"I might answer, to be with my only brother, I being his only sister."

"Bosh! Men's wives very seldom accompany them to these savage posts, much less their sisters! What does a young officer want his sister tagging after him for?"

"It is not that Sylvan especially wants me, nor for his sake alone that I go."

"Well, then, what in the name of lunacy do you go for?"

"That I may devote my time and fortune to a good cause—to the education of Indian girls and boys. I mean to build—"

"That, or something like that, was what Rothsay tried to do when you drove him away, as if he had been a leper, to the desert. Well, go on! What next? Let us hear the whole of the mad scheme!"

"I mean to build a capacious school house, in which I will receive, board, lodge, and teach as many Indian children as may be intrusted to me, until the house shall be full."

"Moonstruck mania! That is what your mad husband driven mad by you—attempted on a smaller scale, and failed."

"That is why I wish to do this. I wish to follow in his footsteps It is the best thing I can do to honor his memory."

"But he was murdered for his pains."

Cora shuddered and covered her face with her hands for a space; then she answered, slowly:

"There may be many failures; but there will never be any success unless the failures are made stepping stones to final victory."

"Fudge! See here, mistress! No doubt you suffer a good many stings of conscience for having driven the best man that ever lived—except, hem! well—to his death! But you need not on that account expatriate yourself from civilization, to go out to try to teach those red devils who murdered your husband and burned his hut, and who will probably murder you and burn your school house! You have been a false woman and a miserable sinner, Cora Rothsay! And you have deserved to suffer and you have suffered, there is no doubt about that! But you have repented, and may be pardoned. You need not immolate yourself at your age. You are a mere girl. You will get over your morbid grief. You may marry again."

Cora slowly, sadly, silently shook her head.

"Oh, yes; you will."

"No, no; no, dear grandpa. I will bear my dear, lost husband's name to the end of my life, and it shall be inscribed on my tomb. Ah! would to Heaven that at the last, I might lay my ashes beside his," she moaned.

"Now don't be a confounded fool, Cora Rothsay! To be sure, all women are fools! But, then, a girl with a drop of my blood in her veins should not be such a consummate idiot as you are showing yourself to be. You shall not go out with Sylvan to that savage frontier. It is no place for a woman, particularly for an unmarried woman. You would come to a bad end. I shall speak to Sylvan. I shall forbid him to take you there," said the old autocrat.

Cora smiled, but answered nothing. She had firmly made up her mind to go with her brother, whether her grandfather should approve the action or not; but she thought it unnecessary to dispute the matter with him just now.

"So, mistress, you will stay here, under my guardianship, until you accept a husband, like a respectable woman," continued old Aaron Rockharrt.

Still Cora remained silent, standing by his chair, with her hand resting on the table, and her eyes cast down.

The egotist seemed not to object to having all the talk to himself.

"Come!" he exclaimed, with sudden animation, sitting bolt upright in his chair, "When I found you in this room just now, you said you had something to tell me. And you told it. Naturally, it was not worth hearing. Now, then, I have something to tell you, which is so well worth hearing that when you have heard it your missionary madness may be cured, and your Quixotic expedition given up: in fact, all your plans in life changed—a splendid prospect opened before you."

Cora looked up, her languor all gone, her interest aroused. Something was rising in her mind; not a sun of hope ah! no—but nebula, obscure, unformed, indistinct, yet with possible suns of hope, worlds of happiness, within it. What did her grandfather mean? Had he heard something about—Was Rule yet—

Swift as lightning flashed these thoughts through her mind while her grandfather drew his breath between his utterances.

"Listen! This is what I had to tell you: I had a letter a few days ago from an old suitor of yours," he said, looking keenly at his granddaughter.

Cora's eyes fell, her spirits drooped. The nebula of unknown hopes and joys had faded away, leaving her prospect dark again. She looked depressed and disappointed. She could feel no shadow of interest in her old suitors.

"I received this letter several days since, and being at leisure just then. I answered it. But in the pressure of some important matters I forgot to tell you of it, though it concerned yourself mostly, I might say entirely. Shouldn't have remembered it now, I suppose, if it had not been for your foolish talk about going out for a missionary to the savages. Ah! another destiny awaits your acceptance."

Cora sighed in silence.

"Now, then. Of course you must know who this correspondent is."

"Without offense to you, grandfather, I neither know nor care," languidly replied the lady.

"But it is not without offense to me. You are the most eccentric and inconsistent woman I ever met in all the course of my life. You are not constant even to your inconstancy."

Having uttered this paradox, the old man threw himself back in his chair and gazed at his granddaughter.

"I am not yet clear as to your meaning, sir," she said, coldly but respectfully.

"What! Have you quite forgotten the titled dandy for whom you were near breaking your heart three years ago? For whom you were ready to throw over one of the best and truest men that ever lived! For whom you really did drive Regulas Rothsay, on the proudest and happiest day of his life, into exile and death!"

"Oh, don't! don't! grandfather! Don't!" wailed Cora, sinking on an office stool, and dropping her hands and head on the table.

"Now, none of that, mistress. No hysterics, if you please. I won't permit any woman about me to indulge in such tantrums. Listen to me, ma'am. My correspondent was young Cumbervale, the noodle!"

"Then I never wish to see or hear or think of him again!" exclaimed Cora.

