He looked at the lady on his left critically. Yes; she was very beautiful—very beautiful indeed! And, of course, she would accept him at once if he should offer her his hand! Very beautiful! A tall, finely rounded, radiant blonde, with a suit of warm auburn hair, which she wore in a mass of puffs and coils high on her head; a brilliant, blooming complexion, damask rose cheeks, redder lips, blue eyes, and a pure, fine Roman profile—that means, among the rest, a hooked nose—a very elegant and aristocratic nose indeed, but still a hooked nose. She carried her head high, and her well turned chin a little forward, her lip a little curled. All that meant a high spirit, intolerance of authority, and danger, much danger, to a would-be despot. Oh! very handsome, and very willing to marry the old millionaire. But—no! the Iron King thought not! She would give him too much trouble in the process of subjugation. He would none of her.

Cadet Haught, watching this pair from the opposite side of the table, whispered to his sister, who sat on his right:

"As I live by bread, Cora, there is the aged monarch flirting with the handsome widow! A thing unparalleled in human history. Or is it dreaming I am?"

Cora lifted her languid dark eyes, looked across the table and answered:

"She is trying to flirt with him, I rather fancy."

"Wasted ammunition, eh, Cora?"

"I do not know," replied the young lady.

And then the increasing talk and laughter all around the table rendered any tete-a-tete difficult or impossible. And now began the toast drinking and the speech making. It need not be told how Mr. Rockharrt toasted the bride, how the chief justice responded in behalf of his late ward, how Mr. Fabian toasted the bridesmaids, how Mr. Clarence responded on the part of the young ladies, how with this and that and the other observance of forms, the breakfast came to an end and the bishop gave thanks.

The bride retired to change her dress for a traveling suit of navy blue poplin, with hat and feather to match, and a cashmere wrap. Then came the leave-taking, and the jubilant bridegroom handed his bride into the elegant carriage, while his best man, Clarence, gave the last order.

"To the railway station."

This was the final farewell, for Mr. Fabian had asked as a particular favor that no one of the wedding party should attend them to the depot. Their luggage had been sent on hours before, in charge of the maid and the valet. Half an hour's drive brought them to the station in time to catch the 3:30 train East.

"At last, at last I have you away from all those people and all to myself!" exulted Fabian, as he seated his wife in the corner of the car, and turned the opposite seat that they might have no near fellow passenger. For as yet palace cars were not.

The maid and valet were seated on the opposite side of the car.

The train started.

The speed was swift, yet seemed slow. It was the way train they were on, and it stopped at every little station. They could not have got an express before midnight, and that would have been perilous to their chance of catching the steamer on which their passage to Europe was engaged.

The journey was made without events until about sunset, when the train reached the little mountain station of Edenheights, where it stopped twenty minutes for refreshments.

"What a lovely scene!" said the bride, looking down from the window on her left, into the depths of a small valley lighted up by the last rays of the setting sun streaming through the opening between two wooded hills.

"Yes, dear, lovely, if I can think anything lovely besides yourself," he replied.

"Look, what a sweet cottage that is almost hidden among the trees. An elegant cottage of white freestone built after the Grecian order. How strange, Fabian, to find such a bijou here in this wild, remote section."

"Probably the residence of some well-to-do official connected with our works," said Mr. Fabian, carelessly; then—"Will you come out to the refreshment rooms and have some tea? See, they are on the opposite side of the train."

Violet turned and looked on a very different scene. No wooded and secluded valley with its one lovely cottage, but a row of open saloons and restaurants, crowded and noisy.

"No; I think I will not go in there. It is not pretty. You may send me a cup of tea. I will sit here and enjoy this beautiful valley scene. And oh, Fabian! Look there, coming up the hillside, what a beautiful woman!"

Mr. Fabian looked out and saw and recognized Rose Stillwater and saw that she had recognized him. She was coming directly toward the train.

"Sit here, my love; I will go and bring you some refreshments. Don't attempt to get out, dearest; to do so might be dangerous. I will not be long," he said, hastily, and rising, he hurried after the other passengers out of the car.

But instead of going into the railway restaurant he went back to the rear of the train, placed himself where he stood out of sight of his wife and of all his fellow passengers, yet in full view of the approaching woman.

"What devil brings that serpent here?" he muttered to himself. "I must intercept her. She must not go on board the train. She must not approach my little wood violet. Good heavens, no!"

But the woman turned aside voluntarily from her course to the stationary train and walked directly toward himself.

"Well, Rose," he said, in as pleasant a voice as his perturbation of mind would permit him to use.

"Well, Fabian," she answered.

She was as white and hard as marble; her lips when she ceased to speak were closed tightly, her blue eyes blazed from her hard, white face.

"What brings you here?" he inquired.

"What brings me here, indeed! To see you. Only this morning I heard of your intended business. Only this morning, after the morning train had left. If there had been another train within an hour or two, I should have taken it and gone to the city and should have been in time to stop the wicked wedding."

"What a blessing that there was not! You could not have stopped the marriage. You would only have exposed yourself and made a row."

"Then I should have done that."

"I don't think so. It would not have been like you. You are too cool, too politic to ruin yourself. Come, Rose," looking at his watch, "there are but just sixteen minutes before the train starts. I have just fifteen to give you, because it will take me one minute to reach my seat. Therefore, whatever you have to say, my dear, had better be said at once."

"I have not come here to reproach you, Fabian Rockharrt," she said, fixing him with her eyes.

"That is kind of you at all events."

"No; we reproach a man for carelessness, for thoughtlessness, for forgetfulness; but for baseness, villainy, treachery like yours it is not reproach, it is—"

"Magnanimity or murder! I suppose so. Let it be magnanimity, Rose. I have never done you anything but good since I first met your face, now twenty years ago. You were but sixteen then. You are thirty-six now, and, by Jove! handsomer than ever."

"Thank you; I quite well know that I am. My looking glass, that never flatters, tells me so."

"Then why, in the name of common sense, can you not be happy? Look you, Rose, you have no cause to complain of me. When even in your childhood, you—"

"How dare you throw that up to me!" she exclaimed.

He went on as if he had not heard her.

"Were utterly lost and ruined through the villainy of your first lover—what did I do? I took you up, got a place for you in my father's house as the governess of my niece."

"Well, I worked for my living there, did I not? I gave a fair day's work for a fair day's wages, as your stony old father would say."

"Certainly, you did. But you would not have had an opportunity of doing so in any honest way if it had not been for me."

"How dare you hit me in the teeth with that!"

"Only in self-defense, my Rose."

"It was with an ulterior, a selfish, a wicked end in view. You know it."

"I know, and Heaven knows that I served you from pure benevolence and from no other motive. Gracious goodness! why, I was over head and ears in love with another woman at that time. But you, Rose, you made a dead set at me. You did not care for me the least in life, but you cared for wealth and position, and you were bound to have them if you could."

"Coward!" she hissed, "to talk to me in this way."

"I am not finding fault with you the least in the world. You acted naturally on the principles of self-interest and self-preservation. You wanted me to marry you, but I could not do that under the circumstances. By Jove! though, I did more for you than I ever did for any other living woman and with less reward—with no reward at all, in fact. When your time was up at Rockhold I settled an income on you, and afterward, in addition to that, I gave you that beautiful cottage, elegantly furnished from basement to roof. And what did I ever get in return for all that? Flatteries and fair words—nothing more. You were as cold as a stone, Rose."

"I would not give my love upon any promise of marriage, but only for marriage itself."

"And that you know I could not offer you, and you also knew why I could not."

"Poltroon! to reproach me with the great calamity of my childhood."

"I repeat that I do not reproach you at all. I am only stating the facts, for which I do not blame you in the least, though they prevented the possibility of my ever thinking of marriage with you. I gave you a house furnished, land, and an income to insure you the comforts, luxuries, and elegances of life. I did not bargain with you beforehand. I thought surely you would, as you led me to believe that you would, give me love in return for all these. But no. As soon as you were secure in your possessions you turned upon me and said that I should not even visit you at your house without marriage. Now, what have you to complain of?"

"This! that you have broken faith with me!"

"In what way, pray you?"

"You swore that, if you did not marry me, no more would you ever marry any woman."

"If you would love me. Not if you would not. Besides, I had not seen my sweet wood violet then," he added, aggravatingly.

She turned upon him, her eyes flashing blue fire.

"I will be revenged!" she said.

"Be anything you like, my dear, only do not be melodramatic. It's bad form. Come, now, Rose, you have your house and your income. You are still young, and much handsomer than ever. Be happy, my dear. And now I really must leave you and run to the train."

"Go. I will not detain you. I came here only to tell you that I will be revenged. I have told you that and have no more to say."

She turned and went down the hill toward the cottage in the dell.

Mr. Fabian hurried to the train and sprang on board just as it began to move.

"Fabian! Oh, Fabian!" cried the alarmed bride, "you were almost knocked under the wheels!"

"All right, my dear little love. I am safe now," he laughed.

"Where is my tea?"

