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For Woman's Love

by Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth · English · Gutenberg #16094 · 799,746 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: For Woman's Love

Author: Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth


        
Release date: June 20, 2005 [eBook #16094]
                Most recently updated: December 11, 2020

Language: English

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

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