"IT IS THE UNEXPECTED THAT HAPPENS."
After her exciting and fatiguing day, Corona slept long and heavily, and
when she reached the family sitting room she found her two uncles there
in conversation.
"I am sorry I kept you waiting, Uncle Fabian," she said, hurriedly.
"You have not done so, my dear. The bell has not yet rung."
"Then I'm glad. Good morning, Clarence," she said, turning to her
younger uncle.
"Good morning, Cora. How did you sleep?"
"Perfectly, Clarence dear. I hope you will set out for North End
immediately after breakfast. I shall not start for Washington until
to-night. I shall spend the day here, so that after telling Violet of my
intended journey I may have some little time to reconcile her to it."
"How good you are, Cora. I do appreciate this consideration for Violet,"
said Mr. Fabian earnestly.
"It is only her due, uncle. Well, Clarence, since you are determined to
escort me to Washington, whether or not, you may meet me at the depot
for the 6:30 express. I feel that it is every way better that I should
go by the night train; better for Violet, with whom I can thus spend a
few more hours, and better for Clarence, who need not by this
arrangement lose this day's work."
"Quite so," assented Mr. Fabian. "And now," he added, as light footsteps
were heard approaching the room, "here comes Violet. Not a word about
the journey until after breakfast."
They all went into the breakfast room, where a fragrant, appetizing
morning meal was spread.
How different this was from the breakfast at Rockhold on the
preceding-day, darkened by the sullen wrath of the Iron King and eaten
in the most gloomy silence! Here were affectionate attentions and jests
and laughter. Violet was in such gay spirits that her vivacity became
contagious, and Fabian and Clarence often laughed aloud, and Corona was
won to smile at her sallies.
At last Mr. Fabian arose with a sigh, half of satisfied appetite, half
of reluctance to leave the scene, and said:
"Well, I suppose we must be moving. Clarence, will you drive with me to
North End?"
"Certainly. That is all arranged, you know," replied the younger
brother.
"Mr. Fabian walked out into the hall, saying as he left the breakfast
room:
"Corona, a word with you, my dear."
Corona went to him, and he said:
"After you have had an explanation with Violet, persuade her to
accompany you to North End. You had better come in your own pony
carriage, my dear; it is so easy and the horse so safe. And then, after
you have left us, I can drive her home in the same vehicle. And, by the
way, my dear, what shall you do with that little turnout? Shall I send
it to Hyde's livery stable for sale? You can get double what was given
for it. And remit you the price?"
"No, Uncle Fabian; it is not to be sold. And I am glad you reminded me
of it. I have intended all along to give it to our minister's wife. She
has no carriage of any sort, and she really needs one, and she will
enjoy this because she can drive the pony herself. So, after I have
gone, will you please send it to Mrs. Melville, with my love?"
"Certainly, my dear; with the greatest pleasure. Cora, that is well
thought of. Now I must go up to the nursery and bid good-by to baby, or
her mother would never forgive me."
And high and heavy Mr. Fabian tripped up the stairs like a lamplighter.
Corona lingered in the hall, talking with Mr. Clarence, who had now come
there to put on his overcoat. Presently Mr. Fabian came hurrying down
stairs alone. He had left Violet in the sanctuary.
"Come, come, Clarence, hurry up! We are late! What if the monarch should
reach the works before us? I shouldn't like to meet him in his roused
wrath! Should you?
"Old age ne'er cooled the Douglass blood!"
said Mr. Fabian, hurriedly pulling on his overcoat, seizing hat and
gloves, and with a hasty--
"Good-by, Cora, until to-night," hurried out of the front door.
He need not have been in such haste--the Iron King was not destined to
reach North End in advance of his sons that morning.
Mr. Clarence kissed Corona good-by, and hurried after his elder brother,
and then stopped short at what he saw.
Mr. Fabian was standing before the carriage door with one foot on the
step.
Beside him was a horseman who had just ridden up--the horse in a lather
of foam, the man breathless and dazed--telling some news in broken
sentences; Mr. Fabian listening pallid and aghast.