"Oh, my dear child," exclaimed the conscience-stricken man. "I am so very sorry! But the tea was detestable—perfectly detestable! I could not bring you such stuff. I am so very sorry, Violet, my precious."

"Well, never mind. Bring me a glass of ice water from the cooler."

He obeyed her, and when she had drank, took back the tumbler.

A porter came along and lighted the lamps in the cars, for it was now fast growing dark.

The train sped on.

Our travelers reached Baltimore late at night, changed cars at midnight for New York, and reached that city the next morning in time to secure the passage they had engaged.

At noon they sailed in the Arctic for Liverpool.



CHAPTER XI.

THE WILES OF THE SIREN.

When the bridal pair had started on their journey the wedding guests dispersed.

Old Aaron Rockharrt and his family returned to their town house.

The next morning Mr. Clarence went back to North End to look after the works. Cadet Haught left for West Point.

Mr. Rockharrt and Mrs. Rothsay were alone in their city home.

Old Aaron Rockharrt continued to give dinners and suppers to noted politicians until the end of the session and the adjournment of the legislature.

The family returned to Rockhold in May. Here they lived a very monotonous life, whose dullness and gloom pressed very heavily upon the young widow.

Mr. Rockharrt and Mr. Clarence rode out every day to the works and returned late in the afternoon.

Cora occupied herself in completing the biography of her late husband, which had been interrupted by the season in the city.

Mr. Clarence often spent twenty-four hours at North End looking after the interests of the firm, and eating and sleeping at the hotel.

Mr. Rockharrt came home every evening to dinner, but after dinner invariably shut himself up in his office and remained there until bedtime.

Cora's evenings were as solitary as her mornings. But a change was at hand.

One evening, on his return home, Mr. Rockharrt brought his own mail from the post office at North End.

After dinner, instead of retiring to his office as usual, he came into the drawing room and found Cora.

Dropping himself down in a large arm chair beside the round table, and drawing the moderator lamp nearer to him, he drew a letter from his breast pocket and said:

"My dear, I have a very interesting communication here from Mrs. Stillwater—Miss Rose Flowers that was, you know."

"I know," said Cora, coldly, and wondering what was coming next.

"Poor child! She is a widow, thrown destitute upon the cold charities of the world again," he continued.

Cora said nothing. She was marveling to hear this harsh, cruel, relentless man speaking with so much pity, tenderness, and consideration for this adventuress.

"But I will read the letter to you," he said, "and then I will tell you what I mean to do."

"Very well, sir," she replied, with much misgiving.

He opened the letter and began to read as follows:

WIRT HOUSE, BALTIMORE, MD., May 15, 18—

MY MOST HONORED BENEFACTOR: I should not presume to recall myself to your recollection had you not, in the large bounty of your heart, once taken pity on the forlorn creature that I am, and made me promise that if ever I should find myself homeless, friendless, destitute, and desolate, I should write and inform you.

My most revered friend, such is my sad, hopeless, pitiable condition now.

My poor husband died of yellow fever in the West Indies about a year ago, and his income and my support died with him.

For the last twelve months I have lived on the sale of my few jewels, plate, and other personal property, which has gradually melted away in the furnace of my misfortunes, while I have been trying with all my might to obtain employment at my sometime trade as teacher. But, oh, sir! the requirements of modern education are far above my poor capabilities.

Now, at length, when my resources are well nigh exhausted—now, when I can pay my board here only for a few weeks longer, and at the end of that time must go forth—Heaven only knows where!—I venture, in accordance with your own gracious permission, to make this appeal to you! Not for pecuniary aid, which you will pardon me if I say I could not receive from any one, but for such advice and assistance as your wisdom and benevolence could afford me, in finding me some honest way of earning my bread. Feeling assured that your great goodness will not cast this poor note aside unnoticed, I shall wait and hope to hear from you, and, in the meanwhile, remain,

Your humble and obedient servant, ROSE STILLWATER.

"That is what I call a very pathetic appeal, Cora. She is a widow, poor child! Not such a widow as you are, Cora Rothsay, with wealth, friends, and position! She is a widow, indeed! Homeless, friendless, penniless—about to be cast forth into the streets! My dear, I got this letter this morning. I answered it within an hour after its reception! I invited her to come here as our guest, immediately, and to remain as long as she should feel inclined to stay—certainly until we could settle upon some plan of life for her future. I sent a check to pay her traveling expenses to North End, where I shall send the carriage to meet her. You will, therefore, Cora, have a comfortable room prepared for Mrs. Stillwater. I think she may be with us as early as to-morrow evening," said the Iron King.

And he arose and strode out of the parlor, leaving his granddaughter confounded.

Rose Stillwater the widow of a year's standing! Rose Stillwater coming to Rockhold as the guest of her aged and widowed grandfather! What a condition of things! What would be the outcome of this event? Cora shrank from conjecturing.

She felt that there had been two factors in bringing about the situation: first, the death of her grandmother; second, the marriage of her Uncle Fabian. The field was thus left open for the operations of this scheming adventuress and siren.

Cora had been so dismayed at the communication of her grandfather that she had scarcely answered him with a word. But he had been too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts and plans to notice her silence and reserve.

He had expressed his wishes, given his orders, and gone out. That was all.

What could Cora do?

Nothing at all. Too well she knew the unbending nature of the Iron King to delude herself for a moment with the idea that any opposition, argument, or expostulation from her would have so much as a feather's weight with the despotic old man.

If he had asked Mrs. Stillwater to Rockhold under present circumstances, Mrs. Stillwater would come, and he would have her there just as long as he pleased.

Cora was at her wits' end. She resolved to write at once to her Uncle Fabian. Surely he must know the true character of this woman, and he must have broken off his very questionable acquaintance with her before marrying Violet Wood. Surely he would not allow his father to be so dangerously deceived in the person he had invited to his house—to the society of his granddaughter. He would unmask her, even though in doing so he should expose himself.

She would also write to Sylvan, who from the very first had disliked and distrusted "the rose that all admire." And she thanked Heaven that Cadet Haught would graduate at the next exhibition at West Point and come home on leave for the midsummer holidays.

While waiting answers from the two absent men she would consult her Uncle Clarence. Truth to tell, she had but little hope of help in this affair from her younger uncle. Mr. Clarence was so far from thinking evil of any one. He was so loath to give pain or have any disturbance in the domestic circle. He would be sure to feel compassion for Rose Stillwater. He would be sure to recall her pretty, helpful, pleasant ways, and the comfort both his father and his mother used to take in her playful manners and affectionate ministration. Mr. Clarence was much too benevolent to wish to interfere with any arrangement that was likely to make the house pleasant and cheerful to his aged father, and give a comfortable home and support to a desolate young widow. And that the Iron King should ever be seriously taken in by the beautiful and bewitching creature he would never believe. Yet Cora knew from all past experience that Rose Stillwater was more esteemed by old Aaron Rockharrt and had more influence over him than any living creature. Strange that a man so hard headed as the Iron King, and so clear brained on all occasions when not blinded by his egotism, should allow himself to be so deceived in any one as he was in Rose Stillwater.

But, then, she knew how to flatter this egotism. She was beautiful and attractive in person, meek and submissive in manner, complimentary and caressing in words and tones.

Cora asked herself whether it would be right, proper, or expedient for her to give information of that secret interview between Mr. Fabian and Mrs. Stillwater, to which she herself had been an accidental and most unwilling witness, on that warm night in September, in the hotel parlor at Baltimore.

She could not refer to it in her intended letter to her Uncle Fabian. To do so would be useless and humiliating, if not very offensive. Her Uncle Fabian knew much more about that interview than she could tell him, and would be very much mortified and very indignant to learn that she knew anything of it. He might accuse her of being a spy and an eavesdropper, or he might deny and discredit her story altogether.

No. No good could come of referring to that interview in her letter to her Uncle Fabian. She would merely mention to him the fact that Mrs. Stillwater had written to Mr. Rockharrt an appealing letter declaring herself to be widowed and destitute, and asking for advice and assistance in procuring employment; and that he had replied by inviting her to Rockhold for an indefinite period, and sent her a check to pay her traveling expenses. She would tell Mr. Fabian this as a mere item of news, expressing no opinion and taking no responsibility, but leaving her uncle to act as he might think proper.

She could not tell her brother Sylvan of that secret interview, for she was sure that he would act with haste and indiscretion. Nor could she tell her Uncle Clarence, who would only find himself distressed and incapable under the emergency. Least of all could she tell her grandfather, and make an everlasting breach between himself and his son Fabian.

No. She could tell no one of that secret interview to which she had been a chance witness—a shocked witness—but which she only half understood, and which, perhaps, did not mean all that she had feared and suspected. On that subject she must hold her peace, and only let the absent members of the family know of Mrs. Stillwater's intended visit as an item of domestic news, and leave any or all of them to act upon their own responsibility unbiased by any word from her.

