marriage itself."

"And that you know I could not offer you, and you also knew why I could

not."

"Poltroon! to reproach me with the great calamity of my childhood."

"I repeat that I do not reproach you at all. I am only stating the

facts, for which I do not blame you in the least, though they prevented

the possibility of my ever thinking of marriage with you. I gave you a

house furnished, land, and an income to insure you the comforts,

luxuries, and elegances of life. I did not bargain with you beforehand.

I thought surely you would, as you led me to believe that you would,

give me love in return for all these. But no. As soon as you were secure

in your possessions you turned upon me and said that I should not even

visit you at your house without marriage. Now, what have you to complain

of?"

"This! that you have broken faith with me!"

"In what way, pray you?"

"You swore that, if you did not marry me, no more would you ever marry

any woman."

"If you would love me. Not if you would not. Besides, I had not seen my

sweet wood violet then," he added, aggravatingly.

She turned upon him, her eyes flashing blue fire.

"I will be revenged!" she said.

"Be anything you like, my dear, only do not be melodramatic. It's bad

form. Come, now, Rose, you have your house and your income. You are

still young, and much handsomer than ever. Be happy, my dear. And now I

really must leave you and run to the train."

"Go. I will not detain you. I came here only to tell you that I will be

revenged. I have told you that and have no more to say."

She turned and went down the hill toward the cottage in the dell.

Mr. Fabian hurried to the train and sprang on board just as it began to

move.

"Fabian! Oh, Fabian!" cried the alarmed bride, "you were almost knocked

under the wheels!"

"All right, my dear little love. I am safe now," he laughed.

"Where is my tea?"

"Oh, my dear child," exclaimed the conscience-stricken man. "I am so

very sorry! But the tea was detestable--perfectly detestable! I could

not bring you such stuff. I am so very sorry, Violet, my precious."

"Well, never mind. Bring me a glass of ice water from the cooler."

He obeyed her, and when she had drank, took back the tumbler.

A porter came along and lighted the lamps in the cars, for it was now

fast growing dark.

The train sped on.

Our travelers reached Baltimore late at night, changed cars at midnight

for New York, and reached that city the next morning in time to secure

the passage they had engaged.

At noon they sailed in the Arctic for Liverpool.

CHAPTER XI.

THE WILES OF THE SIREN.

When the bridal pair had started on their journey the wedding guests

dispersed.

Old Aaron Rockharrt and his family returned to their town house.

The next morning Mr. Clarence went back to North End to look after the

works. Cadet Haught left for West Point.

Mr. Rockharrt and Mrs. Rothsay were alone in their city home.

Old Aaron Rockharrt continued to give dinners and suppers to noted

politicians until the end of the session and the adjournment of the

legislature.

The family returned to Rockhold in May. Here they lived a very

monotonous life, whose dullness and gloom pressed very heavily upon the

young widow.

Mr. Rockharrt and Mr. Clarence rode out every day to the works and

returned late in the afternoon.

Cora occupied herself in completing the biography of her late husband,

which had been interrupted by the season in the city.

Mr. Clarence often spent twenty-four hours at North End looking after

the interests of the firm, and eating and sleeping at the hotel.

Mr. Rockharrt came home every evening to dinner, but after dinner

invariably shut himself up in his office and remained there until

bedtime.

Cora's evenings were as solitary as her mornings. But a change was at

hand.

One evening, on his return home, Mr. Rockharrt brought his own mail from

the post office at North End.

After dinner, instead of retiring to his office as usual, he came into

the drawing room and found Cora.

Dropping himself down in a large arm chair beside the round table, and

drawing the moderator lamp nearer to him, he drew a letter from his

breast pocket and said:

"My dear, I have a very interesting communication here from Mrs.

Stillwater--Miss Rose Flowers that was, you know."

"I know," said Cora, coldly, and wondering what was coming next.

"Poor child! She is a widow, thrown destitute upon the cold charities of

the world again," he continued.

Cora said nothing. She was marveling to hear this harsh, cruel,

relentless man speaking with so much pity, tenderness, and consideration

for this adventuress.

"But I will read the letter to you," he said, "and then I will tell you

what I mean to do."

"Very well, sir," she replied, with much misgiving.

He opened the letter and began to read as follows:

WIRT HOUSE, BALTIMORE, MD.,

May 15, 18--

MY MOST HONORED BENEFACTOR: I should not presume to

recall myself to your recollection had you not, in the large

bounty of your heart, once taken pity on the forlorn creature that

I am, and made me promise that if ever I should find myself

homeless, friendless, destitute, and desolate, I should write and

inform you.

My most revered friend, such is my sad, hopeless, pitiable

condition now.

My poor husband died of yellow fever in the West Indies about a

year ago, and his income and my support died with him.

For the last twelve months I have lived on the sale of my few

jewels, plate, and other personal property, which has gradually

melted away in the furnace of my misfortunes, while I have been

trying with all my might to obtain employment at my sometime trade

as teacher. But, oh, sir! the requirements of modern education

are far above my poor capabilities.

Now, at length, when my resources are well nigh exhausted--now,

when I can pay my board here only for a few weeks longer, and at

the end of that time must go forth--Heaven only knows where!--I

venture, in accordance with your own gracious permission, to make

this appeal to you! Not for pecuniary aid, which you will pardon

me if I say I could not receive from any one, but for such advice

and assistance as your wisdom and benevolence could afford me, in

finding me some honest way of earning my bread. Feeling assured

that your great goodness will not cast this poor note aside

unnoticed, I shall wait and hope to hear from you, and, in the

meanwhile, remain,

Your humble and obedient servant,

ROSE STILLWATER.

"That is what I call a very pathetic appeal, Cora. She is a widow, poor

child! Not such a widow as you are, Cora Rothsay, with wealth, friends,

and position! She is a widow, indeed! Homeless, friendless,

penniless--about to be cast forth into the streets! My dear, I got this

letter this morning. I answered it within an hour after its reception! I

invited her to come here as our guest, immediately, and to remain as

long as she should feel inclined to stay--certainly until we could

settle upon some plan of life for her future. I sent a check to pay her

traveling expenses to North End, where I shall send the carriage to meet

her. You will, therefore, Cora, have a comfortable room prepared for

Mrs. Stillwater. I think she may be with us as early as to-morrow

evening," said the Iron King.

And he arose and strode out of the parlor, leaving his granddaughter

confounded.

Rose Stillwater the widow of a year's standing! Rose Stillwater coming

to Rockhold as the guest of her aged and widowed grandfather! What a

condition of things! What would be the outcome of this event? Cora

shrank from conjecturing.

She felt that there had been two factors in bringing about the

situation: first, the death of her grandmother; second, the marriage of

her Uncle Fabian. The field was thus left open for the operations of

this scheming adventuress and siren.

Cora had been so dismayed at the communication of her grandfather that

she had scarcely answered him with a word. But he had been too deeply

absorbed in his own thoughts and plans to notice her silence and

reserve.

He had expressed his wishes, given his orders, and gone out. That was

all.

What could Cora do?

Nothing at all. Too well she knew the unbending nature of the Iron King

to delude herself for a moment with the idea that any opposition,

argument, or expostulation from her would have so much as a feather's

weight with the despotic old man.

If he had asked Mrs. Stillwater to Rockhold under present circumstances,

Mrs. Stillwater would come, and he would have her there just as long as

he pleased.

Cora was at her wits' end. She resolved to write at once to her Uncle

Fabian. Surely he must know the true character of this woman, and he

must have broken off his very questionable acquaintance with her before

marrying Violet Wood. Surely he would not allow his father to be so

dangerously deceived in the person he had invited to his house--to the

society of his granddaughter. He would unmask her, even though in doing

so he should expose himself.

She would also write to Sylvan, who from the very first had disliked and

distrusted "the rose that all admire." And she thanked Heaven that Cadet

Haught would graduate at the next exhibition at West Point and come

home on leave for the midsummer holidays.

While waiting answers from the two absent men she would consult her

Uncle Clarence. Truth to tell, she had but little hope of help in this

affair from her younger uncle. Mr. Clarence was so far from thinking

evil of any one. He was so loath to give pain or have any disturbance in

the domestic circle. He would be sure to feel compassion for Rose

Stillwater. He would be sure to recall her pretty, helpful, pleasant

ways, and the comfort both his father and his mother used to take in her

playful manners and affectionate ministration. Mr. Clarence was much too

benevolent to wish to interfere with any arrangement that was likely to

make the house pleasant and cheerful to his aged father, and give a

comfortable home and support to a desolate young widow. And that the

Iron King should ever be seriously taken in by the beautiful and

bewitching creature he would never believe. Yet Cora knew from all past

experience that Rose Stillwater was more esteemed by old Aaron Rockharrt

and had more influence over him than any living creature. Strange that a

man so hard headed as the Iron King, and so clear brained on all

occasions when not blinded by his egotism, should allow himself to be so

deceived in any one as he was in Rose Stillwater.

But, then, she knew how to flatter this egotism. She was beautiful and

attractive in person, meek and submissive in manner, complimentary and

caressing in words and tones.