"Indeed! But that is a woman all through. She will do or suffer anything to get her own way. She will defy all her friends and relations, all principles of truth and honor; she will move Heaven and earth, go through fire and water, to get her own way; and when she does get it she don't want it, and she won't have it."

"Grandfather!" pleaded Cora.

"Silence! Three years ago you would have walked over all our dead bodies, if necessary, to marry that noble booby. And you would have married him if it had not been for me! I would not permit you to wed him then, because you were in honor bound to Regulas Rothsay. I shall insist on your accepting him now, because poor Rothsay is in his grave, and this will be the best thing to do for you to help you out of harm's way from redskins and rattlesnakes and other reptiles. I don't think much of the fellow; but he seems to be a harmless idiot, and is good enough for you."

Cora answered never a word, but she felt quite sure that not even the iron will of the Iron King could ever coerce her into marriage with any man, least of all with the man whose memory was identified with her heart's tragedy. The old man continued his monologue.

"The best thing about the fellow is his constancy. He was after your imaginary fortune once. I am sure of that. And he was so dazzled by the illumination of that ignis fatuus that he didn't see you, perhaps, and didn't recognize how much he really cared for you. At all events, in his letter to me—and, by the way, it is very strange that he should write to me after the snubbing I gave him in London," said the Iron King, reflectively.

Cora did not think that was strange. She, at least, felt sure that it was as impossible for the young duke to take offense at the rudeness of the old iron man as at the raging of a dog or the tearing of a bull. But she did not drop a hint of this to the egotist, who never imagined passive insolence to be at the bottom of the duke's forbearance.

"In his letter to me," resumed old Aaron Rockharrt, "the young fool tells me that, immediately after his great disappointment in being rejected by you, he left England—and, indeed, Europe—and traveled through every accessible portion of Asia and Africa, in the hope of overcoming his misplaced affection, but in vain, for that he returned home at the end of two years with his heart unchanged. There he learned through the newspapers that you had been recently widowed, through the murder of your husband in an Indian mutiny. That's how he put it. He farther wrote that, in the face of such a tragedy as that, he felt bound to forbear the faintest approach toward resuming his acquaintance with you until some considerable time should have elapsed, although, he was careful to add, he always believed that you had given him your heart, and would have given him your hand had you been permitted to do so. He ended his letter by asking me to give him your address, that he might write to you. He evidently supposed you to be keeping house for yourself, as English widows of condition usually do. Well, my girl, what do you think I did?"

"You told me, sir, that, being at leisure just then, you answered his letter immediately," coldly replied Cora.

"Yes; and I told him that you were living with me. I gave him the full address. And I told him that I was pleased with his frankness and fidelity, qualities which I highly approved; and I added that if he wished to renew his suit to you, he need not waste time in writing, but that he might come over and court you in person here at Rockhold, where he should receive a hearty, old-fashioned welcome."

Cora gazed at the old man aghast.

"Oh, grandfather, you never wrote that!" she exclaimed.

"I never wrote that? What do you mean, mistress? Am I in the habit of saying what is not true?"

"Oh, no; but I am so grieved that you should have written such a letter."

"Why, pray?"

"Because I cannot bear that any one should think for a moment that I could ever marry again."

"Rubbish!"

"Well, it does not matter after all. If the duke should come on this fool's errand, I shall be far enough out of his reach," thought Cora; but she said no more.

The breakfast bell rang out with much clamor, and the old man arose growling.

"And now you have cheated me out of my hour with the newspapers by your foolish talk. Come, come to breakfast and let us hear no more nonsense about going on that wild goose chase to the Indian frontier."

At the end of the morning meal he arose from the table, called his young wife to fetch him his hat, his gloves, his duster, and other belongings, and he got ready for his daily morning drive to the works.

"I shall remain at North End to bid you good-by, Sylvan. Call at my office there on your way to the depot," he said, as he left the house to step into his carriage waiting at the door.

As the sound of the wheels rolled off and died in the distance, Rose turned to Cora and inquired:

"My dear, does he know that you are going out West with Sylvan?"

"He should know it. I have spoken freely of my plans before you both for months past," said Cora.

"But, my dear, he never took the slightest notice of anything you said on that subject. Why, he did not even seem to hear you."

"He heard me perfectly. Nothing passes in my grandfather's presence that he does not see and hear and understand."

"Well, then, I reckon he thinks you have changed your mind; for he spoke of meeting Sylvan at North End to bid him good-by, but said not a word about you."

"He will believe that I am going when he sees me with Sylvan," said Cora.

And then she touched the bell and ordered her carriage to be brought to the door.

"We must go and take leave of Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt," she said to Rose.

Twenty minutes later Cora and Sylvan entered the pony carriage. Sylvan took the reins and started for Violet Banks.

They soon reached the lovely villa, where they found Violet seated in a Quaker rocking-chair on the front porch, with a basket workstand beside her, busily and happily engaged in her beloved work—embroidering an infant's white cashmere cloak. She jumped up, dropped her work, and ran to meet her visitors as they alighted from the carriage. She kissed Cora rapturously, and Sylvan kissed her.