Cora's position was a very delicate and embarrassing one. She did not believe that this former nursery governess of hers was or ever had been a proper companion for her. She herself—Cora Rothsay—was now a widow with an independent income, and was at liberty to choose her own companions and make her home wherever she might choose.

But how could she leave her aged and widowed grandfather, who had no other daughter or granddaughter, or any other woman relative to keep house for him? And yet how could she associate daily with a woman whose presence she felt to be a degradation?

As we have seen, she knew and felt that it would be vain to oppose her grandfather's wish to have Mrs. Stillwater in the house, especially as he had already invited her and sent her the money to come—unless she should tell him of that secret interview she had witnessed between Mr. Fabian and Mrs. Stillwater. That, indeed, might banish Rose from Rockhold, but it would also bring down a domestic cataclysm that must break up the household and separate its members.

No, she could say nothing, do nothing that would not make matters worse. She must let events take their course, bide her time and hope for the best, she said to herself, as she arose and rang the bell.

John, the footman, answered the call.

"It is Martha whom I want. Send her here," said the lady.

The man went out and the upper housemaid came in.

"You wanted me, ma'am?"

"Yes. Do you remember the room occupied by my nursery governess years ago?"

"Yes, ma'am; the front room on the left side of the hall on the third story."

"Yes; that is the room. Have it prepared for the same person. She will be here to-morrow evening."

"Good—Lord!" involuntarily exclaimed old Martha; "why, we haven't heard of her for a dozen years. What a sweet creeter she was, though, Miss Cora. I thought as she'd a married a fortin' long ago."

"She has been married and widowed. At least she says so."

"A widow, poor thing! And is she comin' to be a companion or anything?"

"She is coming as a guest."

"Oh! very well, Miss Cora; I will have the room ready in time."

When the old woman had left the room Cora sat down to her writing desk and wrote two letters—one to Mr. Fabian Rockharrt, Hotel Trois Freres, Paris; the other to Cadet Sylvanus Haught, West Point, N.Y.

When she had finished and sealed these she put them in the mail bag that was left in the hall to be taken at daybreak by the groom to North End post office. Then she retired to rest.

The next morning she breakfasted tete-a-tete with her grandfather, Mr. Clarence having remained over night at North End. While they were still at the table the man John entered with a telegram, which he laid on the table before his master.

"Who brought this?" inquired the Iron King, as he opened it.

"Joseph brought it when he came back from the post office. It had just come, and Mr. Clarence gave it to Joseph to fetch to you, sir. Yes, sir!" replied John.

"It is from Mrs. Stillwater. That lady is a perfect model of promptitude and punctuality. She says—but I had better read it to you. John, you need not wait," said Mr. Rockharrt.

The negro, who had lingered from curiosity to hear what was in the telegram, immediately retired.

Old Aaron Rockharrt took up the long slip, adjusted his spectacles and read:

WIRT HOUSE, BALTIMORE, MD., May 16th, 18—

A thousand heartfelt thanks for your princely munificence and hospitality. I avail myself of both gladly and at once. I shall leave Baltimore by the 8:30 a.m., and arrive at the North End Station at 6:30 p.m.

"That is her message. Now I wish you to have everything in readiness for her. I shall go in person to the depot and bring her home with me when I return in the evening. Of course it will be two hours later than usual when I get back here. You will, therefore, have the dinner put back until nine o'clock on this occasion."

Cora bowed. She could scarcely trust her voice to answer in words.

Mr. Rockharrt, absorbed in his own thoughts and plans, never noticed her coldness and silence. He soon finished breakfast, left the table, and a few minutes later entered his carriage to drive to North End.

"'Pears to me old marse is jes' wonderful, Miss Cora. To go to his business every day like clock work, and he 'bout seventy-seven years old. And jes' as straight and strong as a pine tree! Yes, and as hard as a pine knot! He's wonderful, that he is!" said old Jason, the gray haired negro butler, when he came in from seeing his master off and began to clear away the breakfast service.

"Yes; your master is a fine, strong man, Jason—physically," replied Cora, who was beginning to doubt the mental soundness of her grandfather!

"Physicking! No, indeed! 'Tain't that as makes the old g'eman so strong. He nebber would take no physic in all his life. It's consternation, that's w'at it is—his good, healthy consternation!"

"Very likely!" replied Cora, who was too much disturbed to set the old man right.

She left the breakfast parlor, and went up stairs to superintend in person the preparation for the comfort of the expected guest.



CHAPTER XII.

THE SIREN AND THE DESPOT.

That May night was clear and cool. The sky was brilliant with stars, sparkling and flashing from the pure, dark blue empyrean.

In the house it was chilly, so Cora had caused fires to be built in all the grates.

The drawing room at Rockhold presented a very attractive appearance, with its three chandeliers of lighted wax candles, its cheerful fire of sea coal, its warm crimson and gold coloring of carpets and curtains, and its luxurious easy chairs, sofas and ottomans, its choice pictures, books, bronzes and so forth. In the small dining room the table was set for dinner, in the best spare room all was prepared for its expected occupant.

Cora, in her widow's cap and dress, sat in an arm chair before the drawing room fire, awaiting the arrival. Half past eight had been the hour named by her grandfather for their coming. But a few minutes after the clock had struck, the sound of carriage wheels was heard on the avenue approaching the house.

Old Jason opened the hall door just as the vehicle drew up and stopped.

Mr. Rockharrt alighted and then gave his hand to his companion, who tripped lightly to the pavement, and let him lead her up stairs and into the house. Cora stood at the door of the drawing room. Mr. Rockharrt led his visitor up to his granddaughter, and said:

"Mrs. Stillwater is very much fatigued, Cora. Take her at once to her room and make her comfortable; and have dinner on the table by the time she is ready to come down."

He uttered these words in a peremptory manner, without waiting for the usual greeting that should have passed between the hostess and the visitor.

Cora touched a bell.

"Oh! let me embrace my sweet Cora first of all! Ah! my sweet child! You and I both widowed since the last time we met!" cooed Rose, in her most dulcet tones, as she drew Cora to her bosom and kissed her before the latter could draw back.

"How do you do?" was the formal greeting that fell from the lady's lips.

"As you see, dearest—'Not happy, but resigned,'" plaintively replied the widow.

"You quote from a king's minion, I think," said Cora, coldly.

Rose took no notice of the criticism, but tenderly inquired.

"And you, dearest one? How is it with you?"

"I am very well, thank you," replied the lady.

"After such a terrible trial! But you always possessed a heroic spirit."

"We will not speak of that, Mrs. Stillwater, if you please," was the grave reply.

Mr. Rockharrt looked around, as well as he could while old Jason was drawing off his spring overcoat, and said:

"Take Mrs. Stillwater to her room, Cora. Don't keep her standing here."

"I have rung for a servant, who will attend to Mrs. Stillwater's needs," replied the lady, quietly.

The Iron King turned and stared at his granddaughter angrily, but said nothing.

The housemaid came up at this moment.

"Martha, show Mrs. Stillwater to the chamber prepared for her, and wait her orders there."

The negro woman wiped her clean hand on her clean apron—as a mere useless form—and then held it out to the visitor, saying, with the scorn of conventionality and the freedom of an old family servant:

"How do Miss Rose! 'Deed I's mighty proud to see you ag'in—'deed I is! How much you has growed! I mean, how han'some you has growed! You allers was han'some, but now you's han'somer'n ever! 'Deed, honey, you's mons'ous han'some!"

This hearty welcome and warm admiration, though only from the negro servant, helped to relieve the embarrassment of the visitor, who felt the chill of Cora's cold reception.

"Thank you, Aunt Martha," she said, and followed the woman up stairs.

"Why did you not attend Mrs. Stillwater to her room?" sternly demanded the Iron King, fixing his eyes severely on his granddaughter, as soon as the visitor was out of hearing.

"It is not usual to do anything of the sort, sir, except in the case of the guest being a very distinguished person or a very dear friend. My ex-governess is neither. She shall, however, be treated with all due respect by me so long as she remains under your roof," quietly replied Cora.

"You had best see to it that she is," retorted the Iron King, as he stalked up stairs to his own room, followed by his valet.

Cora returned to the drawing room, and seated herself in her arm chair, and put her feet upon her foot-stool, and leaned back, to appearance quite composed, but in reality very much perturbed. Had she acted well in her manner to her grandfather's guest? She did not know. She could not, therefore, feel at ease. She certainly did not treat Mrs. Stillwater with rudeness or hauteur; she was quite incapable of doing so; yet, on the other hand, neither had she treated her ex-governess with kindness or courtesy. She had been calm and cold in her reception of the visitor; that was all. But was she right? After all, she knew no positive evil of the woman. She had only strong circumstantial evidence of her unworthiness. She recalled an old saying of her father's:

"Better trust a hundred rogues than distrust one honest man."

Yet all Cora's instincts warned her not to trust Rose Stillwater.

After all, she could do nothing—at least at present. She would wait the developments of time, and then, perhaps, be able to see her duty more clearly. Meanwhile, for family peace and good feeling, she would be civil to Rose Stillwater. Half an hour passed, and her meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the guest. Mrs. Stillwater seemed determined not to understand coldness or to take offense. She came in, drew her chair to the fire, and spread out her pretty hands over its glow, cooing her delight to be with dear friends again.

