THE WHISPERED WORDS.
"Well! what's all this?" abruptly demanded old Aaron Rockharrt, as he
came up, followed by Clarence and Sylvan, just as Fabian was lifting the
unconscious woman into the carriage.
"Mrs. Rockharrt has been over-fatigued, I think, sir, for she has
fainted. But don't be alarmed; she is recovering," said Mr. Fabian, as
he settled the lady in an easy position in a corner of the carriage, and
found a smelling salts bottle and put it to her nose.
"'Alarmed?' Why should I be?"
"No reason why, sir," answered Mr. Fabian, who then stooped to the woman
and whispered: "Nor need you be so. You are safe for the present."
"Will you get out of my way and let me come to my place?" demanded the
Iron King.
"Pardon me, sir," said Fabian, stepping backward from the carriage.
"Fainting?" said the old man, in a tone of annoyance, as he took his
seat beside his new wife--"fainting? The first Mrs. Rockharrt never
fainted in her life; nor ever gave any sort of trouble. What's the
matter with you, Rose? Don't be a consummate fool and turn nervous. I
won't stand any nonsense," he said roughly, as he peered into the pale
face of his new slave.
"Oh, it is nothing," she faltered--"nothing. I was overcome by heat. It
is a very hot day."
"Why, it is a very cool afternoon. What do you mean?" he demanded.
"It has been a very hot day, and the heat and fatigue--"
"Rubbish!" he interrupted. "If I were to give any attention to your
faints, you would be fainting every day just to have a fuss made over
you. Now this fainting business has got to be stopped. Do you hear? If
you are out of order, I will send for my family physician and have you
examined. If you are really ill, you shall be put under medical
treatment; if you are not, I will have no fine lady airs and
affectations. The first Mrs. Rockharrt was perfectly free from them."
"I would not have given way to the weakness if I could have helped
it--indeed I would not!" said the poor woman, very sincerely.
"We'll see to that!" retorted the Iron King.
Ah, poor Rose! She was not the old man's darling and sovereign, as she
had hoped and planned to be. She was the tyrant's slave and victim.
A man of Aaron Rockharrt's temperament seldom, at the age of
seventy-seven, becomes a lover; and never, at any age, a woman's slave.
Mr. Fabian now got into the carriage, and sat down on the front cushion
opposite his father and step-mother. Mr. Clarence was following him in,
when Mr. Rockharrt roughly interfered.
"What are you about here, Clarence? What are you going to do?"
"Take my seat in the carriage, of course, sir," answered the young man,
with a surprised look.
"You are going to do nothing of the sort! I don't choose to have the
horses overtasked in this manner. I myself, with Fabian and my coachman,
to say nothing of Mrs. Rockharrt, are weight enough for one pair of
horses, and you can't come in here. Where's Sylvan?"
"On the box seat beside the driver."
"Really?" demanded the Iron King, in a sarcastic tone, "How many more of
you desire to be drawn by one pair of horses? Tell Sylvan to come down
off that."
"But, sir, there is not a single conveyance of any description at the
station," urged Clarence.
"Indeed! And pray what do you call your own two pairs of sturdy legs?
Are they not strong enough to convey you from here to North End, where
you can get the hotel hack? And, by the way, why did you not engage the
hack to come here and take you back?"
"Because it was out, sir."
"Then you two should not have come here to over-load the horses. But as
you have come, you must walk back. Has Sylvan got off his perch? Ah,
yes; I see. Well, tell the coachman to drive first to the North End
Hotel. And do you two long-legged calves walk after it. If the hack
should be still out when we get there, you can stay at the hotel until
it comes in."
"All right, sir," said Clarence, good humoredly; and he closed the door,
and gave the order to the coachman, who immediately started his horses
on the way to North End.
On the way home Mr. Clarence inquired of his nephew when he expected to
receive his commission and where he expected to be ordered.