"Great Heaven! how sudden! how shocking!" he exclaimed at last, turning
back toward the house, and hurrying up the steps.
"What is it? What is the matter? What has happened, Fabian?" anxiously
demanded Clarence.
"The father has had a stroke! No time for particulars now! Take the
fastest horse in the stable and go yourself to North End to fetch the
doctor. You can bring him sooner than any servant. I must go directly on
to Rockhold. Cora must delay her journey again. Be off, Clarence!" said
Mr. Fabian.
And while the elder brother returned to the house, the younger went to
get his horse.
"Cora!" called Mr. Fabian.
Corona came out of the parlor.
"You cannot go away to-day."
"Why?" inquired the young lady.
"Don't talk! Listen! Your grandfather is ill--very ill. Old John has
just come from Rockhold to tell me."
"Oh! I am very sorry."
"No time for words! Go put on your bonnet, and come along with me; the
carriage that was to have taken me to North End must take us both to
Rockhold. Hurry, Cora."
"But Violet?"
"I will go and tell Violet that the grandfather is not feeling very
well, and has sent for you. I can do this while you are getting ready to
go. Then come into the nursery and bid Violet good-by."
Corona hurried up to her room, and quickly put on her bonnet and
fur-lined cloak, and then ran into the nursery, where she found Violet
nursing her baby, looking serious but composed, and evidently
unconscious of old Aaron Rockharrt's danger. Mr. Fabian was standing at
the back of her chair, so that she might not read the truth in his face.
"So you are going home so suddenly, Cora, dear? I am so sorry the father
is not feeling well that I cannot even ask you to stay here a moment
longer. Give my love to the father, and tell him if he does not get
better in a day or two I shall be sure to come and nurse him."
She could not rise without disturbing her precious baby, but she raised
her head and put up her lips, that Cora might kiss her good-by. Then
Cora followed her uncle down stairs, and in five minutes more they were
seated in the carriage, slowly winding their way down the dangerous
mountain pass to the river road that led to Rockhold.
"Uncle Fabian," said Corona, gravely, "I have been trying to think what
is right for me to do. This sorrowful news took me so completely by
surprise, and your directions were so prompt and peremptory, that I had
not a moment for reflection; so that I followed your lead automatically.
But now, Uncle Fabian, I have considered, and I ask you as I have asked
myself--am I right in going back to Rockhold, after my grandfather has
sent me away, and forbidden me ever to return? Tell me, Uncle Fabian."
"My dear, what do you yourself wish to do?" he inquired.
"To return to Rockhold and nurse my grandfather, if he will allow me to
do so."
"Then by all means do so."
"But, Uncle Fabian--against my grandfather's express command?"
"Good Heaven, girl!" Those 'commands' were issued by a well and angry
man. You are returning to minister to an ill and perhaps a dying one."
"Still, Uncle Fabian, would it not seem to be taking advantage of my
grandfather's helpless state to return now, after he had forbidden me to
enter his house? I think it would. And the more I reflect upon the
subject, the surer I feel that I ought not to enter Rockhold unbidden.
And--I will not."
"You will not! What! Can you show resentment to your stricken--it may be
dying--grandfather?"
"Heaven forbid! But I must not disobey his injunction, now that he is
too helpless to prevent me. No, Uncle Fabian, I must not enter the
house. But neither will I be far from it. I will remain within call."
"Where?"
"At the ferryman's cottage. Will you, Uncle Fabian, as soon as you have
an opportunity, say that I am deeply grieved for all that has estranged
us. Will you ask him to forgive me and let me come to him?"
"Yes; I will do so, my dear, if there is an opportunity. But, Cora, I
think you are morbidly scrupulous. I think that you should come to the
house. He may wish to see you if he should have a lucid interval, and
there may not be time to send for you."
"I must risk that rather than disobey him in his extremity."
"As you will," replied Mr. Fabian. And no more was said on the subject.
When they reached the foot of the mountain and the level of the river
road, the horses were put upon their speed, and they soon arrived at
Rockhold.
"I will wait in the carriage until you go in and inquire how he is,"
said Corona, as the vehicle drew up before the front door.