"Oh, darling Cora," she purred, "you do not know—you cannot even fancy—the ineffable sense of repose I feel in being here, after all the turbulence of the past year. You read my letter to your dearest grandfather?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Rothsay.

"From that you must have seen to what straits I was reduced. Think! After having sold everything I possessed in the world—even all my clothing, except two changes for necessary cleanliness—to pay my board; after trying in every direction to get honest work to do; I was in daily fear of being told to leave the hotel because I could not pay my board."

"That was very sad! but was it not very expensive—for you—living at the Wirt House? Would it not have been better, under your circumstances, to have taken cheaper board?"

"Perhaps so, dear; but Captain Stillwater had always made his home at the Wirt House when his ship was in port, and had always left me there when his ship sailed, so that I felt at home in the house, you see."

"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Rothsay.

"Oh, my fondly cherished darling—you, loved, sheltered, caressed—you, rich, admired, and flattered—cannot understand or appreciate the trials and sufferings of a poor woman in my position and circumstances. Think, darling, of my condition in that city, where I was homeless, friendless, penniless, in daily fear of being sent from the house for inability to pay my board!"

"I am sorry to hear all this," said Cora. And then she was prompted to add: "But where was Mr. Fabian Rockharrt? He was your earliest friend. He first introduced you to my grandfather. He never lost sight of you after you left us, but corresponded with you frequently, and gave us news of you from time to time. Surely, Mrs. Stillwater, had he known your straits, he would have found some way of setting you up in some business. He never would have allowed you to suffer privation and anxiety for a whole year."

While Cora spoke she fixed her eyes on the face of her listener. But Rose Stillwater was always perfect mistress of herself. Without the slightest change in countenance or voice, she answered sweetly:

"Why, dear love, of course I did write to Mr. Fabian first of all, and told him of the death of my dear husband, and asked him if he could help me to get another situation as primary teacher in a school or as a nursery governess."

"And he did not respond?"

"Oh, yes; indeed he did. He replied very promptly, writing that he had a situation in view for me which would be better suited to my needs than any I had ever filled, and that he should come to Baltimore to explain and consult with me."

"Well?"

"The next day, dear, he came, and—I hate to betray his confidence and tell you."

"Then do not, I beg you."

"But—I hate more to keep a secret from you. In short, he asked me to marry him."

"What!" exclaimed Cora, in surprise and incredulity.

"Yes, my love; that was what he had to explain. The position of his wife was the situation he had to offer me, and which he thought would suit me better than any other I had ever filled."

"When was this proposal made?"

"About five months ago, and about seven months after the death of my dear husband. He said that he would be willing to wait until the year of mourning should be over."

"Oh, that was considerate of him."

"But I was still heart-broken for the loss of my dear husband. I could not think of another marriage at any time, however distant. I told him so. I told him how much I esteemed and respected him and even loved him as a dear friend, but that I could not be faithless to the memory of my adored husband. I was very sorry; for he was very angry. He called me cold, silly and even ungrateful, so to reject his hand. I began to think that it was selfish and thankless in me to disappoint so good a friend, but I could not help it, loving the memory of my sainted husband as I did. I was grieved to hurt Mr. Fabian, though."

"I do not think he was seriously injured. At least I am sure that his wounds healed rapidly; for in a very few weeks afterward he proposed to Miss Violet Wood, and was accepted by her. They were married on the fourteenth day of February, and sailed for Europe the next day," said Mrs. Rothsay.

"Yes; I know. Disappointed men do such desperate deeds; commit suicide or marry for revenge. Poor, dear girl!" murmured Rose Stillwater, with a deep sigh.

"Why poor, dear girl?" inquired Cora.

"Oh, you know, she caught his heart in the rebound, and she will not keep it. But let us talk of something else, dear. Oh, I am so happy here. So free from fear and trouble and anxiety. Oh, what ineffable peace, rest, safety I enjoy here. No one will pain me by presenting a bill that I cannot pay, or frighten me by telling me that my room will be wanted for some one else. Oh, how I thank you, Cora. And how I thank your honored grandfather for this city of refuge, even for a few days."

"You owe no thanks to me," replied Cora.

"A thousand thanks, my darling!" said Rose, and hearing the heavy footsteps of the Iron King in the hail, she added—as if she heard them not: "And as for Mr. Rockharrt, that noble, large brained, great hearted man, I have no words to express the gratitude, the reverence, the adoration with which his magnanimous character and munificent benevolence inspires me. He is of all men the most—"

But here she seemed first to have caught sight of the Iron King, who was standing in the door, and who had heard every word of adulation that she had spoken.

"Cora, is not dinner ready?" he inquired, coming forward.

"Yes, sir; only waiting for you," answered the lady, touching a bell.

The gray haired butler came to the call.

"Put dinner on the table," ordered Mr. Rockharrt.

The old butler bowed and disappeared; and after awhile reappeared and announced:

"Dinner served, sir."

Mr. Rockharrt gave his arm to Mrs. Stillwater, to take her to the table.

"Will not my Uncle Clarence be home this evening?" inquired Cora, as the three took their seats.

"No; he will not be home before Saturday night. Since Fabian went away there has been twice as much supervision over the foremen and bookkeepers needed there, and Clarence is very busy over the accounts, working night and day," replied the Iron King, as he took a plate of soup from the hands of the butler and passed it to Mrs. Stillwater, who received it with the beaming smile that she always bestowed on the Iron King.

She was the life of the little party. If she was a broken hearted widow, she did not show it there. She smiled, gleamed, glowed, sparkled in countenance and words. The moody Iron King was cheered and exhilarated, and said, as he filled her glass for the first time with Tokay, "Though you do not need wine to stimulate you, my child. You are full of joyous life and spirits."

"Oh, sir, pardon me. Perhaps I ought to control myself; but I am so happy to be here through your great goodness; so free from care and fear; so full of peace and joy; so safe, so sheltered! I feel like a storm beaten bird who has found a nest, or a lost child who has found a home, and I forget all my losses and all my sorrows and give myself up to delight. Pardon me, sir; I know I ought to be calmer."

"Not at all, not at all, my child! I am glad to see you so gay. I approve of you. You have suffered more than either of us, for you have not only lost your life's companion, but home, fortune, and all your living. My granddaughter here, as you may see, is a monument of morbid, selfish sorrow, which she will not try to throw off even for my sake. But you will brighten us all."

"I wish I might; oh, how I wish I might! It seems to me it is easy to be happy if one has only a safe home and a good friend," said Rose.

"And those you shall always have in me and in my house, my child," said the Iron King.

Cora listened in pure amazement. Her grandfather sympathetic! Her grandfather giving praise and quoting poetry! What was the matter with him? Not softening of the heart; he had never possessed such a commodity. Was it softening of the brain, then? As soon as they had finished dinner and returned to the drawing room, the Iron King said to his guest:

"Now, my child, I shall send you off to bed. You have had a very long and fatiguing journey and must have a good, long night's sleep."

And with his own hands he lighted a wax taper and gave it to her. Rose received it with a grateful smile, bade a sweet toned good night to Mr. Rockharrt and Mrs. Rothsay, and went tripping out of the room.

"I shall say good night, too, Cora; I am tired. But let me say this before I go: Do you try to take pattern by that admirable child. See how she tries to make the best of everything and to be pleasant under all her sorrows. You have not had half her troubles, and yet you will not try to get over your own. Imitate that poor child, Cora."

"'Child,' my dear grandfather! Do you forget that Mrs. Stillwater is a widow thirty-six years old?" inquired Cora.

"'Thirty-six.' I had not thought of it, and yet of course I knew it. Well, so much the better. Yet child she is compared to me, and child she is in her perfect trust, her innocent faith, her meekness, candor and simplicity, and the delightful abandon with which she gives herself to the enjoyment of the passing hour. This will be a brighter house for the presence of Rose Stillwater in it," said the Iron King, as he took up his taper and rang for his valet and left the room.

Cora sat a long time in meditation before she arose and followed his example. When she entered her chamber, she was surprised and annoyed to find Rose Stillwater there, seated in the arm chair before the fire. Old Martha was turning down the bed for the night.

"Cora, love, it is not yet eleven o'clock, though the dear master did send us off to bed. But I wanted to speak to you, darling Cora, just a few words, dear, before we part for the night; so when I met my old friend, Aunt Martha, in the hall, I asked her to show me which was your room, so I could come to you when you should come up; but Aunt Martha told me she was on the way to your room to prepare your bed for the night, and she would bring me here to sit down and wait for you. So here I am, dear Cora."

"You wished to speak to me, you say?" inquired Mrs. Rothsay, drawing another chair and seating herself before the fire.