"How lovely of you both to come! Wait a minute till I call a boy to take your chaise around to the stable. And, oh, sit down. You are going to stay all day with me, too, and late into the night—there is a fine moon to-night. Or maybe you will stay a week or a month. Why not? Oh, do stay," she rattled on, a little incoherently on account of her happy excitement.

"No, dear," said Cora, "we can only stay a very few minutes. The rising moon will see us far away on our route to New York."

"W-h-y! You astonish me! How sudden this is! Where are you going?" asked Violet, pausing in her hurry to call a groom.

"Let me explain," said Cora, taking one of the Quaker chairs and seating herself. "Sylvan has just received his commission as second lieutenant in the 3d Regiment of Infantry, now on Governor's Island, New York harbor, but under orders for Fort Farthermost, on the extreme frontier of the Indian Reserve. He leaves by the afternoon express, and I go with him."

"Cora!" exclaimed Violet, as she dropped into her chair. "I know you have talked about this, but I never thought you would do such a wild deed! Please don't think of going out among bears and Indians!"

"I must, dear, for many reasons. Sylvan and myself are all and all to each other at present, and we should not be parted. More than that, I wish to do something in the world. I can not do anything here. I am not wanted, you see. I must, therefore, go where I may be wanted and may do some good."

"But what can you do—out there?"

Cora then explained her plan of establishing a missionary home and school for Indian children.

"What a good, great, but, oh, what a Quixotic plan! Sylvan, why will you let her do it?" pleaded Violet.

"My dear, I would not presume to oppose Cora. If she thinks she is right in this matter, then she is right. If her resolution is fixed, then I will uphold and defend her in that resolution," said the young lieutenant, loyally. But all the same his secret thought was that some fine fellow in his own regiment might be able to persuade Cora to devote her time and fortune to him, instead of to the redskins.

After a little more talk Cora got up and kissed Violet good-by. Sylvan followed her example with a little more ardor than was absolutely necessary, perhaps.

At Rockhold luncheon was on the table, and young Mrs. Rockharrt waiting for them. Mr. Clarence was also at home, having determined to risk his father's displeasure and to neglect his business on this one day—this last day, for the sake of the niece and the nephew who were so dear to his heart.

After luncheon Sylvan went out to oversee the loading of the farm van, which was drawn by two sturdy mules, with the many heavy trunks and boxes that contained Cora's wardrobe and books—among the latter a large number of elementary school books. Mr. Clarence stood by his side to help him in case of need. Cora went up to her room, where nothing was now left to be done but to pack her little traveling bag with the necessaries for her journey, and then put on her traveling suit. She had a quantity of valuable jewelry, but this she put carefully into her hand bag, intending to convert it all into money as soon as she should reach New York, and to consecrate the fund, with the bulk of her fortune, to her projected home school for the Indian children.

As she sat there, she was by some occult agency led to think of her grandfather's young wife—to think of her tenderly, charitably, compassionately. Poor Rose! In infancy, from the day of her father's death, an unloved, neglected, persecuted child; in childhood, driven to desperation and elopement by the miseries of her home; in girlhood, deceived and abandoned by her lover; now, in womanhood, as friendless and unhappy as if she had not married a wealthy man, and was not living in a luxurious home. Poor Rose! She had lost her sense of honor, or she never would have married Mr. Rockharrt, even for a refuge. But, through all her sins and sorrows, she had not lost her tender heart, her sweet temper, or her amiable desire to serve and to please. She had now a hard time with her aged, despotic husband. He had not gratified her ambition by taking her into the upper circles of society, for he seemed now to have given up society; he had not pleased her harmless vanity with presents of fine dress and jewelry; no, nor even regarded her services with any sort of affectionate recognition.

Cora sat there feeling sorry that she had ever shown herself cold and haughty to the helpless creature who had always done all that she could to win her (Cora's) love, and whom she was about to leave to the tender mercies of a hard and selfish old man, who, though he highly approved of his young wife's meekness, humility and subserviency, and held her up as an example to her whole sex, yet did not care for her, did not consult her wishes in anything, did not consider her happiness.

Cora sat wondering what she could do to give this poor little soul some little pleasure before leaving her. Suddenly she thought of her jewels. She resolved to select a set and give it to Rose with some kind parting word.

She took her hand bag and withdrew from it case after case, examining each in turn. There was a set of diamonds worth many thousand dollars; a set of rubies and pearls, worth almost as much; a set of emeralds, very costly; but none of them as lovely as a set of sapphires, pearls, and diamonds, artistically arranged together, the sapphires encircled by a row of pearls, with an outer circle of small diamonds; the whole suggesting the blue color, the foam, and the sparkle of the sea.

This Cora selected as a parting present to her grandfather's young wife.

She took them in her hand and hurried to Rose's room, knocked at the door and entered. Rose was seated in a white dimity-covered arm chair, engaged in reading a novel. She looked surprised, and almost frightened, at the sight of Cora, who had never before condescended to enter this private room.

"Have I disturbed you?" inquired Cora.

"Oh, no; no, indeed. Pray come in. Please sit down. Will you have this arm chair?" eagerly inquired the young woman, rising from her seat.

"No, thank you, Rose; I have scarcely time to sit. I have brought you a keepsake which I hope you will sometimes wear in memory of your old pupil," said Cora, opening the casket and displaying the gems.

Rose's face was a study—all that was good and evil in her was aroused at the sight of the rich and costly jewels—vanity, cupidity, gratitude, tenderness.