Mr. Fabian got out and hurried up the steps. The door stood open, cold
as the day was, and all things wore the neglected aspect of a dwelling
wherein the master lay stricken unto death. The housekeeper, Martha,
was coming down the stairs and crying.
"How is your master?" breathlessly inquired Mr. Fabian.
"Oh, Marse Fabe, sir, jes' livin', an' dat's all!" sobbed the woman.
"Dunno nuffin. Layin' dere jes' like a dead corpe, 'cept for breavin'
hard," wept the woman.
"Who is with him?"
"Me mos' times an' young Mark. I jes' come down to speak 'long o' you,
Marse Fabe, w'en I see de carriage dribe up."
"Well, go back to your master. I will speak to my niece, and then come
in," said Mr. Fabian, as he hurried out to the carriage. All his
interview with the housekeeper had not occupied two minutes, but Cora
was pale with suspense and anxiety.
"How is he?" she panted.
"Unconscious, my poor girl. Oh, Cora! come in!"
"No, no; I must not. Not until he permits me. I will stop at the
ferryman's cottage. Oh, if he should recover consciousness--oh, Uncle
Fabian, ask him to let me come to him, and send me word."
"Yes, yes; I will do it. I must go to him now. Charles," he said,
turning to the coachman, "drive Mrs. Rothsay down to the ferry house,
and then take the carriage to the stables."
And then, with a grave nod to Corona, Mr. Fabian re-entered the house.
The coachman drove the carriage down to the ferryman's cottage and drew
up. The door was open and the cottage was empty.
"Boat on t'other side, ma'am," said Charles.
"For the doctor, I suppose--and hope," said Corona, looking across the
river, and seeing a gig with two men coming on to the ferryboat.
She watched from the door of the ferryman's cottage while Charles drove
off the empty carriage toward the stables and the two ferrymen poled
their boat across the river. She retreated within the house before the
boat touched the land, for she knew that the doctor, if he should see
her there, would wonder why she was not at her grandfather's bedside,
and perhaps--as he was an old friend--he might ask questions which she
would find it embarrassing to answer. The boat touched the shore; the
gig, containing the doctor and Mr. Clarence, rolled off the boat on
along the drive leading to the house.
Meanwhile Mr. Fabian had re-entered the hall and hurried up to his
father's room. He found the Iron King in bed, lying on his right side
and breathing heavily. His eyes were half closed.
"Father," said the son, in a low voice, taking his hand and bending over
him.
There was no response.
"It ain't no use, Marster Fabe. Yer can't rouse him, do wot yer will.
Better wait till de doctor come, young marse. I done been tried all I
knowed how, but it wa'n't no use," said Martha, who stood on the other
side of the bed watching her insensible master.
"Tell me when this happened. Come away to the upper end of the room and
tell me about it."
"Might's well tell yer right here, marse. 'Twon't sturve him. Lor!
thunder wouldn't sturve him, the way he is in."
"Then tell me, how was it? When was he stricken?"
"We don't know, marse. He was found jes' dis way by John dis
mornin'--not jes zackly dis way, howaseber, case he was a-layin' on his
lef side, w'ich was berry bad; so me an' John turn him ober jes so like
he is a-layin' now. Den we sent right off for you, marse, to ketch yer
at home 'fore yer went to de works."
"Did he seem well when he came home last night?'
"Jes 'bout as ujual, marse. He came in, an' John he waited on him. An he
ax, ole marse did, 'was Mrs. Rossay gone?' W'ich John tole him she were.
Den he ordered dinner to be fotch up. An' John he had a pitcher ob hot
punch ready. An' ole marse drank some. Den he went in to dinner all by
hisself. An' young Mark he waited on de table, w'ich he tell me, w'en I
ax him dis mornin', how de ole marse eat much as ujual, wid a good
relish. Den arter dinner he went to de liberairy and sot dere a long
time. Ole John say it were midnight 'fo' de ole marse walk up stairs an'
call him to wait on him."
"Was John the last one who saw my father before he was found unconscious
this morning?"