"Yes, darling; only to say this, love, that I have not come here to sponge upon your kindness. I will be no drone. I wish to be useful to you, Cora. Now you are far away from all milliners and dress makers and seamstresses, and I am very skillful with my needle and can do everything you might wish to have done in that line—I mean in the way of trimming and altering bonnets or dresses. I do not think I could cut and fit."

"Mrs. Stillwater," interrupted Cora, "you are our guest, and you must not think of such a plan as you suggest."

"Oh, my dear Cora, do not speak to me as if I were only company. I, your old governess! Do not make a stranger of me. Let me be as one of the family. Let me be useful to you and to your dear grandfather. Then I shall feel at home; then I shall be happy," pleaded Rose.

"But, Mrs. Stillwater, we have not been accustomed to set our guests to work. The idea is preposterous," said the inexorable Cora.

"Oh, my dear, do not treat me as a guest. Treat me as you did when I was your governess. Make me useful; will you not, dear Cora?"

"You are very kind, but I would rather not trouble you."

"Ah, I see; you are tired and sleepy. I will not keep you up, but I must make myself useful to you in some way. Well, good night, dear," said the widow, as she stooped and kissed her hostess. Then she left the room.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SPELL WORKS.

Rose Stillwater was very near overdoing her part. She rose early the next morning and came down in the drawing room before any of the family had put in an appearance. She had scarcely seated herself before the bright little sea coal fire that the chilly spring morning rendered very acceptable, if not really necessary, when she heard the heavy, measured footsteps of the master of the house coming down the stairs. Then she rose impulsively as if in a flutter of delight to go and meet him; but checked herself and sat down and waited for him to come in.

"How heavily the old ogre walks! His step would shake the house, if it could be shaken. He comes like the statue of the commander in the opera."

She listened, but his footsteps died away on the soft, deep carpet of the library into which he passed.

"Ah! he does not know that I am down!" she said to herself, complacently, as she settled back in her chair. Cora came in and greeted Rose with ceremonious politeness, having resolved, at length, to treat Mrs. Stillwater as an honored guest, not as a cherished friend or member of the household.

"Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater. I hope you have had a good night's rest and feel refreshed after your journey," she said.

Rose responded effusively:

"Ah, good morning, dear love! Yes; thank you, darling, a lovely night's rest, undisturbed by the thoughts of debts and duns and a doubtful future. I slept so deeply and sweetly through the night that I woke quite early this morning. The birds were in full song. You must have millions of birds here! And the subtile, penetrating fragrance of the hyacinths came into the window as soon as I opened it. How I love the early spring flowers that come to us almost through the winter snows and before we have done with fires."

Cora did not reply to this rhapsody. Then Rose inquired:

"Does your grandfather go regularly to look after the works as he used to do?"

"Mr. Rockharrt drives to North End every day," replied Cora.

"It is amazing, at his age," said Rose.

"Some acute observer has said that 'age is a movable feast.' Age, no more than death, is a respecter of persons or of periods. Men grow old, as they die, at any age. Some grow old at fifty, others not before they are a hundred. I think Mr. Rockharrt belongs to the latter class."

"I am sure he does."

Cora did not confirm this statement.

Rose made another venture in conversation:

"So both the gentlemen go every day to the works?"

"Mr. Rockharrt goes every day. Mr. Clarence usually remains there from Monday morning until Saturday evening."

"At the works?"

"Yes; or at the hotel, where he has a suite of rooms which he occupies occasionally."

"Dear me! So you have been alone here all day long, every day but Sunday! And now I have come to keep you company, darling! You shall not feel lonely any longer. And—what was that Mary Queen of Scots said to her lady hostess on the night she passed at the castle in her sad progress from one prison to another:

"'We two widows, having no husbands to trouble us, may agree very well,' or words to that effect. So, darling, you and I, having no husbands to trouble us, may also agree very well. Shall we not?"

"I cannot speak so lightly on so grave a subject, Mrs. Stillwater," said Cora.

Old Mr. Rockharrt came in.

"Good morning, Cora! Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater! I hope you feel quite rested from your journey."

"Oh, quite, thank you! And when I woke up this morning, I was so surprised and delighted to find myself safe at home! Ah! I beg pardon! But I spent so many years in this dear old house, the happiest years of my life, that I always think of it as home, the only home I ever had in all my life," said Rose, pathetically, while tears glistened in her soft blue eyes.

"You poor child! Well, there is no reason why you should ever leave this haven again. My granddaughter needs just such a bright companion as you are sure to be. And who so fitting a one as her first young governess?"

"Oh, sir, you are so good to me! May heaven reward you! But Mrs. Rothsay?" she said, with an appealing glance toward Cora.

"I do not need a companion; if I did, I should advertise for one. The position of companion is also a half menial one, which I should never associate with the name of Mrs. Stillwater, who is our guest," replied Cora, with cold politeness.

"You see, my dear ex-pupil will not let me serve her in any capacity," said Rose, with a piteous glance toward the Iron King.

"You have both misunderstood me," he answered, with a severe glance toward his granddaughter, "I never thought of you as a companion to Mrs. Rothsay, in the professional sense of that word, but in the sense in which daughters of the same house are companions to each other."

"I should not shrink from any service to my dear Cora," said Rose Stillwater, and she was about to add—"nor to you, sir," but she thought it best not to say it, and refrained.

When breakfast was over, and the Rockhold carriage was at the door to convey the Iron King to North End, the old autocrat arose from the table and strode into the hall, calling for his valet to come and help him on with his light overcoat.

"Let me! let me! Oh, do please let me?" exclaimed Rose, jumping up and following him. "Do you remember the last time I put on your overcoat? It was on that morning in Baltimore, years ago, when we parted at the Monument House; you to go to the depot to take the cars for this place, I to remain in the city to await the arrival of my husband's ship? Nine years ago! There, now! Have I not done it as well as your valet could?" she prattled, as she deftly assisted him.

"Better, my child, much better! You are not rough; your hands are dainty as well as strong. Thank you, child," said Mr. Rockharrt, settling himself with a jerk or two into his spring overcoat.

"Oh, do let me perform these little services for you always! It will make me feel so happy!"

"But it will give you trouble."

"Oh, indeed, no! not the least! It will give me only pleasure."

"You are a very good child, but I will not tax you. Good morning! I must be off," said Mr. Rockharrt, shaking hands with Rose, and then hurrying out to get into his carriage.

Rose stood in the door looking after him, until the brougham rolled away out of sight.

At luncheon Rose Stillwater seemed so determined to be pleasant that it was next to impossible for Cora Rothsay to keep up the formal demeanor she had laid out for herself.

"It is very lonely for you here, my dear. How soon does your grandfather usually return? I know he must have been later than usual last night, because he had to go to the depot to meet me," Rose said.

"Mr. Rockharrt usually returns at six o'clock. We have dinner at half-past," replied Cora.

"And this is two! Four hours and a half yet!"

"The afternoon is very fine. Will you take a walk with me in the garden?" inquired Cora, as they left the dining room, feeling some compunction for the persistent coldness with which she had treated her most gentle and obliging guest.

"Oh, thank you very much, dear. With the greatest pleasure! It will be just like old times, when we used to walk in the garden together, you a little child holding on to my hand. And now—But we won't talk of that," said Rose.

And she fled up stairs to get her hat and shawl.

And the two women sauntered for half an hour among the early roses and spring flowers in the beautiful Rockhold garden.

Then they came in and went to the library together and looked over the new magazines. Presently Cora said:

"We all use the library in common to write our letters in. If you have letters to write, you will find every convenience in either of those side tables at the windows."

"Yes. Just as it used to be in the old times when I was so happy here! When the dear old lady was here! Ah, me! But I will not think of that. She is in heaven, as sure as there is a heaven for angels such as she, and we must not grieve for the sainted ones. But I have no letters to write, dear. I have no correspondents in all the world. Indeed, dear Cora, I have no friend in the world outside of this house," said Rose, with a little sigh that touched Cora's heart, compelling her to sympathize with this lonely creature, even against her better judgment.

"Is not Mr. Fabian friendly toward you?" inquired Cora, from mixed motives—of half pity, half irony.

"Fabian?" sweetly replied Rose. "No, dear. I lost the friendship of Mr. Fabian Rockharrt when I declined his offer of marriage. You refuse a man, and so wound his vanity; and though you may never have given him the least encouragement to propose to you, and though he has not the shadow of a reason to believe that you will accept yet will he take great offense, and perhaps become your mortal enemy," sighed Rose.

"But I think Uncle Fabian is too good natured for that sort of malice."

"I don't know, dear. I have never seen him since he left me in anger on the day I begged off from marrying him. Really, darling, it was more like begging off than refusing."

But little more was said on the subject, and presently afterward the two went up stairs to dress for dinner.

Punctually at six o'clock Mr. Rockharrt returned. And the evening passed as on the preceding day, with this addition to its attractions: Mrs. Stillwater went to the piano and played and sang many of Mr. Rockharrt's favorite songs—the old fashioned songs of his youth—Tom Moore's Irish melodies, Robert Burns' Scotch ballads, and a miscellaneous assortment of English ditties—all of which were before Rose's time, but which she had learned from old Mrs. Rockharrt's ancient music books during her first residence at Rockhold, that she might please the Iron King by singing them.