"How can I tell you? I must wait for a vacancy, I suppose, and then be
sent to the Devil's Icy Peak or Fort Jumping Off Place, or some such
other pleasant post of duty on the confines of terra incognita. But the
farther off, the stranger and the savager it is, the better I shall like
it for my own sake, but it will be rough on Cora," said the youth.
"But you do not dream of taking Cora out there?" exclaimed Clarence, in
pained surprise.
"Oh, but I do! She insists on going where I go. She is bent on being a
voluntary, unsalaried missionary and school-mistress to the Indians
just because Rule died a martyred minister and teacher among them."
"She is mad!" exclaimed Mr. Clarence; "mad."
"She has had enough to make her mad, but she is sane enough on this
subject, I can tell you, Uncle Clarence. She is the most level-headed
young woman that I know, and the plan of life that she has laid out for
herself is the best course she could possibly pursue under the present
circumstances. She is very miserable here. This plan will give her the
most complete change of scene and the most interesting occupation. It
will cure her of her melancholy and absorption in her troubled past, and
when she shall be cured she may return to her friends here, or she may
meet with some fine fellow out there who may make her forget the dead
and leave off her weeds. That is what I hope for, Uncle Clarence."
And for the rest of their walk they trudged on in silence or with but
few words passed between them. It was sunset when they reached North
End.
That evening when Sylvan and Cora found themselves together for a moment
at Rockhold House, the youth said:
"Corona Rothsay, the sooner I get my orders and you and I depart for
Scalping Creek or Perdition Peak, or wherever I am to be shoveled off
to, the better, my dear," said the young soldier.
"What do you think of it all now, Sylvan?" she inquired.
"I think, Cora, that while we do stay here it would be Christian charity
to be very good to 'the Rose that all admire.' Nobody will admire her
any more, I think."
"Why?" inquired Cora, in surprise.
"Oh, you didn't see her face. She had her mask veil, do you call
it?--down, so you couldn't see. But, oh, my conscience! how she is
changed in these last six weeks! She is not a blooming rose any more.
She is a snubbed, trampled on, crushed, and wilted rose. Her face looks
pale; her hair dull; her eyes weak; her beauty nowhere; her cheerfulness
nowhere else."
Early the next morning, after a hasty breakfast, Mr. Rockharrt entered
his carriage to drive to the works. Young Mrs. Rockharrt, under the plea
of fatigue from her long journey, retired to her own room.
Cora said to her brother:
"Sylvan, I wish you would order the little carriage and take me to the
Banks to see Violet. I should have paid her this attention sooner but
for the pressure of work that has been upon me. I must defer it no
longer, but go this morning."
"All right, Cora!" answered the young man, and he left the room to do
his errand.
Cora went up stairs to get ready for her drive.
In about fifteen minutes the two were seated in the little open landau,
that had been the gift of the late Mrs. Rockharrt to her beloved
granddaughter, and that the latter always used when driving out in the
country around Rockhold during the summer.
They did not have to cross the ferry, as the new house of Fabian
Rockharrt was on the same side of the river as was Rockhold.
The road on this west side was, however, much rougher, though the
scenery was much finer.
They drove on through the woods, which here clothed the foot of the
mountain and grew quite down to the water's edge, meeting over their
heads and casting the road into deep shadow.
They drove on for about three miles, when they came to a point where
another road wound up the mountain side, through heavy woods, and
brought them to a beautiful plateau, on which stood the handsome house
of Fabian Rockharrt, in the midst of its groves, flower gardens,
arbors, orchards and conservatories.
It was a double, two-storied house, of brown stone, with a fine green
background of wooded mountain, and a front view of the river below and
the mountains beyond. There were bay windows at each end and piazzas
along the whole front.
As the carriage drew up before the door, Violet was discovered walking
up and down the front porch. She looked very fragile, but very pretty
with her slight, graceful figure in a morning dress of white muslin,
with blue ribbons at her throat and in her pale gold hair.
She came down to meet her visitors.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come, Cora and Sylvan!" she said, throwing
her arms around the young lady and kissing her heartily, and then giving
her hand and offering her cheek for a greeting from the young man.