"Hi! yes, young marse, to be sure he were. De las' to see de ole marse
in healt' las' night, an' de firs' to fine him dis way dis mornin'."
"How came he to find his master in this condition?"
"It was dis way. Yer know, young marse, as dere is two keys to ole
marser's do', w'ich ole marse keeps one in his room to lock hisse'f in,
an' John keeps one to let hisse'f in wen de ole marse rings for him in
de mornin'."
"Yes; I know."
"Well, dis mornin' de ole marse didn't ring at his ujual hour. An' de
time passed, an' de breakfast were ready an' spilin'. So I tole John how
he better go up an' see if ole marse was well, how maybe he didn' feel
like gettin' up an' might want to take his breakfas' in bed. But Lor! I
nebber participated sich a sarious 'tack as dis. Well, den, John he went
an' rapped soft like. But he didn't get no answer. Den he rap little
louder. But still no answer. Den John he got scared, awful scared. Las'
John he plucks up courage, an' unlocks de do', slow an' saf', an' goes
in on tiptoe to de bedside, an'--an'--an'--dis yer is wot he seen. He
t'ought his ole marse were dead sure, an' he come howlin' an' tumblin'
down to me, an' tole me so, an' I called young Mark to follow me, case
ole John wa'n't no good, an' I run up yere, an'--an'--an' dis yer is wot
I foun'! O'ly he were a layin' on his lef side, an' I see he were
breavin' an' I turn' him ober on his right, an' did all I could for him,
an' sent John arter you."
"I wish the doctor would come," said Mr. Fabian, anxiously, as he took
his father's hand again and tried to feel the pulse.
The door opened very quietly, and Clarence came into the room. Fabian
beckoned him to approach the bed.
"How is he?" inquired the younger man.
"As you see! He was found in this condition by his servant this morning.
He has shown no sign of consciousness since," replied the elder.
"The doctor is below. Shall he come up now?"
"Certainly."
Clarence left the room and soon returned with the physician. After a
very brief examination of pulse, temperature, the pupils of the eyes of
the patient, prompt measures were taken to relieve the evident pressure
on the brain. The doctor bled the sufferer, who presently opened his
eyes, and looked slowly around his bed. His two sons bent over him.
He tried to speak.
They bent lower still to listen.
After several futile efforts he uttered one word:
"Cora."
"Yes, father--she is here. Go, Clarence, and fetch her at once. She is
at the ferryman's cottage."
The last sentence was added in a low whisper. Clarence immediately left
the room to do his errand. A few minutes later the door opened softly,
and Clarence re-entered the room with Cora.
Mr. Fabian went to meet her, saying softly:
"He has called for you, my dear! The only word he has spoken since he
recovered consciousness was your name."
"So Uncle Clarence told me," she said, in a broken voice.
"Come to him now," said Fabian, leading her to the bedside.
She sank on her knees and took the hand of the dying man and kissed it,
pleading:
"Grandfather, dear grandfather, I love you. I am grieved at having
offended you. Will you forgive me--now?"
He made several painful efforts to answer her, before he uttered the few
disconnected words:
"Yes--forgive--you--Cora."
She bathed his hand with her tears. All on her part also was forgotten
now--all the harshness and despotism of years was forgotten now, and
nothing was remembered but the gray-haired man, always gray-haired in
her knowledge of him, who had protected her orphanage and given her a
home and an education. She knelt there, holding his hand, and was
presently touched and comforted because the lingers of that hand closed
on hers with a loving pressure that they had never given her in all her
life before. That was the last sign of consciousness he gave for many
hours.
Mr. Fabian took the doctor aside.
"Ought I to send for my wife?" he inquired.
"Yes; I think so," replied the physician.
And the son knew that answer was his father's sentence of death. Not one
of the family could be spared from this death bed to go and fetch
Violet. So Mr. Fabian went down stairs to the library and wrote a hasty
note:
DEAR VIOLET: You offered to come and help to nurse the
father, who is sicker than we thought, but with no contagious
fever. Come now, dear, and bring baby and nurse, for you may have
to stay several days.
FABIAN.