"Oh, how superb they are! I never saw such splendid gems! A parure for a princess, and you give them to me? What a munificent present! How kind you are, Cora! What can I do? How shall I ever be able to return your kindness?" said Rose, as tears of delight and wonder filled her eyes.

"Wear them and enjoy them. They suit your fair complexion very well. And now let me bid you good-by, here."

"No, no; not yet. I will go down and see you off—see the very last of you, Cora, until the carriage takes you out of sight. Oh, dear, it may indeed be the very last that I shall ever see of you, sure enough."

"I hope not. Why do you speak so sadly?"

"Because I am not strong. My father died of consumption; so did my elder brothers and sisters, the children of his first marriage, and often I think I shall follow them."

Mrs. Rothsay looked at the speaker. The transparent delicacy of complexion, the tenderness of the limpid blue eyes, the infantile softness of face, throat, and hands, certainly did not seem to promise much strength or long life; but Cora spoke cheerfully:

"Such hereditary weakness may be overcome in these days of science, Rose. You must banish fear and take care of yourself. Now, I really must go and put on my bonnet."

"Very well, then, if you must. I will meet you in the hall. Oh, my dear, I am so very grateful to you for these precious jewels, and more than all for the friendship and kindness that prompted the gift," said Rose; and perhaps she really did believe that she prized the giver more than the gift; for such self-deception would have been in keeping with her superficial character.

Cora left the room and hurried to her chamber, where she put on her bonnet and her linen duster. She had scarcely fastened the last button when her brother knocked at the door, calling out:

"Come, Cora, come, or we shall miss the train."

Cora caught up her traveling bag, cast

"A long, last, lingering look"

around the dear, familiar room which she had occupied when at Rockhold from her childhood's days, and then went out and joined her brother.

In the hall below they were met by Rose

"Be good to her, poor thing," whispered Cora to Sylvan.

"All right," replied the young lieutenant.

Rose's eyes were filled with tears. It seemed to the friendless creature very hard to lose Cora, just as Cora was beginning to be friendly.

"Good-by," said Mrs. Rothsay, taking the woman's hand. But Rose burst into tears, threw her arms around the young lady's neck, hugged her close, and kissed her many times.

"Good-by, my pretty step-grandmother-in-law," said Sylvan, gayly, taking her hand and giving her a kiss. "You are still

'The rose that all admire,'

but the best of friends must part."

And leaving Rose in tears, he opened the door for his sister to pass out before him. But she, at least, passed no farther than the front porch, where she stood looking down the lawn in surprise and anxiety, while Sylvan hurried off to see what was the meaning of that which had so suddenly startled them. What was it? What had happened?

A crowd of men, silent, but with faces full of suppressed excitement and surrounding something that was borne in their midst, was slowly marching up the avenue.

Cora watched Sylvan as he went to meet them; saw him speak to them, though she could not hear what he said; saw them stop and put the something, which they bore along and escorted, down on the gravel; saw a parley between her brother and the crowd, and finally saw her brother turn and hurry back toward the house, wearing a pale and troubled countenance.

"You may take the carriage back to the stables, John," said the lieutenant to the wondering negro groom, as he passed it in returning to the porch.

"What is the matter, Sylvan? What has happened? Why have you sent the carriage away?" Cora anxiously inquired.

"Because, my dear, we must not leave Rockhold at present," he gravely replied. "There has been an accident, Cora."

"An accident! On the railroad?"

"No, my dear; to our old grandfather."

"To grandfather! Oh, Sylvan! no! no!" she cried, turning white, and dropping upon a bench, all her latent affection for the aged patriarch—the unsuspected affection—waking in her heart.

"Yes, dear," said Sylvan, softly.

"Seriously? Dangerously? Fatally? Perhaps he is dead and you are trying to break it to me! You can't do it! You can't! Oh, Sylvan, is grandfather dead?" she wildly demanded.

"No, dear! No, no, no! Compose yourself. They are bringing him here, and he is perfectly conscious. He must not see you so much agitated. It would annoy him. We do not yet know how seriously he is hurt. He was thrown from his carriage when near North End. The horses took fright at the passing of a train. They ran away and went over that steep bank just at the entrance of the village. The carriage was shattered all to pieces; the coachman killed outright—poor old Joseph—and the horses so injured that they had to be shot."

"Poor old Joseph! I am so sorry! so very sorry! But grandfather! grandfather!"

"He was picked up insensible; carried to the hotel on a mattress laid on planks, borne by half a dozen workmen, and the doctor was summoned immediately. He was laid in bed, and all means were tried to restore consciousness. But as soon as he came to his senses he demanded to be brought home. The doctor thought it dangerous to do so. But you know the grandfather's obstinacy. So a stretcher was prepared, a spring mattress laid on it, and he has been borne all the way from North End to Rockhold Ferry by relays of six men at a time, relieving each other at short intervals, and escorted by the doctor and our two uncles. That, Cora, is all I can tell you."

He then entered the house, followed by Cora.

They found Rose still in the front hall, where they had left her a few minutes before. She was seated in one of the oak chairs wiping her eyes. She had not seen the approaching procession with the burden they carried. And of course she had not heard their silent movements.