Cora asked herself whether it would be right, proper, or expedient for

her to give information of that secret interview between Mr. Fabian and

Mrs. Stillwater, to which she herself had been an accidental and most

unwilling witness, on that warm night in September, in the hotel parlor

at Baltimore.

She could not refer to it in her intended letter to her Uncle Fabian. To

do so would be useless and humiliating, if not very offensive. Her Uncle

Fabian knew much more about that interview than she could tell him, and

would be very much mortified and very indignant to learn that she knew

anything of it. He might accuse her of being a spy and an eavesdropper,

or he might deny and discredit her story altogether.

No. No good could come of referring to that interview in her letter to

her Uncle Fabian. She would merely mention to him the fact that Mrs.

Stillwater had written to Mr. Rockharrt an appealing letter declaring

herself to be widowed and destitute, and asking for advice and

assistance in procuring employment; and that he had replied by inviting

her to Rockhold for an indefinite period, and sent her a check to pay

her traveling expenses. She would tell Mr. Fabian this as a mere item of

news, expressing no opinion and taking no responsibility, but leaving

her uncle to act as he might think proper.

She could not tell her brother Sylvan of that secret interview, for she

was sure that he would act with haste and indiscretion. Nor could she

tell her Uncle Clarence, who would only find himself distressed and

incapable under the emergency. Least of all could she tell her

grandfather, and make an everlasting breach between himself and his son

Fabian.

No. She could tell no one of that secret interview to which she had been

a chance witness--a shocked witness--but which she only half understood,

and which, perhaps, did not mean all that she had feared and suspected.

On that subject she must hold her peace, and only let the absent members

of the family know of Mrs. Stillwater's intended visit as an item of

domestic news, and leave any or all of them to act upon their own

responsibility unbiased by any word from her.

Cora's position was a very delicate and embarrassing one. She did not

believe that this former nursery governess of hers was or ever had been

a proper companion for her. She herself--Cora Rothsay--was now a widow

with an independent income, and was at liberty to choose her own

companions and make her home wherever she might choose.

But how could she leave her aged and widowed grandfather, who had no

other daughter or granddaughter, or any other woman relative to keep

house for him? And yet how could she associate daily with a woman whose

presence she felt to be a degradation?

As we have seen, she knew and felt that it would be vain to oppose her

grandfather's wish to have Mrs. Stillwater in the house, especially as

he had already invited her and sent her the money to come--unless she

should tell him of that secret interview she had witnessed between Mr.

Fabian and Mrs. Stillwater. That, indeed, might banish Rose from

Rockhold, but it would also bring down a domestic cataclysm that must

break up the household and separate its members.

No, she could say nothing, do nothing that would not make matters worse.

She must let events take their course, bide her time and hope for the

best, she said to herself, as she arose and rang the bell.

John, the footman, answered the call.

"It is Martha whom I want. Send her here," said the lady.

The man went out and the upper housemaid came in.

"You wanted me, ma'am?"

"Yes. Do you remember the room occupied by my nursery governess years

ago?"

"Yes, ma'am; the front room on the left side of the hall on the third

story."

"Yes; that is the room. Have it prepared for the same person. She will

be here to-morrow evening."

"Good--Lord!" involuntarily exclaimed old Martha; "why, we haven't heard

of her for a dozen years. What a sweet creeter she was, though, Miss

Cora. I thought as she'd a married a fortin' long ago."

"She has been married and widowed. At least she says so."

"A widow, poor thing! And is she comin' to be a companion or anything?"

"She is coming as a guest."

"Oh! very well, Miss Cora; I will have the room ready in time."

When the old woman had left the room Cora sat down to her writing desk

and wrote two letters--one to Mr. Fabian Rockharrt, Hotel Trois Freres,

Paris; the other to Cadet Sylvanus Haught, West Point, N.Y.

When she had finished and sealed these she put them in the mail bag that

was left in the hall to be taken at daybreak by the groom to North End

post office. Then she retired to rest.

The next morning she breakfasted tete-a-tete with her grandfather, Mr.

Clarence having remained over night at North End. While they were still

at the table the man John entered with a telegram, which he laid on the

table before his master.

"Who brought this?" inquired the Iron King, as he opened it.

"Joseph brought it when he came back from the post office. It had just

come, and Mr. Clarence gave it to Joseph to fetch to you, sir. Yes,

sir!" replied John.

"It is from Mrs. Stillwater. That lady is a perfect model of promptitude

and punctuality. She says--but I had better read it to you. John, you

need not wait," said Mr. Rockharrt.

The negro, who had lingered from curiosity to hear what was in the

telegram, immediately retired.

Old Aaron Rockharrt took up the long slip, adjusted his spectacles and

read:

WIRT HOUSE, BALTIMORE, MD., May 16th, 18--

A thousand heartfelt thanks for your princely munificence and

hospitality. I avail myself of both gladly and at once. I shall

leave Baltimore by the 8:30 a.m., and arrive at the North End

Station at 6:30 p.m.

"That is her message. Now I wish you to have everything in readiness for

her. I shall go in person to the depot and bring her home with me when I

return in the evening. Of course it will be two hours later than usual

when I get back here. You will, therefore, have the dinner put back

until nine o'clock on this occasion."

Cora bowed. She could scarcely trust her voice to answer in words.

Mr. Rockharrt, absorbed in his own thoughts and plans, never noticed her

coldness and silence. He soon finished breakfast, left the table, and a

few minutes later entered his carriage to drive to North End.

"'Pears to me old marse is jes' wonderful, Miss Cora. To go to his

business every day like clock work, and he 'bout seventy-seven years

old. And jes' as straight and strong as a pine tree! Yes, and as hard as

a pine knot! He's wonderful, that he is!" said old Jason, the gray

haired negro butler, when he came in from seeing his master off and

began to clear away the breakfast service.

"Yes; your master is a fine, strong man, Jason--physically," replied

Cora, who was beginning to doubt the mental soundness of her

grandfather!

"Physicking! No, indeed! 'Tain't that as makes the old g'eman so

strong. He nebber would take no physic in all his life. It's

consternation, that's w'at it is--his good, healthy consternation!"

"Very likely!" replied Cora, who was too much disturbed to set the old

man right.

She left the breakfast parlor, and went up stairs to superintend in

person the preparation for the comfort of the expected guest.

CHAPTER XII.

THE SIREN AND THE DESPOT.

That May night was clear and cool. The sky was brilliant with stars,

sparkling and flashing from the pure, dark blue empyrean.

In the house it was chilly, so Cora had caused fires to be built in all

the grates.

The drawing room at Rockhold presented a very attractive appearance,

with its three chandeliers of lighted wax candles, its cheerful fire of

sea coal, its warm crimson and gold coloring of carpets and curtains,

and its luxurious easy chairs, sofas and ottomans, its choice pictures,

books, bronzes and so forth. In the small dining room the table was set

for dinner, in the best spare room all was prepared for its expected

occupant.

Cora, in her widow's cap and dress, sat in an arm chair before the

drawing room fire, awaiting the arrival. Half past eight had been the

hour named by her grandfather for their coming. But a few minutes after

the clock had struck, the sound of carriage wheels was heard on the

avenue approaching the house.

Old Jason opened the hall door just as the vehicle drew up and stopped.

Mr. Rockharrt alighted and then gave his hand to his companion, who

tripped lightly to the pavement, and let him lead her up stairs and into

the house. Cora stood at the door of the drawing room. Mr. Rockharrt led

his visitor up to his granddaughter, and said:

"Mrs. Stillwater is very much fatigued, Cora. Take her at once to her

room and make her comfortable; and have dinner on the table by the time

she is ready to come down."

He uttered these words in a peremptory manner, without waiting for the

usual greeting that should have passed between the hostess and the

visitor.

Cora touched a bell.

"Oh! let me embrace my sweet Cora first of all! Ah! my sweet child! You

and I both widowed since the last time we met!" cooed Rose, in her most

dulcet tones, as she drew Cora to her bosom and kissed her before the

latter could draw back.

"How do you do?" was the formal greeting that fell from the lady's lips.

"As you see, dearest--'Not happy, but resigned,'" plaintively replied

the widow.

"You quote from a king's minion, I think," said Cora, coldly.

Rose took no notice of the criticism, but tenderly inquired.

"And you, dearest one? How is it with you?"

"I am very well, thank you," replied the lady.

"After such a terrible trial! But you always possessed a heroic spirit."

"We will not speak of that, Mrs. Stillwater, if you please," was the

grave reply.

Mr. Rockharrt looked around, as well as he could while old Jason was

drawing off his spring overcoat, and said:

"Take Mrs. Stillwater to her room, Cora. Don't keep her standing here."

"I have rung for a servant, who will attend to Mrs. Stillwater's needs,"

replied the lady, quietly.

The Iron King turned and stared at his granddaughter angrily, but said

nothing.

The housemaid came up at this moment.

"Martha, show Mrs. Stillwater to the chamber prepared for her, and wait

her orders there."

The negro woman wiped her clean hand on her clean apron--as a mere

useless form--and then held it out to the visitor, saying, with the

scorn of conventionality and the freedom of an old family servant:

"How do Miss Rose! 'Deed I's mighty proud to see you ag'in--'deed I is!