"I fear you must be lonely here, Violet," said Cora.
"Awfully lonesome after Fabian has gone away in the morning, Cora. It
would be such a charity in you to come and stay with me for a little
while! Come in now and we will talk about it," said the little lady, as
she led the way back to the house.
"Sylvan," she continued, as they paused for a moment on the porch, "send
your coachman around to the stable to put up your carriage. You and Cora
will spend the day with me at the very least."
"Just as Cora pleases; ask her," said the young man with a glance toward
his sister.
"Yes," she answered.
"You are a love!" exclaimed Violet as she led the way into the hall and
thence into a pleasant morning room.
Cora laid off her bonnet and sank into an easy chair by the front
window.
"Now, as soon as you are well rested, I wish to show you both over the
house and grounds. Such a charming house, Cora! Such beautiful grounds,
Sylvan!" exclaimed the proud little mistress.
Cora smiled approval, but did not explain that she herself had gone all
through the establishment several times, in the course of its fitting
up, to see that all things were arranged properly before the arrival of
the married pair.
And when, a little later, the trio went through the rooms, she expressed
as much pleasure in their appearance as if she had never seen them
before.
The brother and sister spent a very pleasant day at Violet Banks, and
when in the cool of the evening they would have taken leave, the young
wife pleaded with them to stay all night.
In the midst of this discussion Mr. Fabian Rockharrt came home from
North End.
As he entered the parlor he heard his Wood Violet at her petition. He
greeted them all, kissed his wife, kissed Cora, and shook hands with
Sylvan.
"Now let me settle this matter," he said, good humoredly, as he threw
himself into a large arm chair.
"First tell me, Cora, what is the obstacle to your spending the night
with us?"
"Only that I did not announce even this visit to the family at
Rockhold."
"Do you owe any special obligation to do so?"
"It is not a question of obligation, but of courtesy. I should certainly
be remiss in politeness to leave the house for a two days' visit without
giving notice of my intention," she answered.
"Oh! I see. Well, I can fix all that. You will both remain to dinner.
After dinner it will not be too late for Sylvan to take my sure-footed
cob and ride back to Rockhold and explain to the family that Cora is to
remain here overnight, and that I will myself take her home to-morrow
evening if she should wish to go."
"What do you say, Cora," inquired the young man.
"I accept Uncle Fabian's offer and will remain here for the present,"
said the young lady.
"Like the sensible woman that you are!" exclaimed Mr. Fabian.
Half an hour later the four sat down to dinner in one of the prettiest
little dining rooms that ever was seen.
Soon after the pleasant meal was over, Sylvan took leave of his friends,
mounted the white cob that stood saddled at the door, and rode down the
wooded hill to the river road leading to Rockhold.
The three left behind spent the remainder of the evening on the front
porch, watching the deep river, the hoary mountains, the starry sky, and
listening to the hum of insects, the whirl of waters and the singing of
the summer breeze through the pines that clothed the precipice, and
talking very little.
They retired to rest at a late hour.
Yet on the next morning they met at an early breakfast, for Mr. Fabian
had to go to the works to make up for much lost time while affairs were
left under the sole management of Mr. Clarence.
Cora remained with Violet, who took her into a more interior confidence,
and exhibited with equal pride and delight sundry dainty little garments
of fine cambric and linen richly trimmed with lace or embroidery, all
the work of her own delicate fingers.
"They tell me, Cora, that I could buy all these things as cheap and as
good as I can make them. But I do take such pleasure in making them with
my own hands."
Cora kissed her tenderly for all reply.
Then the little lady began to ask questions about her new
step-mother-in-law.
"You know, Cora, that I could not ask you yesterday while Sylvan was
with us. He is in your full confidence, no doubt, and I have perfect
faith in him; but for all that we cannot speak freely on all subjects
before a third person, however near and dear. At least I could not ask
searching questions about Mr. Rockharrt's marriage, before Sylvan. Such
a strange marriage, with such a disparity in years between a man of Mr.