She looked up in surprise at the re-entrance of Cora and Sylvan.

"Oh!" she exclaimed "Have you forgotten anything? So glad to see you back, even for half a minute. For, after all, I couldn't see you drive away. I just shut the door and flung myself into this chair to have a good cry. Can't you put off your journey now, just for to-night and start to-morrow? You will have to do it anyhow. You can't catch the 6:30 express now," she added, coming toward them.

"We shall not attempt it, Rose," said Sylvan, in a kinder tone than he usually used in speaking to her.

"I am so glad," she said, but her further words were arrested by the grave looks of the young man.

"What is the matter with you?" she suddenly inquired.

"There has been an accident, Rose. Not fatal, my dear, so don't be frightened. My grandfather has been thrown from his carriage and stunned. But he has recovered consciousness, and they are bringing him home a deal shaken, but not in serious danger."

While Sylvan spoke, Rose gazed at him in perfect silence, with her blue eyes widening. When he finished, she asked:

"How did it happen?"

Sylvan told her.

Rose dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. She was more shocked than grieved by all that she had heard. If her tyrant had been brought home dead, I think she would only have sighed

"With the sigh of a great deliverance!"

"Let us go now, Rose, and prepare his bed. Sylvan will stay hereto receive him," said Cora.

The two women went up to the old man's room and turned down the bedclothes, and laid out a change of linen, and many towels in case they should be needed, and then went to the head of the stairs and waited and listened.

Presently, through the open hall door, they heard the muffled tread and subdued tones of the men, who presently entered, bearing the stretcher on which was laid the huge form of the Iron King, covered, all except his face, with a white bed-spread. Slowly, carefully, and with some difficulty they bore him up the broad staircase head first—preceded by the family physician, Dr. Cummins, and followed by Messrs. Fabian and Clarence.

Rose and Cora stood each side the open chamber door, and when the men bore the stretcher in and set it down on the floor, the two women approached and looked down on the injured man.

His countenance was scarcely affected by his accident. He was no paler than usual. He was frowning—it might be from pain or it might be from anger—and he was glaring around. Rose was afraid to speak to him, prone on the stretcher as he was, lest she should get her head bitten off. Cora bent over him and said tenderly:

"Dear grandfather, I am very sorry for this. I hope you are not hurt much."

And she had her head immediately snapped off.

"Don't be a confounded idiot!" he growled, hoarsely. "Go and send old black Martha here. She is worth a hundred of you two."

Rose hurried off to obey this order, glad enough of an excuse to escape. And now the room was cleared of all the men except the family physician, the two sons, and the grandson.

These approached the stretcher and carefully and tenderly undressed the patient and laid him on his bed.

Then the physician made a more careful examination.

There were no bones broken. The injuries seemed to be all internal; but of their seriousness or dangerousness the physician could not yet judge. The nervous shock had certainly been severe, and that in itself was a grave misfortune to a man of Aaron Rockharrt's age, and might have been instantaneously fatal to any one of less remarkable strength.

Dr. Cummins told Mr. Fabian that he should remain in attendance on his patient all night. Then, at the desire of Mr. Rockharrt, he cleared the sick room of every one except the old negro woman.

When the door was shut upon them all, and the chamber was quiet, he administered a sedative to his patient and advised him to close his eyes and try to compose himself.

Then the doctor sat down on the right side of the bed, with old Martha on his left.

There was utter silence for a few minutes, and then old Aaron Rockharrt spoke.

"What's the hour, doctor?"

"Seven," replied the physician after consulting his gold repeater. "But I advise you to keep quiet and try to sleep," he added, returning his timepiece to his fob.

As if the Iron King ever followed advice! As if he did not, on general principles, always run counter to it!

"Didn't I see my fool of a grandson among the other lunatics who ran after me here?" he next inquired.

"Yes."

"Where is he now?"

"With the ladies, I think."

"Send—him—up—to—me!"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders and went to obey the order. The obstinacy of this self-willed egotist was surely growing into a monomania, and perhaps it would have been more dangerous to oppose him than to comply with his whim. In a few moments Dr. Cummins re-entered the room, followed by Sylvan Haught.

"I hope you are feeling easier," said the lieutenant, as he bent over his grandfather.

"I have not complained of feeling uneasy yet, have I?" growled the Iron King.

"You sent for me, sir. Can I do anything for you?"

"For me? No; not likely! But you can do your duty to your country! How is it that you are not on your way to join your regiment?"

"I had actually bidden good-by and left the house to start on my journey, when I met men bringing you home."

"What the demon had that to do with it?"

"I could not go on, sir, and leave you under such circumstances."

"Look here, young sir!" said the Iron King, speaking hoarsely, faintly, yet with strong determination. "Do you call yourself a soldier or a shirk? Let me tell you that it is the first duty of a soldier to obey orders, at all times, under all circumstances, and at all costs! If you had been a married man, and your wife had been dying—if you had been a father, and your child had been dying, it would have been your duty to leave them!"

"But, sir, there was no real need that I should go by this night's express. If I should start to-morrow morning, I shall be in good time to report for duty. It was only my zeal to be better than prompt which induced me to start earlier than necessary. To-morrow will be quite time enough to leave for New York."

"Very well; then go to-morrow by the first train," said the Iron King in a more subdued manner, for the sedative was beginning to take effect.