How much you has growed! I mean, how han'some you has growed! You allers

was han'some, but now you's han'somer'n ever! 'Deed, honey, you's

mons'ous han'some!"

This hearty welcome and warm admiration, though only from the negro

servant, helped to relieve the embarrassment of the visitor, who felt

the chill of Cora's cold reception.

"Thank you, Aunt Martha," she said, and followed the woman up stairs.

"Why did you not attend Mrs. Stillwater to her room?" sternly demanded

the Iron King, fixing his eyes severely on his granddaughter, as soon as

the visitor was out of hearing.

"It is not usual to do anything of the sort, sir, except in the case of

the guest being a very distinguished person or a very dear friend. My

ex-governess is neither. She shall, however, be treated with all due

respect by me so long as she remains under your roof," quietly replied

Cora.

"You had best see to it that she is," retorted the Iron King, as he

stalked up stairs to his own room, followed by his valet.

Cora returned to the drawing room, and seated herself in her arm chair,

and put her feet upon her foot-stool, and leaned back, to appearance

quite composed, but in reality very much perturbed. Had she acted well

in her manner to her grandfather's guest? She did not know. She could

not, therefore, feel at ease. She certainly did not treat Mrs.

Stillwater with rudeness or hauteur; she was quite incapable of doing

so; yet, on the other hand, neither had she treated her ex-governess

with kindness or courtesy. She had been calm and cold in her reception

of the visitor; that was all. But was she right? After all, she knew no

positive evil of the woman. She had only strong circumstantial evidence

of her unworthiness. She recalled an old saying of her father's:

"Better trust a hundred rogues than distrust one honest man."

Yet all Cora's instincts warned her not to trust Rose Stillwater.

After all, she could do nothing--at least at present. She would wait the

developments of time, and then, perhaps, be able to see her duty more

clearly. Meanwhile, for family peace and good feeling, she would be

civil to Rose Stillwater. Half an hour passed, and her meditations were

interrupted by the entrance of the guest. Mrs. Stillwater seemed

determined not to understand coldness or to take offense. She came in,

drew her chair to the fire, and spread out her pretty hands over its

glow, cooing her delight to be with dear friends again.

"Oh, darling Cora," she purred, "you do not know--you cannot even

fancy--the ineffable sense of repose I feel in being here, after all the

turbulence of the past year. You read my letter to your dearest

grandfather?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Rothsay.

"From that you must have seen to what straits I was reduced. Think!

After having sold everything I possessed in the world--even all my

clothing, except two changes for necessary cleanliness--to pay my board;

after trying in every direction to get honest work to do; I was in daily

fear of being told to leave the hotel because I could not pay my board."

"That was very sad! but was it not very expensive--for you--living at

the Wirt House? Would it not have been better, under your circumstances,

to have taken cheaper board?"

"Perhaps so, dear; but Captain Stillwater had always made his home at

the Wirt House when his ship was in port, and had always left me there

when his ship sailed, so that I felt at home in the house, you see."

"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Rothsay.

"Oh, my fondly cherished darling--you, loved, sheltered, caressed--you,

rich, admired, and flattered--cannot understand or appreciate the trials

and sufferings of a poor woman in my position and circumstances. Think,

darling, of my condition in that city, where I was homeless, friendless,

penniless, in daily fear of being sent from the house for inability to

pay my board!"

"I am sorry to hear all this," said Cora. And then she was prompted to

add: "But where was Mr. Fabian Rockharrt? He was your earliest friend.

He first introduced you to my grandfather. He never lost sight of you

after you left us, but corresponded with you frequently, and gave us

news of you from time to time. Surely, Mrs. Stillwater, had he known

your straits, he would have found some way of setting you up in some

business. He never would have allowed you to suffer privation and

anxiety for a whole year."

While Cora spoke she fixed her eyes on the face of her listener. But

Rose Stillwater was always perfect mistress of herself. Without the

slightest change in countenance or voice, she answered sweetly:

"Why, dear love, of course I did write to Mr. Fabian first of all, and

told him of the death of my dear husband, and asked him if he could help

me to get another situation as primary teacher in a school or as a

nursery governess."

"And he did not respond?"

"Oh, yes; indeed he did. He replied very promptly, writing that he had a

situation in view for me which would be better suited to my needs than

any I had ever filled, and that he should come to Baltimore to explain

and consult with me."

"Well?"

"The next day, dear, he came, and--I hate to betray his confidence and

tell you."

"Then do not, I beg you."

"But--I hate more to keep a secret from you. In short, he asked me to

marry him."

"What!" exclaimed Cora, in surprise and incredulity.

"Yes, my love; that was what he had to explain. The position of his wife

was the situation he had to offer me, and which he thought would suit me

better than any other I had ever filled."

"When was this proposal made?"

"About five months ago, and about seven months after the death of my

dear husband. He said that he would be willing to wait until the year of

mourning should be over."

"Oh, that was considerate of him."

"But I was still heart-broken for the loss of my dear husband. I could

not think of another marriage at any time, however distant. I told him

so. I told him how much I esteemed and respected him and even loved him

as a dear friend, but that I could not be faithless to the memory of my

adored husband. I was very sorry; for he was very angry. He called me

cold, silly and even ungrateful, so to reject his hand. I began to think

that it was selfish and thankless in me to disappoint so good a friend,

but I could not help it, loving the memory of my sainted husband as I

did. I was grieved to hurt Mr. Fabian, though."

"I do not think he was seriously injured. At least I am sure that his

wounds healed rapidly; for in a very few weeks afterward he proposed to

Miss Violet Wood, and was accepted by her. They were married on the

fourteenth day of February, and sailed for Europe the next day," said

Mrs. Rothsay.

"Yes; I know. Disappointed men do such desperate deeds; commit suicide

or marry for revenge. Poor, dear girl!" murmured Rose Stillwater, with a

deep sigh.

"Why poor, dear girl?" inquired Cora.

"Oh, you know, she caught his heart in the rebound, and she will not

keep it. But let us talk of something else, dear. Oh, I am so happy

here. So free from fear and trouble and anxiety. Oh, what ineffable

peace, rest, safety I enjoy here. No one will pain me by presenting a

bill that I cannot pay, or frighten me by telling me that my room will

be wanted for some one else. Oh, how I thank you, Cora. And how I thank

your honored grandfather for this city of refuge, even for a few days."

"You owe no thanks to me," replied Cora.

"A thousand thanks, my darling!" said Rose, and hearing the heavy

footsteps of the Iron King in the hail, she added--as if she heard them

not: "And as for Mr. Rockharrt, that noble, large brained, great hearted

man, I have no words to express the gratitude, the reverence, the

adoration with which his magnanimous character and munificent

benevolence inspires me. He is of all men the most--"

But here she seemed first to have caught sight of the Iron King, who was

standing in the door, and who had heard every word of adulation that she

had spoken.

"Cora, is not dinner ready?" he inquired, coming forward.

"Yes, sir; only waiting for you," answered the lady, touching a bell.

The gray haired butler came to the call.

"Put dinner on the table," ordered Mr. Rockharrt.

The old butler bowed and disappeared; and after awhile reappeared and

announced:

"Dinner served, sir."

Mr. Rockharrt gave his arm to Mrs. Stillwater, to take her to the table.

"Will not my Uncle Clarence be home this evening?" inquired Cora, as the

three took their seats.

"No; he will not be home before Saturday night. Since Fabian went away

there has been twice as much supervision over the foremen and

bookkeepers needed there, and Clarence is very busy over the accounts,

working night and day," replied the Iron King, as he took a plate of

soup from the hands of the butler and passed it to Mrs. Stillwater, who

received it with the beaming smile that she always bestowed on the Iron

King.

She was the life of the little party. If she was a broken hearted widow,

she did not show it there. She smiled, gleamed, glowed, sparkled in

countenance and words. The moody Iron King was cheered and exhilarated,

and said, as he filled her glass for the first time with Tokay, "Though

you do not need wine to stimulate you, my child. You are full of joyous

life and spirits."

"Oh, sir, pardon me. Perhaps I ought to control myself; but I am so

happy to be here through your great goodness; so free from care and

fear; so full of peace and joy; so safe, so sheltered! I feel like a

storm beaten bird who has found a nest, or a lost child who has found a

home, and I forget all my losses and all my sorrows and give myself up

to delight. Pardon me, sir; I know I ought to be calmer."

"Not at all, not at all, my child! I am glad to see you so gay. I

approve of you. You have suffered more than either of us, for you have

not only lost your life's companion, but home, fortune, and all your

living. My granddaughter here, as you may see, is a monument of morbid,

selfish sorrow, which she will not try to throw off even for my sake.

But you will brighten us all."

"I wish I might; oh, how I wish I might! It seems to me it is easy to be

happy if one has only a safe home and a good friend," said Rose.

"And those you shall always have in me and in my house, my child," said

the Iron King.

Cora listened in pure amazement. Her grandfather sympathetic! Her

grandfather giving praise and quoting poetry! What was the matter with

him? Not softening of the heart; he had never possessed such a

commodity. Was it softening of the brain, then? As soon as they had

finished dinner and returned to the drawing room, the Iron King said to

his guest:

"Now, my child, I shall send you off to bed. You have had a very long

and fatiguing journey and must have a good, long night's sleep."