Rockharrt's venerable age and Mrs. Stillwater's blooming youth! I saw
her once by chance. She looked a perfect Hebe of radiant health and
beauty."
Cora Rothsay smiled. She might have told this little lady that there was
not much more difference between the ages of Rose Stillwater at
thirty-seven and Aaron Rockharrt at seventy-seven than there was between
Violet Wood at seventeen and Fabian Rockharrt at fifty-two. But as the
young wife did not see this fact, Cora refrained from showing it to her.
Then Violet wanted to know what Cora herself thought of the marriage.
Cora said she thought it concerned only the parties in question, and
only time could tell how it would turn out.
In such confidential talk passed the long summer day.
In the cool of the evening Mr. Fabian came home to dinner.
He joined his wife in trying to persuade Cora to remain with them yet
another day; but Cora explained that there were many reasons for her
return to Rockhold.
Finding her obdurate, Mr. Fabian ordered Mrs. Rothsay's landau to be at
the door at a certain hour.
And as soon as dinner was over and Cora had put on her bonnet and taken
leave of Violet, with a promise to return within a few days, Mr. Fabian
placed her in the Carriage, took his seat beside her, and drove down
the wooded hill to the river road below.
"It is not altogether for pleasure that I pressed you to stay till
to-night, Cora, although your presence gave great pleasure to my wife
and self. I wished to have a private talk with you. Cora, you ought not
to stay at Rockhold. You should come to us," said Mr. Fabian, as they
bowled along the wooded road between the foot of the hills and the banks
of the river.
"Why?" inquired the lady.
He did not answer at once, but drove slowly on as if to gain time for
thought. At length, however, he said:
"I think that a home with Violet and myself at the Banks would be much
more congenial to you than one with your grandfather and his new wife at
Rockhold."
"But, my dear Uncle Fabian, under present circumstances my grandfather
is my natural protector and Rockhold my proper home until my brother has
one to offer me."
"Cora, you are not frank with me. I know how you feel about staying at
Rockhold, and also why you feel as you do; though I do not see by what
agency or intuition you could have gained the knowledge you seem to
possess."
"Uncle Fabian, I have no positive knowledge of any cause why I should
shrink from continuing in my natural home. I have only suspicions, which
perhaps you could clear up or confirm, if you would be frank with me."
He drove on slowly in silence without answering her. She continued:
"I wrote to you while you were in Europe, informing you that Mrs.
Stillwater had been invited by my grandfather to come to Rockhold to
remain as long as should be convenient to herself. You never replied to
my letter."
"I never got such a letter, Cora. It must have been lost with others
that miscarried among the Continental mails, when they were following me
from one office to another. But even if I had received such a letter, it
could have made no difference. I could not have prevented Mrs.
Stillwater's visit, nor the event that resulted from the visit. I could
not have written or returned in time."
"Should you have prevented the visit or the marriage that followed if
you could have done so?"
"Most certainly I should."
"Why?"
"For the same reason that you, or Clarence, or Sylvan would have done
so. For the reason of its total unfitness. But, Cora, my dear, I repeat
that you have not been frank with me. You are hiding something from me."
"And I repeat, Uncle Fabian, that I have no positive knowledge of any--"
"Yes; so you said before," he exclaimed, interrupting her. "You have no
positive knowledge, but you have very strong suspicions founded upon
very solid grounds! Now, what are these grounds, my dear? I am your
uncle. You should give me your confidence."
If Mr. Fabian had not put the matter in this way, and if they had not
been driving along the dark and over-shadowed road where the meeting
branches of the trees above almost hid the light of the stars, so that
only one or two occasionally gleamed through the foliage, Cora would
never have been able to reply to her uncle as she did.
"Uncle Fabian, do you remember a certain warm night in September some
five years ago, when we stopped at the Wirt House in Baltimore?"
"On our way home from Canada--yes, I do."