Surely the siren left nothing untried to please her patron and benefactor.

When he complained of fatigue and bade the two women good night, she started and lighted his wax candle and gave it to him. The next day she was on hand to help him on with his great coat, and to hand him his gloves and hat, and he thanked her with a smile.

So went on life at Rockhold all the week.

On Saturday evening Mr. Clarence came home with his father and greeted Rose Stillwater with the kindly courtesy that was habitual with him.

There were four at the dinner table. And Rose, having so excellent a coadjutor in the younger Rockharrt, was even gayer and more chatty than ever, making the meal a lively and cheerful one even for moody Aaron Rockharrt and sorrowful Cora Rothsay.

After dinner, when the party had gone into the drawing room, Mrs. Stillwater said:

"Here are just four of us. Just enough for a game at whist. Shall we have a rubber, Mr. Rockharrt?"

"Yes, my child! Certainly, with all my heart! I thank you for the suggestion! I have not had a game of whist since we left the city. Ah, my child, we have had very stupid evenings here at home until you came and brought some life into the house. Clarence, draw out the card table. Cora, go and find the cards."

"Let me! Let me! Please let me!" exclaimed Rose, starting up with childish eagerness. "Where are the cards, Cora, dear?"

"They are in the drawer of the card table. You need not stir to find them, thank you, Mrs. Stillwater."

"No; here they are all ready," said Mr. Clarence, who had drawn the table up before the fire and taken the pack of cards from the drawer.

The party of four sat down for the game.

"We must cut for partners," said Mr. Rockharrt, shuffling the cards and then handing them to Mrs. Stillwater for the first cut.

"The highest and the two lowest to be partners?" inquired Rose, as she lifted half the pack.

"Of course, that is the rule."

Each person cut in turn, and fortune favored Mrs. Stillwater to Mr. Clarence, and Cora to Mr. Rockharrt. Then they cut for deal, and fortune favored Mr. Rockharrt.

The cards were dealt around.

Rose Stillwater had an excellent hand, and she knew by the pleased looks of her partner, Mr. Clarence, that he also had a good one; and by the annoyed expression of Mr. Rockharrt's face that he had a bad one. Cora's countenance was as the sphnix's; she was too sadly preoccupied to care for this game.

However, Rose determined that she would play into the hand of her antagonist and not into that of her partner.

Pursuing this policy, she watched Mr. Rockharrt's play, always returned his lead, and when her attention was called to the error, she would flush, exhibit a lovely childlike embarrassment, declare that she was no whist player at all, and beg to be forgiven; and the very next moment she would trump her partner's trick, or purposely commit some other blunder that would be sure to give the trick to Mr. Rockharrt.

Mr. Clarence was the soul of good humor, but it was provoking to have his own "splendid" hand so ruined by the bad play of his partner that their antagonists, with such very poor hands, actually won the odd trick.

In the next deal Rose got a "miserable" hand; so did her partner, as she discovered by his looks, while Mr. Rockharrt must have had a magnificent hand, to judge from his triumphant expression of countenance.

Rose could, therefore, now afford to redeem her place in the esteem of her partner by playing her very best, without the slightest danger of taking a single trick.

To be brief, through Rose's management Mr. Rockharrt and Cora won the rubber, and the Iron King rose from the card table exultant, for what old whist player is not pleased with winning the rubber?

"My child," he said to Rose Stillwater, "this is altogether the pleasantest evening that we have passed since we left the city, and all through you bringing life and activity among us! I do not think we can ever afford to let you go."

"Oh, sir! you are too good. Would to heaven that I might find some place in your household akin to that which I once filled during the happiest years of my life, when I lived here as your dear granddaughter's governess," said Rose Stillwater, with a sigh and a smile.

"You shall never leave us again with my consent. Ah, we have had a very pleasant evening. What do you think, Clarence?"

"Very pleasant for the winners, sir," replied the young man, with a good humored laugh, as he lighted his bed room candle and bade them all good night.

Soon after the little party separated and retired for the night.

As time passed, Rose Stillwater continued to make herself more and more useful to her host and benefactor. She enlivened his table and his evenings at home by her cheerful conversation, her music and her games. She waited on him hand and foot, helped him on and off with his wraps when he went out or came in; warmed his slippers, filled his pipe, dried his newspapers, served him in innumerable little ways with a childlike eagerness and delight that was as the incense of frankincense and myrrh to the nostrils of the egotist.

And he praised her and held her up as a model to his granddaughter.

Rose Stillwater was a proper young woman, a model young woman, all indeed that a woman should be. He had never seen one to approach her status in all his long life. She was certainly the most excellent of her sex. He did not know what in this gloomy house they could ever do without her.

Such was the burden of his talk to Cora.

Mrs. Rothsay gave but cold assent to all this. She had too much reverence for the fifth commandment to tell her grandfather what she thought of the situation—that Rose Stillwater was making a notable fool of him, either for the sake of keeping a comfortable home, or gaining a place in his will, or of something greater still which would include all the rest.

She tried to treat the woman with cold civility. But how could she persevere in such a course of conduct toward a beautiful blue eyed angel who was always eager to please, anxious to serve?

Cora felt that this woman was a fraud, yet when she met her lovely, candid, heaven blue eyes she could not believe in her own intuitions. Cora, like some few unenvious women, was often affected by other women's beauty. The childlike loveliness of her quondam teacher really touched her heart. So she could not at all times maintain the dignified reserve that she wished toward Rose Stillwater.

Meantime the day approached when it was decided that they should all go to West Point to the commencement, at which Cadet Sylvan Haught was expected to graduate.

Mr. Rockharrt had invited Mrs. Stillwater to be of their party, and insisted upon her accompanying them.

Rose demurred. She even ventured to hint that Mrs. Rothsay might not like her to go with them; whereupon the Iron King gathered his brow so darkly and fearfully, and said so sternly:

"She had better not dislike it," that Rose hastened to say that it was only her own secret misgiving, and that no part of Mrs. Rothsay's demeanor had led her to such a supposition.

And she resolved never again to drop a hint of her hostess' too evident suspicion of herself to the family autocrat, for it was the last mistake that Mrs. Stillwater could possibly wish to make—to kindle anger between grandfather and granddaughter. Her policy was to forbear, to be patient, to conciliate, and to bide her time.

"Cora," said the Iron King, abruptly, to his granddaughter, at the breakfast table, on the morning after this conversation, and in the presence of their guest, "do you object to Mrs. Stillwater joining our traveling party to West Point?"

"Certainly not, sir. What right have I to object to any one whom you might please to invite?"

"No right whatever. And I am glad that you understand that," replied Mr. Rockharrt.

Rose was trembling for fear that her benefactor would betray her as the suggester of the question, but he did not.

Cora had received no letter from her Uncle Fabian in answer to hers announcing the fact of Mrs. Stillwater's presence at Rockhold.

Mr. Fabian wrote no letters, except business ones to the firm, and these were opened at the office of the works, and never brought to Rockhold.

If Cora should ever inquire of her grandfather whether he had heard from Mr. and Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt, his answer would be brief—

"Yes; they are both well. They are at Paris. They are at Berne. They are at Aix," or wherever the tourists might then chance to be.

Sylvan was a better correspondent. He answered her letters promptly. His comments on the visit of Rose Stillwater were characteristic of the boy.

"So you have got the Rose 'that all admire' transplanted to the conservatories of Rockhold. Wish you joy of her. She is a rose without a single thorn, and with a deadly sweet aroma. Mind what I told you long ago. It contains the wisdom of ages. 'Stillwater runs deep.' Mind it does not draw in and submerge the peace and honor of Rockhold. I shall see you at the exhibition, when we can talk more freely over this complication. If Mrs. Stillwater is to remain as a permanent guest at Rockhold, I shall ask my sister to join me wherever I may be ordered, after my leave of absence has expired. You see I fully calculate on receiving my commission."

Cora looked forward anxiously to this meeting with her brother. Only the thought of seeing him a little sooner than she should otherwise have done could reconcile her to the proposed trip to West Point, where she must be surrounded by all the gayeties of the Military Academy at its annual exercises.

Cora had yielded to her grandfather's despotic will in going a little into society while they occupied their town house in the State capital. But she took no pleasure—not the least pleasure—in this.

To her wounded heart and broken spirit the world's wealth was dross and its honors—vapor!

The only life worth living she had lost, or had recklessly thrown away. Her soul turned, sickened, from all on earth, to seek her lost love through the unknown, invisible spheres.

She still wore around her neck the thin gold chain, and suspended from it, resting on her bosom, the precious little black silk bag that contained the last tender, loving, forgiving, encouraging letter that he had written to her on the night of his great renunciation for her sake, when he had left all his hard won honors and dignities, and gone forth in loneliness and poverty to the wilderness and to martyrdom.