And with his own hands he lighted a wax taper and gave it to her. Rose

received it with a grateful smile, bade a sweet toned good night to Mr.

Rockharrt and Mrs. Rothsay, and went tripping out of the room.

"I shall say good night, too, Cora; I am tired. But let me say this

before I go: Do you try to take pattern by that admirable child. See how

she tries to make the best of everything and to be pleasant under all

her sorrows. You have not had half her troubles, and yet you will not

try to get over your own. Imitate that poor child, Cora."

"'Child,' my dear grandfather! Do you forget that Mrs. Stillwater is a

widow thirty-six years old?" inquired Cora.

"'Thirty-six.' I had not thought of it, and yet of course I knew it.

Well, so much the better. Yet child she is compared to me, and child she

is in her perfect trust, her innocent faith, her meekness, candor and

simplicity, and the delightful abandon with which she gives herself to

the enjoyment of the passing hour. This will be a brighter house for the

presence of Rose Stillwater in it," said the Iron King, as he took up

his taper and rang for his valet and left the room.

Cora sat a long time in meditation before she arose and followed his

example. When she entered her chamber, she was surprised and annoyed to

find Rose Stillwater there, seated in the arm chair before the fire. Old

Martha was turning down the bed for the night.

"Cora, love, it is not yet eleven o'clock, though the dear master did

send us off to bed. But I wanted to speak to you, darling Cora, just a

few words, dear, before we part for the night; so when I met my old

friend, Aunt Martha, in the hall, I asked her to show me which was your

room, so I could come to you when you should come up; but Aunt Martha

told me she was on the way to your room to prepare your bed for the

night, and she would bring me here to sit down and wait for you. So here

I am, dear Cora."

"You wished to speak to me, you say?" inquired Mrs. Rothsay, drawing

another chair and seating herself before the fire.

"Yes, darling; only to say this, love, that I have not come here to

sponge upon your kindness. I will be no drone. I wish to be useful to

you, Cora. Now you are far away from all milliners and dress makers and

seamstresses, and I am very skillful with my needle and can do

everything you might wish to have done in that line--I mean in the way

of trimming and altering bonnets or dresses. I do not think I could cut

and fit."

"Mrs. Stillwater," interrupted Cora, "you are our guest, and you must

not think of such a plan as you suggest."

"Oh, my dear Cora, do not speak to me as if I were only company. I, your

old governess! Do not make a stranger of me. Let me be as one of the

family. Let me be useful to you and to your dear grandfather. Then I

shall feel at home; then I shall be happy," pleaded Rose.

"But, Mrs. Stillwater, we have not been accustomed to set our guests to

work. The idea is preposterous," said the inexorable Cora.

"Oh, my dear, do not treat me as a guest. Treat me as you did when I was

your governess. Make me useful; will you not, dear Cora?"

"You are very kind, but I would rather not trouble you."

"Ah, I see; you are tired and sleepy. I will not keep you up, but I must

make myself useful to you in some way. Well, good night, dear," said the

widow, as she stooped and kissed her hostess. Then she left the room.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SPELL WORKS.

Rose Stillwater was very near overdoing her part. She rose early the

next morning and came down in the drawing room before any of the family

had put in an appearance. She had scarcely seated herself before the

bright little sea coal fire that the chilly spring morning rendered very

acceptable, if not really necessary, when she heard the heavy, measured

footsteps of the master of the house coming down the stairs. Then she

rose impulsively as if in a flutter of delight to go and meet him; but

checked herself and sat down and waited for him to come in.

"How heavily the old ogre walks! His step would shake the house, if it

could be shaken. He comes like the statue of the commander in the

opera."

She listened, but his footsteps died away on the soft, deep carpet of

the library into which he passed.

"Ah! he does not know that I am down!" she said to herself,

complacently, as she settled back in her chair. Cora came in and greeted

Rose with ceremonious politeness, having resolved, at length, to treat

Mrs. Stillwater as an honored guest, not as a cherished friend or member

of the household.

"Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater. I hope you have had a good night's rest

and feel refreshed after your journey," she said.

Rose responded effusively:

"Ah, good morning, dear love! Yes; thank you, darling, a lovely night's

rest, undisturbed by the thoughts of debts and duns and a doubtful

future. I slept so deeply and sweetly through the night that I woke

quite early this morning. The birds were in full song. You must have

millions of birds here! And the subtile, penetrating fragrance of the

hyacinths came into the window as soon as I opened it. How I love the

early spring flowers that come to us almost through the winter snows and

before we have done with fires."

Cora did not reply to this rhapsody. Then Rose inquired:

"Does your grandfather go regularly to look after the works as he used

to do?"

"Mr. Rockharrt drives to North End every day," replied Cora.

"It is amazing, at his age," said Rose.

"Some acute observer has said that 'age is a movable feast.' Age, no

more than death, is a respecter of persons or of periods. Men grow old,

as they die, at any age. Some grow old at fifty, others not before they

are a hundred. I think Mr. Rockharrt belongs to the latter class."

"I am sure he does."

Cora did not confirm this statement.

Rose made another venture in conversation:

"So both the gentlemen go every day to the works?"

"Mr. Rockharrt goes every day. Mr. Clarence usually remains there from

Monday morning until Saturday evening."

"At the works?"

"Yes; or at the hotel, where he has a suite of rooms which he occupies

occasionally."

"Dear me! So you have been alone here all day long, every day but

Sunday! And now I have come to keep you company, darling! You shall not

feel lonely any longer. And--what was that Mary Queen of Scots said to

her lady hostess on the night she passed at the castle in her sad

progress from one prison to another:

"'We two widows, having no husbands to trouble us, may agree very

well,' or words to that effect. So, darling, you and I, having no

husbands to trouble us, may also agree very well. Shall we not?"

"I cannot speak so lightly on so grave a subject, Mrs. Stillwater," said

Cora.

Old Mr. Rockharrt came in.

"Good morning, Cora! Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater! I hope you feel

quite rested from your journey."

"Oh, quite, thank you! And when I woke up this morning, I was so

surprised and delighted to find myself safe at home! Ah! I beg pardon!

But I spent so many years in this dear old house, the happiest years of

my life, that I always think of it as home, the only home I ever had in

all my life," said Rose, pathetically, while tears glistened in her soft

blue eyes.

"You poor child! Well, there is no reason why you should ever leave this

haven again. My granddaughter needs just such a bright companion as you

are sure to be. And who so fitting a one as her first young governess?"

"Oh, sir, you are so good to me! May heaven reward you! But Mrs.

Rothsay?" she said, with an appealing glance toward Cora.

"I do not need a companion; if I did, I should advertise for one. The

position of companion is also a half menial one, which I should never

associate with the name of Mrs. Stillwater, who is our guest," replied

Cora, with cold politeness.

"You see, my dear ex-pupil will not let me serve her in any capacity,"

said Rose, with a piteous glance toward the Iron King.

"You have both misunderstood me," he answered, with a severe glance

toward his granddaughter, "I never thought of you as a companion to

Mrs. Rothsay, in the professional sense of that word, but in the sense

in which daughters of the same house are companions to each other."

"I should not shrink from any service to my dear Cora," said Rose

Stillwater, and she was about to add--"nor to you, sir," but she thought

it best not to say it, and refrained.

When breakfast was over, and the Rockhold carriage was at the door to

convey the Iron King to North End, the old autocrat arose from the table

and strode into the hall, calling for his valet to come and help him on

with his light overcoat.

"Let me! let me! Oh, do please let me?" exclaimed Rose, jumping up and

following him. "Do you remember the last time I put on your overcoat? It

was on that morning in Baltimore, years ago, when we parted at the

Monument House; you to go to the depot to take the cars for this place,

I to remain in the city to await the arrival of my husband's ship? Nine

years ago! There, now! Have I not done it as well as your valet could?"

she prattled, as she deftly assisted him.

"Better, my child, much better! You are not rough; your hands are dainty

as well as strong. Thank you, child," said Mr. Rockharrt, settling

himself with a jerk or two into his spring overcoat.

"Oh, do let me perform these little services for you always! It will

make me feel so happy!"

"But it will give you trouble."

"Oh, indeed, no! not the least! It will give me only pleasure."

"You are a very good child, but I will not tax you. Good morning! I must

be off," said Mr. Rockharrt, shaking hands with Rose, and then hurrying

out to get into his carriage.

Rose stood in the door looking after him, until the brougham rolled

away out of sight.

At luncheon Rose Stillwater seemed so determined to be pleasant that it

was next to impossible for Cora Rothsay to keep up the formal demeanor

she had laid out for herself.

"It is very lonely for you here, my dear. How soon does your grandfather

usually return? I know he must have been later than usual last night,

because he had to go to the depot to meet me," Rose said.

"Mr. Rockharrt usually returns at six o'clock. We have dinner at

half-past," replied Cora.

"And this is two! Four hours and a half yet!"

"The afternoon is very fine. Will you take a walk with me in the

garden?" inquired Cora, as they left the dining room, feeling some

compunction for the persistent coldness with which she had treated her

most gentle and obliging guest.