"My room was close that night and I could not sleep. A little after
midnight I got up and put oil my dressing-gown and went into the
adjoining room, which was our private parlor, and I sat down in a cool
corner in the shadow of the curtain and in the draught of the window. I
fell asleep, but was soon awakened by the sound of a door opening and
some one whispering. I was about to call out when I recognized your
voice. The room was pitch dark. I could not see you; but then I was
about to speak, when I recognized another voice--Mrs. Stillwater's. You
had let yourself in by your own key, through the door leading from the
hall. She had come in through the door leading from her room, which was
on the opposite side of the parlor from mine."
Cora paused to wait for the effect of her words.
Mr. Fabian drove on slowly in silence.
"I sat there quite still, too much surprised to speak or move."
"And so you overheard that interview," said Mr. Fabian, with a dash of
anger in his usually pleasant voice.
"I could not escape. I was amazed, spellbound, too confused to know what
to do."
"Well?"
"I gathered from your words that you and she were either secretly
married or secretly engaged to be married."
"That was your opinion."
"What other opinion could I form? You were providing her with a house
and an income. She was speaking of herself as a daughter-in-law sure to
be acceptable to your father and mother. Of course, I judged from that
that you were either wedded or betrothed, which was an incomprehensible
thing to me, who had been led to believe that the lady was the wife of
Captain Stillwater, remaining in Baltimore to meet her husband, whose
ship was then daily expected to arrive."
"You were wrong, Cora," said Mr. Fabian, now speaking in his natural
tone without a shade of anger--quite wrong, my dear; there was nothing
of the sort. I was never engaged to Mrs. Stillwater."
"Then she subsequently refused you. I am telling you what I thought
then, not what I think now. I have heard from her own lips that after
her husband's death you proposed to her and she refused you."
Mr. Fabian shook with silent laughter. When he recovered he asked:
"And you believed her?"
"I do not know. I was in a maze. There were so many contradictory and
inconsistent circumstances surrounding the woman that seemed to live and
move in a web of deception woven by herself," said Cora, wearily, as if
tired of the subject.
"And, after all, she is a very shallow creature, incapable of any deep
scheming; there is no great harm. She knows that she is beautiful--still
beautiful--and her only art is subtle flattery. She flattered your
grandfather 'to the bent of his humor,' with no deeper design than to
marry him and gain a luxurious home and an ample dower, as well as an
adoring husband. You see she has succeeded in marrying him, poor little
devil! but she has gained nothing but a prison and a jailer and penal
servitude. I repeat, there is no great harm in her; and yet, Cora, my
dear, I do not permit my wife to visit her, and I do not wish you to
remain in the same house with her."
"Why, Uncle Fabian! you were the very first to introduce her to us! It
was you who were charged with the duty of finding a nursery governess
for me, and you selected Rose Flowers from a host of applicants."
"I know I did, my dear. She seemed to me a lovely, amiable, attractive
girl of seventeen, not very well educated, yet quite old enough and
learned enough to be nursery governess to a little lady of seven
summers. And she did her duty and made herself beloved by you all, did
she not?"
"Yes, indeed."
"And so she always has done and always will do. And yet, my dear, you
must not live in the same house with her now, even if you did live years
together when she was your governess."
"Are you not even more prejudiced against Mrs. Rockharrt than I am?"
"Bah! no, my dear; I have no ill will against the woman, though I will
not let my niece live with her or my wife visit her.
"I wish, Uncle Fabian, that you would be more explicit and tell me all
you know of Rose Flowers--or Mrs. Stillwater--before she became Mrs.
Rockharrt."
"Have you told me all you know of her, Cora, my dear?"
"I have said several times that I know nothing, and yet--stop--"
"What?"
"In addition to that strange interview that I overheard, yet did not
understand, there was something else that I saw, but equally did not
understand."
"What was that?"
"Something that happened while we were in New York city in May last."
"Will you tell me what it was?"
"Yes, certainly. We were staying at the Star Hotel. We stayed over
Sunday, and we went to the Episcopal church near our hotel, to hear an
English divine preach."
