"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!