"Oh, thank you very much, dear. With the greatest pleasure! It will be

just like old times, when we used to walk in the garden together, you a

little child holding on to my hand. And now--But we won't talk of that,"

said Rose.

And she fled up stairs to get her hat and shawl.

And the two women sauntered for half an hour among the early roses and

spring flowers in the beautiful Rockhold garden.

Then they came in and went to the library together and looked over the

new magazines. Presently Cora said:

"We all use the library in common to write our letters in. If you have

letters to write, you will find every convenience in either of those

side tables at the windows."

"Yes. Just as it used to be in the old times when I was so happy here!

When the dear old lady was here! Ah, me! But I will not think of that.

She is in heaven, as sure as there is a heaven for angels such as she,

and we must not grieve for the sainted ones. But I have no letters to

write, dear. I have no correspondents in all the world. Indeed, dear

Cora, I have no friend in the world outside of this house," said Rose,

with a little sigh that touched Cora's heart, compelling her to

sympathize with this lonely creature, even against her better judgment.

"Is not Mr. Fabian friendly toward you?" inquired Cora, from mixed

motives--of half pity, half irony.

"Fabian?" sweetly replied Rose. "No, dear. I lost the friendship of Mr.

Fabian Rockharrt when I declined his offer of marriage. You refuse a

man, and so wound his vanity; and though you may never have given him

the least encouragement to propose to you, and though he has not the

shadow of a reason to believe that you will accept yet will he take

great offense, and perhaps become your mortal enemy," sighed Rose.

"But I think Uncle Fabian is too good natured for that sort of malice."

"I don't know, dear. I have never seen him since he left me in anger on

the day I begged off from marrying him. Really, darling, it was more

like begging off than refusing."

But little more was said on the subject, and presently afterward the two

went up stairs to dress for dinner.

Punctually at six o'clock Mr. Rockharrt returned. And the evening passed

as on the preceding day, with this addition to its attractions: Mrs.

Stillwater went to the piano and played and sang many of Mr. Rockharrt's

favorite songs--the old fashioned songs of his youth--Tom Moore's Irish

melodies, Robert Burns' Scotch ballads, and a miscellaneous assortment

of English ditties--all of which were before Rose's time, but which she

had learned from old Mrs. Rockharrt's ancient music books during her

first residence at Rockhold, that she might please the Iron King by

singing them.

Surely the siren left nothing untried to please her patron and

benefactor.

When he complained of fatigue and bade the two women good night, she

started and lighted his wax candle and gave it to him. The next day she

was on hand to help him on with his great coat, and to hand him his

gloves and hat, and he thanked her with a smile.

So went on life at Rockhold all the week.

On Saturday evening Mr. Clarence came home with his father and greeted

Rose Stillwater with the kindly courtesy that was habitual with him.

There were four at the dinner table. And Rose, having so excellent a

coadjutor in the younger Rockharrt, was even gayer and more chatty than

ever, making the meal a lively and cheerful one even for moody Aaron

Rockharrt and sorrowful Cora Rothsay.

After dinner, when the party had gone into the drawing room, Mrs.

Stillwater said:

"Here are just four of us. Just enough for a game at whist. Shall we

have a rubber, Mr. Rockharrt?"

"Yes, my child! Certainly, with all my heart! I thank you for the

suggestion! I have not had a game of whist since we left the city. Ah,

my child, we have had very stupid evenings here at home until you came

and brought some life into the house. Clarence, draw out the card table.

Cora, go and find the cards."

"Let me! Let me! Please let me!" exclaimed Rose, starting up with

childish eagerness. "Where are the cards, Cora, dear?"

"They are in the drawer of the card table. You need not stir to find

them, thank you, Mrs. Stillwater."

"No; here they are all ready," said Mr. Clarence, who had drawn the

table up before the fire and taken the pack of cards from the drawer.

The party of four sat down for the game.

"We must cut for partners," said Mr. Rockharrt, shuffling the cards and

then handing them to Mrs. Stillwater for the first cut.

"The highest and the two lowest to be partners?" inquired Rose, as she

lifted half the pack.

"Of course, that is the rule."

Each person cut in turn, and fortune favored Mrs. Stillwater to Mr.

Clarence, and Cora to Mr. Rockharrt. Then they cut for deal, and fortune

favored Mr. Rockharrt.

The cards were dealt around.

Rose Stillwater had an excellent hand, and she knew by the pleased looks

of her partner, Mr. Clarence, that he also had a good one; and by the

annoyed expression of Mr. Rockharrt's face that he had a bad one. Cora's

countenance was as the sphnix's; she was too sadly preoccupied to care

for this game.

However, Rose determined that she would play into the hand of her

antagonist and not into that of her partner.

Pursuing this policy, she watched Mr. Rockharrt's play, always returned

his lead, and when her attention was called to the error, she would

flush, exhibit a lovely childlike embarrassment, declare that she was no

whist player at all, and beg to be forgiven; and the very next moment

she would trump her partner's trick, or purposely commit some other

blunder that would be sure to give the trick to Mr. Rockharrt.

Mr. Clarence was the soul of good humor, but it was provoking to have

his own "splendid" hand so ruined by the bad play of his partner that

their antagonists, with such very poor hands, actually won the odd

trick.

In the next deal Rose got a "miserable" hand; so did her partner, as she

discovered by his looks, while Mr. Rockharrt must have had a magnificent

hand, to judge from his triumphant expression of countenance.

Rose could, therefore, now afford to redeem her place in the esteem of

her partner by playing her very best, without the slightest danger of

taking a single trick.

To be brief, through Rose's management Mr. Rockharrt and Cora won the

rubber, and the Iron King rose from the card table exultant, for what

old whist player is not pleased with winning the rubber?

"My child," he said to Rose Stillwater, "this is altogether the

pleasantest evening that we have passed since we left the city, and all

through you bringing life and activity among us! I do not think we can

ever afford to let you go."

"Oh, sir! you are too good. Would to heaven that I might find some place

in your household akin to that which I once filled during the happiest

years of my life, when I lived here as your dear granddaughter's

governess," said Rose Stillwater, with a sigh and a smile.

"You shall never leave us again with my consent. Ah, we have had a very

pleasant evening. What do you think, Clarence?"

"Very pleasant for the winners, sir," replied the young man, with a good

humored laugh, as he lighted his bed room candle and bade them all good

night.

Soon after the little party separated and retired for the night.

As time passed, Rose Stillwater continued to make herself more and more

useful to her host and benefactor. She enlivened his table and his

evenings at home by her cheerful conversation, her music and her games.

She waited on him hand and foot, helped him on and off with his wraps

when he went out or came in; warmed his slippers, filled his pipe, dried

his newspapers, served him in innumerable little ways with a childlike

eagerness and delight that was as the incense of frankincense and myrrh

to the nostrils of the egotist.

And he praised her and held her up as a model to his granddaughter.

Rose Stillwater was a proper young woman, a model young woman, all

indeed that a woman should be. He had never seen one to approach her

status in all his long life. She was certainly the most excellent of her

sex. He did not know what in this gloomy house they could ever do

without her.

Such was the burden of his talk to Cora.

Mrs. Rothsay gave but cold assent to all this. She had too much

reverence for the fifth commandment to tell her grandfather what she

thought of the situation--that Rose Stillwater was making a notable fool

of him, either for the sake of keeping a comfortable home, or gaining a

place in his will, or of something greater still which would include all

the rest.

She tried to treat the woman with cold civility. But how could she

persevere in such a course of conduct toward a beautiful blue eyed angel

who was always eager to please, anxious to serve?

Cora felt that this woman was a fraud, yet when she met her lovely,

candid, heaven blue eyes she could not believe in her own intuitions.

Cora, like some few unenvious women, was often affected by other women's

beauty. The childlike loveliness of her quondam teacher really touched

her heart. So she could not at all times maintain the dignified reserve

that she wished toward Rose Stillwater.

Meantime the day approached when it was decided that they should all go

to West Point to the commencement, at which Cadet Sylvan Haught was

expected to graduate.

Mr. Rockharrt had invited Mrs. Stillwater to be of their party, and

insisted upon her accompanying them.

Rose demurred. She even ventured to hint that Mrs. Rothsay might not

like her to go with them; whereupon the Iron King gathered his brow so

darkly and fearfully, and said so sternly:

"She had better not dislike it," that Rose hastened to say that it was

only her own secret misgiving, and that no part of Mrs. Rothsay's

demeanor had led her to such a supposition.

And she resolved never again to drop a hint of her hostess' too evident

suspicion of herself to the family autocrat, for it was the last mistake

that Mrs. Stillwater could possibly wish to make--to kindle anger

between grandfather and granddaughter. Her policy was to forbear, to be

patient, to conciliate, and to bide her time.

"Cora," said the Iron King, abruptly, to his granddaughter, at the

breakfast table, on the morning after this conversation, and in the

presence of their guest, "do you object to Mrs. Stillwater joining our

traveling party to West Point?"

"Certainly not, sir. What right have I to object to any one whom you

might please to invite?"

"No right whatever. And I am glad that you understand that," replied Mr.

Rockharrt.