Oh, she felt she was never worthy of such a love as that; the love that had toiled for her through long years; the love that had died for her at last; the love that she had never recognized, never appreciated; the love of a great hearted man, whom she had never truly seen until he was lost to her forever.

So long as he had lived on earth Cora had cherished a hope to meet him, "sometime, somehow, somewhere."

But now he had left this planet. Oh! where in the Lord's universe was he? In what immeasurably distant sphere? Oh! that her spirit could reach him where he lived! Oh, that she could cause him to hear her cry—her deep cry of repentance and anguish!

But no; he never heard her; he never came near her in spirit, even in her dreams, as the departed are sometimes said to come and comfort the loved ones left on earth.

During these moods of dark despair Cora was so gloomy and reserved that she seemed to treat her unwelcome guest worse than ever, when, in truth, she was not even seeing or thinking of the intruder.

The Iron King, however, noticed his granddaughter's coldness and reserve, and he deeply resented it.

One very rainy, dismal Sunday they were all at home and in the drawing room. Cora had sat for hours in silence, or replying to Mrs. Stillwater's frequent attempts to draw her into conversation in brief monosyllables, until at last the visitor arose and left the room, not hurt or offended, as Mr. Rockharrt supposed, but simply tired of staying so long in one place.

But the Iron King turned on his granddaughter and demanded:

"Corona Rothsay! why do you treat our visitor with such unladylike rudeness?"

Cora, brought roughly out of her sad reverie, gazed at the old man vaguely. She scarcely heard his question, and certainly did not understand it.

"Father," ventured Mr. Clarence, "I do not believe Cora could treat any one with rudeness, and surely she could never be unladylike. But you see she is absent-minded."

"Hold your tongue, sir! How dare you interfere?" sternly exclaimed the despot. "But I see how it is," he added, with the savage satisfaction of a man who has power to crush and means to do it—"I see how it is! That oppressed woman will never be treated by either of you with proper respect until I give her my name and make her my wife and the mistress of my house."



CHAPTER XIV.

IN THE WEB.

"Yes, sir and madam, you may stare; but I mean to place my guest in a position from which she can command due honor. I mean to give her my name and make her the mistress of my house," said old Aaron Rockharrt; and he leaned back in his chair and drew himself up.

Had a thunderbolt fallen among them, it could hardly have caused greater consternation.

The shock was more effective because both his hearers knew full well that old Aaron Rockharrt never used vain threats, and that he would do exactly what he said he would do. Having said that he meant to marry the unwelcome guest, he would marry her.

But what unutterable amazement fell upon the two people! Both had felt a vague dread of evil from the presence of this siren in the house; but their darkest, wildest fears had never shadowed forth this unspeakable folly. The Iron King, a man of seventy-seven, strong, firm, upright, honored, to fall into the idiocy of marrying a beautiful adventuress merely because she waited on him, ran his errands, warmed his slippers, put on his dressing gown or his overcoat, as he would come in or go out, and generally made him comfortable; but above all perhaps, because she flattered his egotism without measure. And yet the Iron King was considered sane, and was sane on all other subjects.

So thought Clarence and Cora as they gasped, glanced at the old man, gazed at each other, and then dropped their eyes in a sort of shame.

Neither spoke or could speak.

The dreadful silence was broken at last by Rose Stillwater, who burst into the room like a sunbeam into a cloud, and said with her childish eagerness:

"I have got such a lovely piece of music. I ran out just now to look for it. I was not sure I could find it; but here it is. It may be called sacred music and suitable to the day, I hope. Here is the title.

"'Glad life lives on forever.'

"Shall I play and sing for you, Mr. Rockharrt? Would you like me to do so, dear Cora? And you, Mr. Clarence?"

"Certainly, my dear," promptly responded the Iron King.

"As you please," coldly replied Cora.

"I—yes—thank you; I think it would be very nice," foolishly observed Mr. Clarence, who was just now reduced to a state of imbecility by the stunning announcement of his father's intended marriage.

But all three had spoken at the same time, so that Rose Stillwater heard but one voice clearly, and that was the Iron King's.

Mr. Clarence, however, went and opened the piano for her. Then old Mr. Rockharrt arose, went to the instrument slowly and deliberately, put his youngest son aside, wheeled up the music stool, seated her and then—

"The monarch o'er the siren hung And beat the measure as she sung, And pressing closer and more near, He whispered praises in her ear."

"It is 'The Lion in Love,' of AEsop's fable. He will let her draw his teeth yet," said Mr. Clarence, in a low tone, quite drowned in the joyous swell of the music.

"No, it is not. A man of his age does not fall in love, I feel sure. And she will never gain one advantage over him. He likes her society and her servitude and her flatteries. He will take them all, and more than all, if he can; but he will give nothing, nothing in return," murmured Cora.

"But why does he give her this attention to-day? It is unusual."

"To show us that he will do her honor; place her above us, as he said; but that will not outlast their wedding day, if indeed they marry."

"They will marry unless something should happen to prevent them. I do wish Fabian was at home."

"So do I, with all my heart."

The glad bursts of music which had drowned their voices, slowly sank into soft and dreamy tones.

Then Clarence and Corona ceased their whispered conversation.

Soon the dinner bell rang and the family party went into the dining room.

On Monday morning active preparations were commenced for their journey to New York. Not one more word was spoken about the marriage of June and January, nor could either Clarence or Corona judge by the manner of the ill sorted pair whether the subject had been mentioned between them.

On Wednesday of that week Mr. Rockharrt, accompanied by Mrs. Stillwater and Mrs. Rothsay, left Rockhold for New York, leaving Mr. Clarence in charge of the works at North End.

They went straight through without, as before, stopping overnight at Baltimore. Consequently they reached New York on Thursday noon.

Mr. Rockharrt telegraphed to the Cozzens Hotel at West Point to secure a suite of rooms, and then he took his own party to the Blank House.

When they were comfortably installed in their apartments and had had dinner, he said to his companions:

"I have business which may detain me in the city for several days. We need not, however, put in an appearance at the Military Academy before Monday morning. Meanwhile you two may amuse yourselves as you please, but must not look to me to escort you anywhere. Here are fine stores, art galleries, parks, matinees and what not, where women may be trusted alone;" and having laid down the law, his majesty marched off to bed, leaving the two young widows to themselves, in the private parlor of their suite.

They also retired to the double-bedded chamber, which, to Cora's annoyance, had been engaged for their joint occupancy. She detested to be brought into such close intimacy with Rose Stillwater, and longed for the hour of her brother's release from the academy, and his appointment to some post of duty, however distant, where she might join him, and so escape the humiliation of her present position. However, she tried to bear the mortification as best she might, thankful that she and her unwelcome chum, while occupying the same chamber, were not obliged to sleep in the same bed.

Truly, Rose Stillwater felt how unpleasant her companionship was to her former pupil, but she showed no consciousness of this. She comported herself with great discretion—not forcing conversation on her unwilling room mate, lest she should give offense; and it was the policy of this woman to "avoid offenses," nor yet did she keep total silence, lest she should seem to be sulky; for it was also her policy always to seem amiable and happy. So, though Cora never voluntarily addressed one word to her, yet Rose occasionally spoke sweetly some commonplace about the weather, their room, the bill of fare at dinner, and so on; to all of which observations she received brief replies.

Both were relieved when they were in their separate beds and the gas was turned off—Rose that she need act a difficult part no more that night, but could lie down, and, under the cover of the darkness, gather her features in a cloud of wrath, and silently curse Corona Rothsay; Cora, that she was freed from the sight of the deceitful face and the sound of the lying tongue.

Fatigued by their long journey, both soon fell asleep, and slept well, until the horrible sound of the gong awakened them—the gong in those days used to summon guests to the public breakfast table.

Cora sprang out of bed with one fear—that her grandfather was up and waiting for his breakfast, though that gong had really nothing to do with any of their meals, which were always to be served in their private parlor.

Cora and her room mate quickly dressed and went to the parlor, where they were relieved to find no Mr. Rockharrt and no table set.

Presently, however, the Iron King strode into the room, a morning paper in his hand.

"Breakfast not ready yet?" he sharply demanded, looking at Corona.

Then she suddenly remembered that whenever they had traveled before this time, her grandmother had ordered the meals, as she had done everything else that she could do to save her tyrant trouble.

"I—suppose so, sir. Shall I ring for it?" she inquired.

"Let me! Let me! Oh, please let me wait on you!" exclaimed Rose, as she sprang up, ran across the room, and rang a peal on the bell.

The waiter came.

"Will you also order the breakfast, Mrs. Stillwater, if such is your pleasure?" inquired Cora, who could not help this little bit of ill humor.

"Certainly I will, my dear, if you like!" said the imperturbable Rose, who was resolved never to understand sarcasm, and never to take offense—"Waiter, bring me a bill of fare."

The waiter went out to do his errand.

Old Aaron Rockharrt glared sternly at his granddaughter; but his fire did not strike his intended victim, for Cora had her back turned and was looking out of the window.

The waiter came in with the breakfast bill of fare.