At a hint from the doctor the young lieutenant bade his grandfather good-night and softly stepped out of the room.



CHAPTER XXV.

THE SICK LION.

Early the next morning Dr. Cummins came down stairs and joined the family at the breakfast table.

In answer to anxious inquiries, he reported that Mr. Rockharrt had slept well during the night, and had just taken refreshment prepared by old Martha under the physician's own orders, and had composed himself to sleep again.

"He would not admit any of us last night. Will he see me this morning?" inquired Rose Rockharrt.

"Of course, after a little while. It was best that I and the old nurse should have watched him alone together last night, but the woman now needs rest, and I must presently take leave, to look after my other patients. You two ladies must take the watch to-day, with one of these gentlemen within call. I will give you full directions for my patient's treatment, and will see him again in the afternoon."

"Does my father's present condition admit of my leaving him to go and look after the works this morning?" inquired Mr. Fabian, who had spent the night at Rockhold.

"Yes," replied the doctor, after some little hesitation. "Yes; I think so. If your presence here should be absolutely needed, you can be promptly summoned, you know; but one of you should remain on guard."

"Clarence will stay home, then," replied Mr. Fabian.

"Doctor, you heard my grandfather order me to leave Rockhold this morning to join my regiment. Now, what do you think? May I see him before I go?" inquired the young lieutenant.

"I will let you know when he wakes," said Dr. Cummins.

"Must you leave us to-day, Sylvan? Could you not be excused under the circumstances?" inquired Mrs. Rockharrt.

"No; I could not be excused. I must join my regiment, Rose."

"But, Cora! Oh, Cora! You will not leave us now? You are not under orders, and—and—I wish you would stay," pleaded Rose.

"I shall stay, Rose. It is as much my bounden duty to stay as it is that of Sylvan to go," answered Cora.

"Oh, that is such a relief to my feelings!" exclaimed the other lady.

Dr. Cummins looked up in surprise, glancing from one woman to the other.

Sylvan undertook to explain.

"My sister was going out with me, sir. I am her nearest relative, as she is mine, and we do not like to be separated."

"Ah!" said the doctor. "And now, very properly, she decides to stay here."

"For a while, Dr. Cummins—until the case of my grandfather shall be decided. Later I shall certainly follow my brother," Cora explained.

Before another word could be uttered the door opened, and Violet Rockharrt, in a silver gray carriage dress, entered the room. Mr. Fabian sprang up to meet her.

"My dear child, why have you come out here against all orders?"

Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt saluted all the company at the breakfast, who had risen to receive her, and then replied to her husband's question.

"I have come to see how our father is. It was twelve o'clock last night when your messenger arrived at the Banks and told me that you would not be able to return that night, because an accident had happened to Mr. Rockharrt. Not a dangerous one, but yet one that would keep you with him for some hours. I know very well how accidents are smoothed over in being reported to women; so I was not reassured by that clause, and I would have set out for Rockhold immediately if it had not been a starless midnight, making the road dangerous to others as well as myself. But I was up at daybreak to start this morning, and here I am."

"Sit down, my child; sit down. You look pale and tired. Ah! did not our good doctor here forbid you taking long walks or rides?"

"I know, Fabian; but sometimes a woman must be a law to herself. It was my duty to come in person and inquire after our father; so I came, even against orders," said Violet, composedly.

"Now look at that little creature, doctor. She seems as soft as a dove, as gentle as a lamb; but she is perfectly lawless. She defies me, abuses me, and upon occasion thrashes me. Would you believe it of her?" demanded Mr. Fabian, gazing with pride and delight on his good little wife.

"Oh, yes; I can quite believe it. She looks a perfect shrew, vixen, virago! Oh, how I pity you, Mr. Fabian!" said the doctor.

Cora filled out a cup of coffee and brought it to the visitor, whispering:

"I am glad you came, Violet. I do not believe it will hurt you one bit in any way."

"Can I see father? I want to see for myself, and to kiss him, and tell him how sorry I am; and I want to help to nurse him. Say, can I see him?"

"Not just now, dear. None of us have seen him since he was put to bed last evening except the doctor and the nurse; but in the course of the day you may. You will spend the day with us?" Cora inquired.

"I will spend the day and the night, and to-morrow and to-morrow night, and this week and next week, and just as long as I can be helpful and useful to father, if you and mamma there will permit me. And, by the way, I have not kissed mamma yet. Only shaken hands with her." And so saying, Violet put down her untasted cup of coffee, went around the table, put her arms round Rose's neck, and kissed her fondly, saying:

"You are very sweet and lovely, mamma, and I know I shall love you. I wanted to come and see you before this, but the doctor there wouldn't allow it. But now I have come to stay as long as I may be wanted."

"I should want you forever, sweet wood violet," cooed Rose, returning her caresses.

Mr. Fabian turned away, half in wrath, half in mirth. He was much too good humored to be seriously offended as he said to the doctor:

"Ah! these dove-eyed darlings! How mistaken we are in them! You are an old bachelor, Cummins; but if you should ever take it into your head to repent of celibacy, don't marry a dove-eyed darling, if you don't want to be defied all the days of your life."

"I won't," said the doctor; "but now I must go and see how Mr. Rockharrt is getting on, and take leave to look after my other patients."