"Well?"
"He was the celebrated pulpit orator, the Dean of Olivet--"
"Good Heav--" exclaimed Mr. Fabian, involuntarily, but stopping himself
suddenly.
"What is the matter?" demanded Cora, suspiciously.
"I was too near the edge of the precipice. We might have been in the
river in another moment," said Mr. Fabian.
Cora did not believe him, but she refrained from saying so.
"The danger is past. Go on, my dear."
"We were shown into the strangers' pew. The voluntary was playing. We
all bowed our heads for the short private prayer. The voluntary stopped.
Then we heard the voice of the dean and we lifted our heads. I turned to
offer Mrs. Stillwater a prayer book. Then I saw her face. It was
ghastly, and her eyes were fixed in a wild stare upon the face of the
dean, whose eyes were upon the open book from which he was reading.
Quick as lightning she covered her face with her veil and so remained
until we all knelt down for the opening prayer. When we arose from our
knees, Rose was gone."
Cora paused for a few moments.
"Go on, go on," said Mr. Fabian.
"We did not leave the church. Grandfather evidently took for granted
that Rose had left on account of some trifling indisposition, and he is
not easily moved by women's ailments, you know. So we stayed out the
services and the sermon. When we returned to the hotel we found that
Rose had retired to her room suffering from a severe attack of neuralgic
headache, as she said."
"What did you think?"
"I thought she might have been suddenly attacked by maddening pain,
which had given the wild look to her eyes; but the next day I had good
reason to change my opinion as to the cause of her strange demeanor."
"What was that?"
"We all left the hotel at an early hour to take the train for West
Point. Mrs. Stillwater seemed to have quite recovered from her illness.
We had arrived at the depot and received our tickets, and were waiting
at the rear of a great crowd at the railway gate, till it should be
opened to let us pass to our train. I was standing on the right of my
grandfather, and Rose on my right. Suddenly a man looked around. He was
a great Wall Street broker who had dealings with your firm. Seeing
grandfather, he spoke to him heartily, and then begged to introduce the
gentleman who was with him. And then and there he presented the Dean of
Olivet to Mr. Rockharrt, who, after a few words of polite greeting,
presented the dean to me, and turned to find Rose Stillwater."
"Well! Well!"
"She was gone. She had vanished from the crowd at the railway gate as
swiftly, as suddenly, and as incomprehensibly as she had vanished from
the church. After looking about him a little, my grandfather said that
she had got pressed away from us by the crowd, but that she knew her way
and would take care of herself and follow us to the train all right. But
when the gates were opened we did not see her, nor did we find her on
the train, though Mr. Rockharrt walked up and down through the twenty
cars looking for her, and feeling sure that we should find her. The
train had started, so we had to go on without her. My grandfather
concluded that she had accidentally missed it and would follow by the
next one."
"And what did you think, Cora?"
"I thought that, for some antecedent and mysterious reason, she had fled
from before the face of the Dean of Olivet at the railway station, even
as she had done at the church."
"When and where did you find her?"
"Not until our return to New York city. My grandfather was in a fine
state; kept the telegraph wires at work between West Point and New York,
until he got some clew to her, and then, without waiting for the closing
exercises at the military academy, he hurried me back to the city. We
found the missing woman at St. L----'s hospital, where she had been
conveyed after having been found in an unconscious condition in the
ladies' room of the railway depot. She was better, and we brought her
away to the hotel. The Dean of Olivet went to Newport, and Mrs.
Stillwater recovered her spirits. A few days later she married Mr.
Rockharrt at the church where the dean had preached. You know everything
else about the matter. And now, Uncle Fabian, tell me that woman's
story, or at least all that is proper for me to know of it."
"Cora, you read Rose Stillwater aright. She did on both these occasions
fly from before the face of the Dean of Olivet. I will tell you all
about her, for it is now right that you should know; but you must
promise never to reveal it."
"I promise."