"Will you listen, Mr. Rockharrt, and you, dear Cora, and tell me what to mark, as I read out the items," said Rose, sweetly, as she took the card from the hands of the man.

"Thank you, I want nothing especially," answered Cora.

"Read on, my dear. I will tell you what to mark, and you must be sure also to mark any dish that you yourself may fancy," said Mr. Rockharrt, speaking very kindly to Rose, but glaring ferociously toward Cora.

Rose read slowly, pausing at each item. Mr. Rockharrt named his favorite dishes, Rose marked them, and the order was given to the waiter, who took it away.

Breakfast was soon served, and a most disagreeable meal it must have been but for Rose Stillwater's invincible good humor. She chatted gayly through the whole meal, perfectly resolved to ignore the cloud that was between the grandfather and the granddaughter.

As soon as they arose from the table old Aaron Rockharrt ordered a carriage to take him down to Wall Street, on some business connected with his last great speculation, which was all that his granddaughter knew.

Before leaving the hotel, he launched this bitter insult at Cora, through their guest:

"My dear," he said to Mrs. Stillwater, as he drew on his gloves, "I must leave my granddaughter under your charge. I beg that you will look after her. She really seeds the supervision of a governess quite as much now as she did years ago when you had the training of her."

Corona's wrath flamed up. A scathing sarcasm was on her lips. She turned.

But no. She could not resent the insult of so aged a man; even if he had not been her grandfather.

Rose Stillwater said never a word. It was not—it would not have been prudent to speak. To treat the matter as a jest would have offended the Iron King; to have taken it seriously would most justly and unpardonably have offended Corona Rothsay. Truly, Rose found that "Jordan am a hard road to trabbel!" And here at least was an apt application of the old proverb:

"Speech is silver, silence is golden." So Rose said never a word, but looked from one to the other, smiling divinely on each in turn.

Old Aaron Rockharrt having discharged his shot, went down stairs, entered his carriage and drove to Wall Street.

Corona went to her room, or to the room she jointly occupied with Mrs. Stillwater, wishing from the depths of her heart that she could get entirely away from the sight and hearing of the woman who grew more repugnant to her feelings every day. At one time Cora thought that she would call a carriage, drive to the Hudson River railway station, and take the train for West Point, there to remain during the exercises of the academy. She was very strongly tempted to do this; but she resisted the impulse. She would not bring matters to a crisis by making a scene. So the idea of escaping to West Point was abandoned. Next she thought of taking a carriage and driving out to Harlem alone; but then she remembered that the woman Stillwater was, after all, her guest, so long as she herself was mistress, if only in name, of her grandfather's house; she could not leave her alone for the whole day; and so the idea of evading the creature's company by driving out alone was also given up.

Truly, Cora was bound to the rack with cords of conventionality as fine as cobwebs, yet as strong as ropes.

She did nothing but sit still in her chamber and brood; dreading the entrance of her abhorrent room-mate every moment.

But Rose Stillwater—who read Cora Rothsay's thoughts as easily as she could read a familiar book—acted with her usual discretion. As long as Cora chose to remain in their joint chamber, Rose forbore to exercise her own right of entering it.

Not until the afternoon did Corona come out into the parlor. Then she found Rose seated at the window, watching the busy scene on the Broadway pavement below, the hurried promenaders jostling as they passed each other on going up and coming down; the street peddlers, the walking advertisements, and all other sights never noticed by a citizen of the town, but looked at with curiosity by a stranger from the country.

Rose turned as Corona entered, and ignoring all reserve, said sweetly:

"I hope you have been resting, dear, and that you feel refreshed. Shall I ring and order luncheon? I wish to do all I can, dear, to prove my appreciation of all the kindness shown me; yet not to be officious."

Now, how could Cora repulse the advances of so very good humored a woman? She believed her to be false and designing. She longed with all her heart and soul to be rid of the woman and her insidious influence. Yet she could not hear that sweet voice, those meek words, or meet those soft blue eyes, and maintain her manner of freezing politeness.

"If you please," she answered, gently, and then said to herself: "Heavens! what a hypocrite this unwillingness to hurt the woman's feelings does make me!"

Rose rang the bell and ordered the luncheon.

They sat down in apparent amity to partake of it.

The afternoon waned and evening came, but brought no Iron King back to the hotel.

"Have you any idea at what hour Mr. Rockharrt will return, dear?" inquired Mrs. Stillwater, in her most dulcet tones.

"Not the slightest."

"I think he said something about going down to Wall Street to see after the forming of a syndicate in connection with his grand speculation. What is a syndicate, dear?"

"I don't know—it may be an agency or a company—"

"Or it may be something connected with the building of the new synagogue, which it is said is to be constructed of iron."

Cora was surprised into the first laugh she had had in two years. But the mirth was very short-lived. It came and passed in an instant, and then a pang of remorse seized her heart that she could have laughed at all. She was thinking of her lost Rule, and of her own guilty share in his tragic fate. If she had not let her fancy and imagination become so dazzled by the rank and splendor of the British suitor as to blind her heart and mind for a season, as to make her think and believe that she really loved this new man, and that she had never loved, and could never love, Ruth Rothsay, though she must keep her engagement with him and marry him—had she not broken down and given way to her emotions on that fatal evening of their wedding day—then Rule would never have made his great renunciation for her sake—would never have wandered away into the wilderness to meet his death from murderous hands. How could she ever laugh again? she asked herself.

"What is the matter with you, dear?" inquired Rose, surprised at the sudden change in Cora.

But before she could be answered the door opened and old Aaron Rockharrt came in, looking weary and careworn.

"How have you amused yourselves to-day?" he inquired of the two young women.

Cora was slow to speak, but Rose answered discreetly:

"I do not think we either of us did much but loll around and rest from our journey."

"Not been out?"

"No; I did not care to do so; nor did Cora, I believe."

Dinner was served. Afterward the evening passed stupidly.

Aaron Rockharrt sat in the large arm chair and slept. Cora, looking at him, thought he was aging fast.

As soon as he waked up he bade his companions good night and went to his apartment. The two others soon followed his example.

As this day passed, so passed the succeeding days of their sojourn in the city.

Mr. Rockharrt went out every morning on business connected with that great scheme which was going to quadruple his already enormous wealth. He came home every evening quite worn out, and after dinner sat and dozed in his chair until bedtime.

Cora watched him anxiously and wondered at him. He was aging fast. She could see that in his whole appearance. But what a strange infatuation for a man of seventy-seven, possessed already of almost fabulous wealth, to be as hotly in pursuit of money as if he were some poor youth with his fortune still to make! And what, after all, could he do with so much more money? Why could he not retire on his vast riches, and rest from his labors, leaving his two stalwart sons to carry on his business, and so live longer? Cora mournfully asked herself.

On Sunday a strange thing happened. Old Aaron Rockharrt announced at the breakfast table his intention of going to a certain church to hear a celebrated preacher, whose piety, eloquence and enthusiasm was the subject of general discussion; and he invited the two ladies to go with him. Both consented—Cora because she never willingly absented herself from public worship on the Sabbath; Rose because it was her cue to be amiable and to agree to everything that was proposed.

"We need not take a carriage. The church is only two blocks off," said Mr. Rockharrt, as he arose from the table.

The party was soon ready, and while the bell was still ringing, they set out to walk. As they reached the sacred edifice the bell ceased ringing and the organ pealed forth in a grand voluntary.

"You see we are but just in time," said Mr. Rockharrt, as he led his party into the building.

The polite sexton conducted the strangers up the center aisle and put them into a good pew. The church was not full, but was filling rapidly. Our party bowed their heads for the preliminary private prayer, and so did not see the great preacher as he entered and stood at the reading desk. He was an English dean of great celebrity as a pulpit orator, now on a visit to the United States, and preaching in turn in every pulpit of his denomination as he passed. He was a man of about sixty-five, tall, thin, with a bald head, a narrow face, an aquiline nose, blue eyes and a gray beard. He began to read the opening texts of the service.

"'If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.'"

At the sound of his voice Rose Stillwater started violently, looked up and grew ghastly white. She dropped her face in her hands on the cushioned edge of the pew before her, and so sat trembling through the reading of the texts and the exhortations. Afterward followed the ritualistic general confession and prayer, during which all knelt.

When at the close all arose Mrs. Stillwater was gone from her seat. Mr. Rockharrt looked around him and then stared at Cora, who very slightly shook her head, as if to say:

"No; I know no more about it than you."

How swiftly and silently Rose Stillwater had left the pew and slipped out of the church while all the congregation were bowed in prayer!

Old Aaron Rockharrt looked puzzled and troubled, but the minister was pronouncing the general absolution that followed the general confession, and such a severe martinet and disciplinarian as old Aaron Rockharrt would on no account fail in attention to the speaker.

Nor did he change countenance again during the long morning service.

At its close he drew Cora's arm within his own and led her out of the church.

As they walked down Broadway he inquired:

"Why did Mrs. Stillwater leave the church?"