And he left the breakfast room, followed by Mr. Fabian.

"You and Sylvan will not leave Rockhold for some time," said Violet, with a little air of triumph.

"Sylvan must leave this morning. I shall remain until grandfather gets well," said Cora—"or dies," she added, mentally.

In a few minutes Dr. Cummins returned and said that Mr. Rockharrt would see Lieutenant Haught first, and afterward the other members of his family.

Then the physician bade the family good morning, and left the house.

Sylvan went up stairs to their grandfather's room.

There they found Mr. Fabian seated by the bedside.

Old Martha had gone to her garret to lie down and rest. The windows were all open, and the summer sun and air lighted and cooled the room.

"Come here, Sylvan," said the Iron King, and his voice, though hoarse and feeble, was peremptory.

"The young lieutenant went up to the bedside and said:

"I hope you are feeling better this morning, sir."

"I hope so, too; but don't let us waste words in compliments. Cummins tells me that you wished to bid me good-by."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, bid good-by, then."

"Grandfather, have you anything to say to me before I go?" respectfully inquired the young man.

"If I had, don't you suppose that I could say it? Well, if you wish advice, I will give it you very briefly: You are an 'officer and a gentleman'—that is the phrase, I believe?"

"I hope so, sir."

"Then behave as one under all circumstances. Never lie—even to women; never cheat—even the government. That is all. I cannot bless you if that is what you want. No man can bless another—not even the Pope of Rome or the Archbishop of Canterbury. No one under heaven can bless you. You can only bless yourself by doing your whole duty under all circumstances. You will have men in authority over you. Obey them. You will have authority over other men. Make them obey you. There, good-by!" said old Aaron Rockharrt, holding out his hand to his grandson.

Sylvan noticed how that hand shook as its aged owner held it up. He took it, lifted it to his lips, and pressed it to his heart.

"There, there; don't be foolish, Sylvan! Good-by! Good-by! And you, Fabian! What are you loitering here for, when you should be looking after the works?" impatiently demanded the Iron King.

"The carriage stands at the door, sir, waiting to take Sylvan to his train. I shall go with him as far as North End and try to do your work there in addition to my own."

"Quite right. Where is Clarence?"

"At North End, sir, where he went directly after he saw you safe in bed under the doctor's care," said Mr. Fabian, lying as fast as a horse could trot.

"Very well. Send the two women here."

"There happen to be three women below at present, sir. Violet has come to see you."

In the morning sitting room below stairs Sylvan and Fabian found the three ladies with Clarence, all in a state of anxiety to hear from the injured man.

Sylvan was more agitated in leaving his sister than any young soldier should have been. At the last, the very last instant of parting, when Mr. Fabian had left the parlor and was on his way to the carriage, Sylvan turned back and for the third time clasped Cora in his arms.

"Never mind, Sylvan, as soon as I possibly can, without violating my duty to the only one on earth to whom I owe any duty, I shall go out to you. I can see now, now in this hour of parting, how very right I was in deciding to go with you. My journey is not abandoned, it is only postponed. God bless you, my dear."

After standing at the front door until they had watched the carriage out of sight, the three went up stairs and softly entered the room of the injured man, so softly that he did not hear their entrance. They stood in a silent group, believing him to be asleep, and afraid to sit down, lest a chair should creak and wake him up.

In a few seconds, however, they heard him clear his throat, knew that he was awake, and went up to his bedside.

Rose spoke, gently, for all.

"You sent for us, Mr. Rockharrt. We are all here, and we hope that you are much better," she said.

"Oh, you do! Stand there—all three of you at the foot of the bed, so that I can see you without turning."

The three women obeyed, placing themselves in line as he had directed, and perceived that he lay upon the flat of his back, looking straight before him, because he could not turn on either side without great pain.

He scanned them and then said:

"Ah, Violet, you are there! You have a proper sense of duty, my girl. So you have come to see how it is with me yourself, eh?"

"Yes, father; and also to stay and help to nurse you, it I may be permitted to do so."

"Rubbish! My wife can nurse me. It is her place. I don't want a lot of other women around me! I won't have more than one in the room with me at a time! Violet, get into your carriage and return to your home."

"Oh, papa, how have I offended you?"

"Not in any way as yet; but you will offend me if you disobey me. You must go home at once. You are not in a condition to be of any service here. You would only injure your own health, and distract the attention of these women from me. Wherever there is a lot of women, there is sure to be more talk than duty. So you must go. When I get well, and you get strong again, you may come and stay as long as you like. So, now, bid me good-by and be off with yourself."

Violet, feeling much chagrined, went around to the side of the bed, took the hand of her father-in-law, bent over and kissed him good-by.

"Now, Cora, take her out and see her off."

Violet took leave of her young mother-in-law, and followed Cora from the sick room.

"Now, Rose, close all the shutters; darken the room and sit beside the head of my bed. Don't speak until you are spoken to; don't move; don't even read; but sit still, silent, attentive, while I try to rest."

Rose obeyed all his orders, and then sat like a dead woman, back in the resting chair beside him. She had noted how weak and husky his voice had been in giving his instructions to his "womankind," with what pain and effort he had spoken, while his strong will bore him through the interview, which, short as it was, had left him prostrate and exhausted.