Rose was trembling for fear that her benefactor would betray her as the

suggester of the question, but he did not.

Cora had received no letter from her Uncle Fabian in answer to hers

announcing the fact of Mrs. Stillwater's presence at Rockhold.

Mr. Fabian wrote no letters, except business ones to the firm, and

these were opened at the office of the works, and never brought to

Rockhold.

If Cora should ever inquire of her grandfather whether he had heard from

Mr. and Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt, his answer would be brief--

"Yes; they are both well. They are at Paris. They are at Berne. They are

at Aix," or wherever the tourists might then chance to be.

Sylvan was a better correspondent. He answered her letters promptly. His

comments on the visit of Rose Stillwater were characteristic of the boy.

"So you have got the Rose 'that all admire' transplanted to the

conservatories of Rockhold. Wish you joy of her. She is a rose without a

single thorn, and with a deadly sweet aroma. Mind what I told you long

ago. It contains the wisdom of ages. 'Stillwater runs deep.' Mind it

does not draw in and submerge the peace and honor of Rockhold. I shall

see you at the exhibition, when we can talk more freely over this

complication. If Mrs. Stillwater is to remain as a permanent guest at

Rockhold, I shall ask my sister to join me wherever I may be ordered,

after my leave of absence has expired. You see I fully calculate on

receiving my commission."

Cora looked forward anxiously to this meeting with her brother. Only the

thought of seeing him a little sooner than she should otherwise have

done could reconcile her to the proposed trip to West Point, where she

must be surrounded by all the gayeties of the Military Academy at its

annual exercises.

Cora had yielded to her grandfather's despotic will in going a little

into society while they occupied their town house in the State capital.

But she took no pleasure--not the least pleasure--in this.

To her wounded heart and broken spirit the world's wealth was dross and

its honors--vapor!

The only life worth living she had lost, or had recklessly thrown away.

Her soul turned, sickened, from all on earth, to seek her lost love

through the unknown, invisible spheres.

She still wore around her neck the thin gold chain, and suspended from

it, resting on her bosom, the precious little black silk bag that

contained the last tender, loving, forgiving, encouraging letter that he

had written to her on the night of his great renunciation for her sake,

when he had left all his hard won honors and dignities, and gone forth

in loneliness and poverty to the wilderness and to martyrdom.

Oh, she felt she was never worthy of such a love as that; the love that

had toiled for her through long years; the love that had died for her at

last; the love that she had never recognized, never appreciated; the

love of a great hearted man, whom she had never truly seen until he was

lost to her forever.

So long as he had lived on earth Cora had cherished a hope to meet him,

"sometime, somehow, somewhere."

But now he had left this planet. Oh! where in the Lord's universe was

he? In what immeasurably distant sphere? Oh! that her spirit could reach

him where he lived! Oh, that she could cause him to hear her cry--her

deep cry of repentance and anguish!

But no; he never heard her; he never came near her in spirit, even in

her dreams, as the departed are sometimes said to come and comfort the

loved ones left on earth.

During these moods of dark despair Cora was so gloomy and reserved that

she seemed to treat her unwelcome guest worse than ever, when, in truth,

she was not even seeing or thinking of the intruder.

The Iron King, however, noticed his granddaughter's coldness and

reserve, and he deeply resented it.

One very rainy, dismal Sunday they were all at home and in the drawing

room. Cora had sat for hours in silence, or replying to Mrs.

Stillwater's frequent attempts to draw her into conversation in brief

monosyllables, until at last the visitor arose and left the room, not

hurt or offended, as Mr. Rockharrt supposed, but simply tired of staying

so long in one place.

But the Iron King turned on his granddaughter and demanded:

"Corona Rothsay! why do you treat our visitor with such unladylike

rudeness?"

Cora, brought roughly out of her sad reverie, gazed at the old man

vaguely. She scarcely heard his question, and certainly did not

understand it.

"Father," ventured Mr. Clarence, "I do not believe Cora could treat any

one with rudeness, and surely she could never be unladylike. But you see

she is absent-minded."

"Hold your tongue, sir! How dare you interfere?" sternly exclaimed the

despot. "But I see how it is," he added, with the savage satisfaction of

a man who has power to crush and means to do it--"I see how it is! That

oppressed woman will never be treated by either of you with proper

respect until I give her my name and make her my wife and the mistress

of my house."

CHAPTER XIV.

IN THE WEB.

"Yes, sir and madam, you may stare; but I mean to place my guest in a

position from which she can command due honor. I mean to give her my

name and make her the mistress of my house," said old Aaron Rockharrt;

and he leaned back in his chair and drew himself up.

Had a thunderbolt fallen among them, it could hardly have caused greater

consternation.

The shock was more effective because both his hearers knew full well

that old Aaron Rockharrt never used vain threats, and that he would do

exactly what he said he would do. Having said that he meant to marry the

unwelcome guest, he would marry her.

But what unutterable amazement fell upon the two people! Both had felt a

vague dread of evil from the presence of this siren in the house; but

their darkest, wildest fears had never shadowed forth this unspeakable

folly. The Iron King, a man of seventy-seven, strong, firm, upright,

honored, to fall into the idiocy of marrying a beautiful adventuress

merely because she waited on him, ran his errands, warmed his slippers,

put on his dressing gown or his overcoat, as he would come in or go out,

and generally made him comfortable; but above all perhaps, because she

flattered his egotism without measure. And yet the Iron King was

considered sane, and was sane on all other subjects.

So thought Clarence and Cora as they gasped, glanced at the old man,

gazed at each other, and then dropped their eyes in a sort of shame.

Neither spoke or could speak.

The dreadful silence was broken at last by Rose Stillwater, who burst

into the room like a sunbeam into a cloud, and said with her childish

eagerness:

"I have got such a lovely piece of music. I ran out just now to look for

it. I was not sure I could find it; but here it is. It may be called

sacred music and suitable to the day, I hope. Here is the title.

"'Glad life lives on forever.'

"Shall I play and sing for you, Mr. Rockharrt? Would you like me to do

so, dear Cora? And you, Mr. Clarence?"

"Certainly, my dear," promptly responded the Iron King.

"As you please," coldly replied Cora.

"I--yes--thank you; I think it would be very nice," foolishly observed

Mr. Clarence, who was just now reduced to a state of imbecility by the

stunning announcement of his father's intended marriage.

But all three had spoken at the same time, so that Rose Stillwater heard

but one voice clearly, and that was the Iron King's.

Mr. Clarence, however, went and opened the piano for her. Then old Mr.

Rockharrt arose, went to the instrument slowly and deliberately, put his

youngest son aside, wheeled up the music stool, seated her and then--

"The monarch o'er the siren hung

And beat the measure as she sung,

And pressing closer and more near,

He whispered praises in her ear."

"It is 'The Lion in Love,' of Æsop's fable. He will let her draw his

teeth yet," said Mr. Clarence, in a low tone, quite drowned in the

joyous swell of the music.

"No, it is not. A man of his age does not fall in love, I feel sure. And

she will never gain one advantage over him. He likes her society and her

servitude and her flatteries. He will take them all, and more than all,

if he can; but he will give nothing, nothing in return," murmured Cora.

"But why does he give her this attention to-day? It is unusual."

"To show us that he will do her honor; place her above us, as he said;

but that will not outlast their wedding day, if indeed they marry."

"They will marry unless something should happen to prevent them. I do

wish Fabian was at home."

"So do I, with all my heart."

The glad bursts of music which had drowned their voices, slowly sank

into soft and dreamy tones.

Then Clarence and Corona ceased their whispered conversation.

Soon the dinner bell rang and the family party went into the dining

room.

On Monday morning active preparations were commenced for their journey

to New York. Not one more word was spoken about the marriage of June and

January, nor could either Clarence or Corona judge by the manner of the

ill sorted pair whether the subject had been mentioned between them.

On Wednesday of that week Mr. Rockharrt, accompanied by Mrs. Stillwater

and Mrs. Rothsay, left Rockhold for New York, leaving Mr. Clarence in

charge of the works at North End.

They went straight through without, as before, stopping overnight at

Baltimore. Consequently they reached New York on Thursday noon.

Mr. Rockharrt telegraphed to the Cozzens Hotel at West Point to secure a

suite of rooms, and then he took his own party to the Blank House.

When they were comfortably installed in their apartments and had had

dinner, he said to his companions:

"I have business which may detain me in the city for several days. We

need not, however, put in an appearance at the Military Academy before

Monday morning. Meanwhile you two may amuse yourselves as you please,

but must not look to me to escort you anywhere. Here are fine stores,

art galleries, parks, matinees and what not, where women may be trusted

alone;" and having laid down the law, his majesty marched off to bed,

leaving the two young widows to themselves, in the private parlor of

their suite.

They also retired to the double-bedded chamber, which, to Cora's

annoyance, had been engaged for their joint occupancy. She detested to

be brought into such close intimacy with Rose Stillwater, and longed for

the hour of her brother's release from the academy, and his appointment

to some post of duty, however distant, where she might join him, and so

escape the humiliation of her present position. However, she tried to

bear the mortification as best she might, thankful that she and her

unwelcome chum, while occupying the same chamber, were not obliged to

sleep in the same bed.