He inclosed this letter in an envelope, sealed and directed it, and took
it down to the stable, where he found his own groom Charles in the
coachman's room.
"Put the horses to the carriage again, and return to Violet Banks to
bring your mistress here. Give her this note. It will explain all," said
Mr. Fabian, handing the note to the servant.
He found the same group around the death bed. Clarence and the doctor
standing on the left side, Cora kneeling by the right side, still
holding the hand of the dying man, whose fingers were closed upon hers
and whose face was turned toward hers, but with "no speculation" in it.
Two hours passed away without any change. The sound of wheels without
could be heard through the profound stillness of the death chamber. Mr.
Fabian again left the room to receive his wife.
He met Violet in the hall, just as old John had admitted her. She was
closely followed by the nurse and the child.
"How is father?" she inquired.
"He is very ill, my dear, but resting quietly just at present. Here is
Martha; she will take you to your room and make you and the baby
comfortable. Then, as soon as you can, come to the father's chamber; you
know where to find it," said Mr. Fabian, who feared to shock his
sensitive wife by telling her that he was sinking fast, and thought that
it would be safer to let her come into the room and join the group
around the bed, and gradually learn the sad truth by her own
observation.
"Yes; I can find my way very well," answered Violet, as she handed her
bag, shawl, and umbrella to Martha, and followed the housekeeper up
stairs, with the nurse and baby.
Mr. Fabian returned to the chamber of the dying man, around whose bed
the group remained as he had left it, and where in a very few minutes he
was joined by Violet. She entered the room very softly, so that her
approach was not heard until she reached the bedside. Then she took and
silently pressed the hands that were silently held out by Cora, and
finally she knelt down beside her.
More hours passed; no one left the sick room, for no one knew how soon
the end might come. Old John thoughtfully brought in a waiter of
refreshments and set it down on a side table for any one who might
require it.
Day declined. Through the front windows of the death room the western
sky could be seen, dark, lowering, and stormy. A long range of heavy
clouds lay massed above the horizon, obscuring the light of the sinking
sun, but leaving a narrow line of clear sky just along the top of the
western ridge.
Presently a singularly beautiful effect was produced. The sun, sinking
below the dark cloud into the clear gold line of sky, sent forth a blaze
of light from the mountain heights, across the river, and into the
chamber of death! Was it this sudden illumination that kindled the fire
of life in the dying man into a last expiring flame, or was it indeed
the presence of a spiritual visitant, visible only to the vanishing
spirit? Who can tell?
Suddenly old Aaron Rockharrt opened his eyes--those great, strong black
eyes that had ever been a terror to the evil doer--and the well doer
also--and stared before him, held up his hands and exclaimed:
"Deborah! Deborah!"
And then he dropped his arms by his side, and with a long, deep-drawn
sigh fell asleep. The name of his old wife was the last word upon his
dying lips.
No one but the doctor knew what had happened. He bent over the lifeless
shell, gazed on the face, felt the pulse, felt the heart, and then stood
up and said:
"All is over, my dear friends. His passage has been quite painless. I
never saw an easier death."
And he drew up the sheet over the face of the dead.
Although all day they had hourly expected this end, yet now they could
not quite believe that it had indeed come.
The huge, strong man, the rugged Iron King--dead? He who, if not as
indestructible as he seemed, was at least constituted of that stern
stuff of which centenarians are made, and whom all expected should live
far up into the eighties or nineties--dead? The father who had lived
over them like some mighty governing and protecting power all their
lives, necessary, inevitable, inseparable from their lives--dead?
"Come, my dear," said Mr. Clarence, gently raising Corona and leading
her away. "You have this to console you: he died reconciled to you,
holding your hand in his to the last."
"Ah, dear Uncle Clarence, you have much more to console you, for you
never failed even once in your duty to him, and never gave him one
moment of uneasiness in all your life," replied Corona, as she left him
in front of her old room.
She entered and shut the door and gave way to the natural grief that
overwhelmed her for a time.
When she was sufficiently composed she sat down and wrote to her
brother, informing him of what had occurred, and telling him that she
still held her purpose of going out to him with the Nevilles.