Truly, Rose Stillwater felt how unpleasant her companionship was to her

former pupil, but she showed no consciousness of this. She comported

herself with great discretion--not forcing conversation on her unwilling

room mate, lest she should give offense; and it was the policy of this

woman to "avoid offenses," nor yet did she keep total silence, lest she

should seem to be sulky; for it was also her policy always to seem

amiable and happy. So, though Cora never voluntarily addressed one word

to her, yet Rose occasionally spoke sweetly some commonplace about the

weather, their room, the bill of fare at dinner, and so on; to all of

which observations she received brief replies.

Both were relieved when they were in their separate beds and the gas was

turned off--Rose that she need act a difficult part no more that night,

but could lie down, and, under the cover of the darkness, gather her

features in a cloud of wrath, and silently curse Corona Rothsay; Cora,

that she was freed from the sight of the deceitful face and the sound of

the lying tongue.

Fatigued by their long journey, both soon fell asleep, and slept well,

until the horrible sound of the gong awakened them--the gong in those

days used to summon guests to the public breakfast table.

Cora sprang out of bed with one fear--that her grandfather was up and

waiting for his breakfast, though that gong had really nothing to do

with any of their meals, which were always to be served in their private

parlor.

Cora and her room mate quickly dressed and went to the parlor, where

they were relieved to find no Mr. Rockharrt and no table set.

Presently, however, the Iron King strode into the room, a morning paper

in his hand.

"Breakfast not ready yet?" he sharply demanded, looking at Corona.

Then she suddenly remembered that whenever they had traveled before this

time, her grandmother had ordered the meals, as she had done everything

else that she could do to save her tyrant trouble.

"I--suppose so, sir. Shall I ring for it?" she inquired.

"Let me! Let me! Oh, please let me wait on you!" exclaimed Rose, as she

sprang up, ran across the room, and rang a peal on the bell.

The waiter came.

"Will you also order the breakfast, Mrs. Stillwater, if such is your

pleasure?" inquired Cora, who could not help this little bit of ill

humor.

"Certainly I will, my dear, if you like!" said the imperturbable Rose,

who was resolved never to understand sarcasm, and never to take

offense--"Waiter, bring me a bill of fare."

The waiter went out to do his errand.

Old Aaron Rockharrt glared sternly at his granddaughter; but his fire

did not strike his intended victim, for Cora had her back turned and was

looking out of the window.

The waiter came in with the breakfast bill of fare.

"Will you listen, Mr. Rockharrt, and you, dear Cora, and tell me what to

mark, as I read out the items," said Rose, sweetly, as she took the card

from the hands of the man.

"Thank you, I want nothing especially," answered Cora.

"Read on, my dear. I will tell you what to mark, and you must be sure

also to mark any dish that you yourself may fancy," said Mr. Rockharrt,

speaking very kindly to Rose, but glaring ferociously toward Cora.

Rose read slowly, pausing at each item. Mr. Rockharrt named his favorite

dishes, Rose marked them, and the order was given to the waiter, who

took it away.

Breakfast was soon served, and a most disagreeable meal it must have

been but for Rose Stillwater's invincible good humor. She chatted gayly

through the whole meal, perfectly resolved to ignore the cloud that was

between the grandfather and the granddaughter.

As soon as they arose from the table old Aaron Rockharrt ordered a

carriage to take him down to Wall Street, on some business connected

with his last great speculation, which was all that his granddaughter

knew.

Before leaving the hotel, he launched this bitter insult at Cora,

through their guest:

"My dear," he said to Mrs. Stillwater, as he drew on his gloves, "I must

leave my granddaughter under your charge. I beg that you will look after

her. She really seeds the supervision of a governess quite as much now

as she did years ago when you had the training of her."

Corona's wrath flamed up. A scathing sarcasm was on her lips. She

turned.

But no. She could not resent the insult of so aged a man; even if he had

not been her grandfather.

Rose Stillwater said never a word. It was not--it would not have been

prudent to speak. To treat the matter as a jest would have offended the

Iron King; to have taken it seriously would most justly and unpardonably

have offended Corona Rothsay. Truly, Rose found that "Jordan am a hard

road to trabbel!" And here at least was an apt application of the old

proverb:

"Speech is silver, silence is golden." So Rose said never a word, but

looked from one to the other, smiling divinely on each in turn.

Old Aaron Rockharrt having discharged his shot, went down stairs,

entered his carriage and drove to Wall Street.

Corona went to her room, or to the room she jointly occupied with Mrs.

Stillwater, wishing from the depths of her heart that she could get

entirely away from the sight and hearing of the woman who grew more

repugnant to her feelings every day. At one time Cora thought that she

would call a carriage, drive to the Hudson River railway station, and

take the train for West Point, there to remain during the exercises of

the academy. She was very strongly tempted to do this; but she resisted

the impulse. She would not bring matters to a crisis by making a scene.

So the idea of escaping to West Point was abandoned. Next she thought of

taking a carriage and driving out to Harlem alone; but then she

remembered that the woman Stillwater was, after all, her guest, so long

as she herself was mistress, if only in name, of her grandfather's

house; she could not leave her alone for the whole day; and so the idea

of evading the creature's company by driving out alone was also given

up.

Truly, Cora was bound to the rack with cords of conventionality as fine

as cobwebs, yet as strong as ropes.

She did nothing but sit still in her chamber and brood; dreading the

entrance of her abhorrent room-mate every moment.

But Rose Stillwater--who read Cora Rothsay's thoughts as easily as she

could read a familiar book--acted with her usual discretion. As long as

Cora chose to remain in their joint chamber, Rose forbore to exercise

her own right of entering it.

Not until the afternoon did Corona come out into the parlor. Then she

found Rose seated at the window, watching the busy scene on the Broadway

pavement below, the hurried promenaders jostling as they passed each

other on going up and coming down; the street peddlers, the walking

advertisements, and all other sights never noticed by a citizen of the

town, but looked at with curiosity by a stranger from the country.

Rose turned as Corona entered, and ignoring all reserve, said sweetly:

"I hope you have been resting, dear, and that you feel refreshed. Shall

I ring and order luncheon? I wish to do all I can, dear, to prove my

appreciation of all the kindness shown me; yet not to be officious."

Now, how could Cora repulse the advances of so very good humored a

woman? She believed her to be false and designing. She longed with all

her heart and soul to be rid of the woman and her insidious influence.

Yet she could not hear that sweet voice, those meek words, or meet those

soft blue eyes, and maintain her manner of freezing politeness.

"If you please," she answered, gently, and then said to herself:

"Heavens! what a hypocrite this unwillingness to hurt the woman's

feelings does make me!"

Rose rang the bell and ordered the luncheon.

They sat down in apparent amity to partake of it.

The afternoon waned and evening came, but brought no Iron King back to

the hotel.

"Have you any idea at what hour Mr. Rockharrt will return, dear?"

inquired Mrs. Stillwater, in her most dulcet tones.

"Not the slightest."

"I think he said something about going down to Wall Street to see after

the forming of a syndicate in connection with his grand speculation.

What is a syndicate, dear?"

"I don't know--it may be an agency or a company--"

"Or it may be something connected with the building of the new

synagogue, which it is said is to be constructed of iron."

Cora was surprised into the first laugh she had had in two years. But

the mirth was very short-lived. It came and passed in an instant, and

then a pang of remorse seized her heart that she could have laughed at

all. She was thinking of her lost Rule, and of her own guilty share in

his tragic fate. If she had not let her fancy and imagination become so

dazzled by the rank and splendor of the British suitor as to blind her

heart and mind for a season, as to make her think and believe that she

really loved this new man, and that she had never loved, and could never

love, Ruth Rothsay, though she must keep her engagement with him and

marry him--had she not broken down and given way to her emotions on that

fatal evening of their wedding day--then Rule would never have made his

great renunciation for her sake--would never have wandered away into the

wilderness to meet his death from murderous hands. How could she ever

laugh again? she asked herself.

"What is the matter with you, dear?" inquired Rose, surprised at the

sudden change in Cora.

But before she could be answered the door opened and old Aaron Rockharrt

came in, looking weary and careworn.

"How have you amused yourselves to-day?" he inquired of the two young

women.

Cora was slow to speak, but Rose answered discreetly:

"I do not think we either of us did much but loll around and rest from

our journey."

"Not been out?"

"No; I did not care to do so; nor did Cora, I believe."

Dinner was served. Afterward the evening passed stupidly.

Aaron Rockharrt sat in the large arm chair and slept. Cora, looking at

him, thought he was aging fast.

As soon as he waked up he bade his companions good night and went to his

apartment. The two others soon followed his example.

As this day passed, so passed the succeeding days of their sojourn in

the city.

Mr. Rockharrt went out every morning on business connected with that

great scheme which was going to quadruple his already enormous wealth.

He came home every evening quite worn out, and after dinner sat and

dozed in his chair until bedtime.

Cora watched him anxiously and wondered at him. He was aging fast. She

could see that in his whole appearance. But what a strange infatuation

for a man of seventy-seven, possessed already of almost fabulous wealth,

to be as hotly in pursuit of money as if he were some poor youth with

his fortune still to make! And what, after all, could he do with so much

more money? Why could he not retire on his vast riches, and rest from

his labors, leaving his two stalwart sons to carry on his business, and

so live longer? Cora mournfully asked herself.

On Sunday a strange thing happened. Old Aaron Rockharrt announced at the

breakfast table his intention of going to a certain church to hear a

celebrated preacher, whose piety, eloquence and enthusiasm was the

subject of general discussion; and he invited the two ladies to go with

him. Both consented--Cora because she never willingly absented herself

from public worship on the Sabbath; Rose because it was her cue to be

amiable and to agree to everything that was proposed.

"We need not take a carriage. The church is only two blocks off," said

Mr. Rockharrt, as he arose from the table.

The party was soon ready, and while the bell was still ringing, they set

out to walk. As they reached the sacred edifice the bell ceased ringing

and the organ pealed forth in a grand voluntary.

"You see we are but just in time," said Mr. Rockharrt, as he led his

party into the building.

The polite sexton conducted the strangers up the center aisle and put

them into a good pew. The church was not full, but was filling rapidly.

Our party bowed their heads for the preliminary private prayer, and so

did not see the great preacher as he entered and stood at the reading

desk. He was an English dean of great celebrity as a pulpit orator, now

on a visit to the United States, and preaching in turn in every pulpit

of his denomination as he passed. He was a man of about sixty-five,

tall, thin, with a bald head, a narrow face, an aquiline nose, blue eyes

and a gray beard. He began to read the opening texts of the service.

"'If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is

not in us.'"

At the sound of his voice Rose Stillwater started violently, looked up

and grew ghastly white. She dropped her face in her hands on the

cushioned edge of the pew before her, and so sat trembling through the

reading of the texts and the exhortations. Afterward followed the

ritualistic general confession and prayer, during which all knelt.

When at the close all arose Mrs. Stillwater was gone from her seat. Mr.

Rockharrt looked around him and then stared at Cora, who very slightly

shook her head, as if to say:

"No; I know no more about it than you."

How swiftly and silently Rose Stillwater had left the pew and slipped

out of the church while all the congregation were bowed in prayer!

Old Aaron Rockharrt looked puzzled and troubled, but the minister was

pronouncing the general absolution that followed the general confession,

and such a severe martinet and disciplinarian as old Aaron Rockharrt

would on no account fail in attention to the speaker.

Nor did he change countenance again during the long morning service.

At its close he drew Cora's arm within his own and led her out of the

church.

As they walked down Broadway he inquired:

"Why did Mrs. Stillwater leave the church?"

"I do not know," answered his granddaughter.

"Was she ill?"

"I really do not know."

"When did she go?"

"I do not know that either, except that she must have slipped out while

we were at prayers."

"You seem to be a perfect know-nothing, Cora."

"On this subject I certainly am. I did not perceive Mrs. Stillwater's

absence until we rose from our knees."

"Well, we shall find her at the hotel, I suppose, and then we shall know

all about it."

By this time they had reached the Blank House.

They entered and went up into their parlor.

Rose was not there.

"Bless my soul, I hope the poor child is not ill. Go, Cora, and see if

she is in her room, and find out what is the matter with her," said old

Aaron Rockharrt, as he dropped wearily into the big arm chair.

Cora had just come from church, from hearing an eloquent sermon on

Christian charity, so she was in one of her very best moods.

She went at once into the bedroom occupied jointly by herself and her

traveling companion. She found Rose in a wrapper, with her hair down,

lying on the outside of her bed.

"Are you not well?" she inquired in a gentle tone.

"No, dear; I have a very severe neuralgic headache. It takes all my

strength of mind and nerve to keep me from screaming under the pain,"

answered Rose, in a faint and faltering voice.

"I am very sorry."

"It struck me--in the church--with the suddenness of a bullet--shot

through my brain."

"Indeed, I am very, very sorry. You should have told me. I would have

come out with you."

"No, dear. I did not--wish to disturb--anybody. I slipped out

noiselessly--while all were kneeling. No one heard me--no one saw me

except the sexton--who opened--the swing doors--silently to let me

pass."

"You should not have attempted to walk home alone in such a condition.

It was not safe. But I am talking to you, when I should be aiding you,"

said Cora; and she went to her dressing case and took from it a certain

family specific for neuralgic headaches which had been in great favor

with her grandmother. This she poured into a glass, added a little

water, and brought to the sufferer.

"Put it on the stand by the bed, dear. I will take it presently. Thank

you very much, dear Cora. Now will you please close all the shutters and

make the room as dark as a vault--and shut me up in it--I shall go to

sleep--and wake up relieved. The pain goes as suddenly as it comes,

dear," said Rose, still in a faint, faltering and hesitating voice.

Cora did all her bidding, put the tassel of the bell cord in her reach,

and softly left the room.

The chamber was not as dark as a vault, however. Enough of light came

through the slats of the shutters and the white lace curtains to enable

Rose to rise, take the medicine from the stand, cross the floor and pour

it in the wash basin, under a spigot. Then she turned on the water to

wash it down the drain. Then she turned off the water and went back to

bed--not to sleep--for she had too much need to think.

Had the minister in that pulpit recognized her, as she had certainly

recognized him? She hoped not. She believed not. As soon as she had

heard the voice--the voice that had been silent for her so many

years--she had impulsively looked up. And she had seen him! A specter

from the past--a specter from the grave! But his eyes were fixed upon

the book from which he was reading, and she quickly dropped her head

before he could raise them. No; he had not seen her. But oh! if she had

heard his name before she had gone to hear him preach, nothing on earth

would ever have induced her to go into the church. But she had not heard

his name at all. She had heard of him only as the Dean of Olivet. He was

not a dean in those far-off days when she saw him last; only a poor

curate of whose stinted household she had grown sick and tired. But he

was now Dean of Olivet! He had come to make a tour of the United States.

Should she have the mischance to meet him again? Would he go up to West

Point for the exercises at the military academy? But of course he

would! It was so convenient to do so. West Point was so near and easy to

see. The trip up the Hudson was so delightful at this season of the

year. And the dean was bound to see everything worth seeing. And what

was better worth seeing by a foreigner than the exercises at our

celebrated military academy? What should she do to avoid meeting, face

to face, this terrible phantom from the grave of her dead past?

She could make no excuse for remaining in New York while her party went

up to West Point--make no excuse, that is, which would not also make

trouble. And it was her policy never to do that. She thought and thought

until she had nearly given herself the headache which before she had

only feigned. At length she decided on this course: To go to West Point

with her party, and as soon as they should arrive to get up a return of

her neuralgic headache, as her excuse for keeping her room at the hotel

and absenting herself from the exercises at the academy.

As soon as she had formed this resolution she got up, opened one of the

windows, washed and dressed herself and went out into the parlor.

She entered softly.

Old Aaron Rockharrt was sound asleep in his big arm chair.

Cora was seated at the table engaged in reading. She arose to receive

the invalid.

"Are you better? Are you sure you are able to be up?" she kindly

inquired.

"Oh, yes, dear! Very much better! Well, indeed! When it goes, it goes,

you know! But had we better not talk and disturb Mr. Rockharrt?"

inquired Rose.

"We cannot disturb him. He sleeps very soundly--too soundly, I think,

and too much."

"Do you know by what train we go to West Point to-morrow?"

"By the 7:30 a.m. So that we may arrive in good time for the

commencement. We must retire very early to-night, for we must be up

betimes in the morning. But sit down; you really look very languid,"

said Cora, and taking the hand of her companion, she led her to the sofa

and made her recline upon it. Then Cora resumed her own seat.

"Thank you, darling," cooed Rose.

There was silence in the room for a few moments. Mr. Rockharrt slept on.

Cora took up her book. Rose was the first to speak.

"I wonder if the new lion, the Dean of Olivet, will go to West Point

to-morrow," she said in a tone of seeming indifference.

"Oh, yes! It is in all the papers. He is to be the guest of the

chaplain," replied Cora.

"I wonder what train he will go by."

"Oh, I don't know that. He may go by the night boat."

"The Dean of Olivet would never travel on Sunday night."

"But he might hold service and preach on the boat."

"Oh, yes; so he might."

"What on earth are you talking about? When will dinner be ready?"

demanded old Aaron Rockharrt, waking up from his nap. Straightening

himself up and looking around, he saw Rose Stillwater.

"Oh, my dear, are you better of your headache?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Rockharrt."

"You look pale, as if you had gone through a sharp siege, if a short

one. You should have told me in the pew, and allowed me to take you

here, not ventured out alone, when you were in such pain."

"But I did not wish to attract the least attention, so I slipped out

unperceived while everybody's heads were bent in prayer."

"All very well, my dear; but pray don't venture on such a step again. I

am always at your service to attend you. Now, Cora, ring for dinner to

be served. It was ordered for five o'clock, I think, and it is five

minutes past," said Mr. Rockharrt, consulting his watch.

Cora arose, but before she could reach the bell, the door was opened,

and the waiter appeared to lay the cloth.

After dinner the Iron King went into a little room attached to the

suite, which he used as a smoking den.

The two young women settled themselves to read.

They all retired at nine o'clock that night so as to rise very early

next day.