Rose wished to offer him the cordial the doctor had left, but he had ordered her not to move or speak until she was spoken to, and Rose dared not disobey. She did not know what might be the result of her passive obedience to him, nor, to tell the truth, did she very much care. Rose was weary of life!

Meanwhile, Cora and Violet went down stairs together.

At six o'clock the doctor came, and made anxious inquiries into the state of the injured man; but Cora could only report that he seemed to have passed a quiet day, watched by his wife, but unapproached by any other member of his family, all of whom he had forbidden to come near him unless called.

"A very wise provision, my dear Mrs. Rothsay. I will go up now and see him," said Dr. Cummins.

A few minutes later Rose came down and entered the parlor, looking very faint and white except for two small, deep crimson spots on the cheeks.

"Here, Rose, take this chair," said Violet, vacating the most comfortable seat in the room, on which she had sat all the afternoon.

The woman dropped into it, too weak and weary to stand upon ceremony.

"How did you leave grandfather?"

"I hardly know; but doing well, I should think, for he has been dozing all day, only waking up to ask for iced beef tea, or milk punch, and then, when he had drank one or the other, going to sleep again. I have been fanning him all the time except when I have been feeding him."

While Rose was sipping some tea which had been promptly brought to her, the doctor came in and reported Mr. Rockharrt as doing extremely well.

"You will stay to dinner with us, Dr. Cummins," said Rose.

"Thank you, my dear lady, but I cannot. I shall just wait to see Mr. Fabian Rockharrt and give my report to him in all its details, as I promised, and then hurry home and go to bed. I have had no sleep for the last twenty-four—no, bless my soul! not for the last thirty-six hours!" replied the physician. He had scarcely ceased to speak when Mr. Fabian entered the room.

"Oh! home so soon!" exclaimed Violet, starting up to meet him.

"Yes; how is the father?"

"There is the doctor; ask him."

"Ah, Dr. Cummins! Good afternoon? How is your patient?"

"Come with me into the library, Mr. Fabian, and I will give you a full report."

"Where is Clarence?" inquired Fabian.

"Up stairs somewhere. He did not come to luncheon," replied Cora.

"Poor Clarence! He is awfully cut up!" said Mr. Fabian, as he left the parlor with Dr. Cummins. As they passed through the hall they were joined by Mr. Clarence, who had just heard of the doctor's arrival.

"I left him very comfortable, carefully watched by old Martha, who has waked up refreshed after a ten hours' sleep and has taken her place by his bedside. There is no immediate cause for anxiety, my dear Clarence," said the physician, in reply to the questions put to him.

"The worst of it is, doctor, that while it was absolutely necessary for me to stay here during Fabian's absence, I dare not go into my father's room. He thinks that I am at North End. And he would become very angry if he knew that I was here against his will and his commands. Besides which, I hate deception and concealment," complained Mr. Clarence.

"It is rather a difficult case to manage, my boy, but it is absolutely necessary that either yourself or your brother should be on hand here day and night; it is equally necessary that your father should be kept quiet. So I see nothing better to do than for you to stay here and keep still until you are wanted," replied the doctor.

And then the three went into the little library or office at the rear of the hall, and what further was said among them was whispered with closed doors. At the end of fifteen minutes they came out. The doctor took leave of all the family and went away.

Mr. Fabian went up to his father's door and rapped softly.

Old Martha came to admit him.

"How is your master? Is he awake? Can I see him?" he inquired.

"Surely, Marse Fabe! Ole marse wide awake, berry easy, and 'quiring arter you. Come in, sar!"

Mr. Fabian entered the room, which was in some darkness from the closed window shutters, and went up to his father's bed.

"I hope you are better, sir," he said.

"I don't know," said the injured man, in a faint voice.

"How are the works getting on?"

"Famously, sir! Splendidly! Pray do not feel the least anxiety on that score."

"Where is Clarence?"

"At North End, sir. Of course, he would not think of leaving the works while both you and myself are absent."

"I don't know," sighed the weary invalid, for the third time. "But you had better not, either of you, attempt to deceive me while I am lying here on my back."

"Not for the world, my dear father! Pray do not be doubtful or anxious. We are your dutiful sons, sir, and our first—"

"Rubbish!" exclaimed the broken Iron King. "That will do! Go send Rose to me. Why the deuce did she leave? I—I—I—" His voice dropped into an inarticulate murmur.

Mr. Fabian bent over him, and saw that he had dozed off to sleep.

"Dat's de way he's been a-goin' on ebber since de doctor lef'. It's de truck wot de doctor give him," said old Martha.

Fabian stole on tiptoe out of the room. Dinner was waiting for him down stairs. He would not deliver his father's selfish message to Rose, because he wished the poor creature to dine in peace. He told Clarence to give her his arm to the dining room.

While they were all at dinner Violet explained to her husband why Mr. Rockharrt had directed her to return home. Poor Violet was very loth to stir up any ill feeling between the father and son; but she need not have feared. Mr. Fabian understood the autocrat too well to take offense at the dismissal of his wife.

The next morning when the family physician arrived, and visited the injured man, he found him suffering from restlessness and a rising fever.

He reported this condition to Mr. Clarence Rockharrt, left very particular directions for the treatment of the patient, and then took leave, with the promise to return in the evening and remain all night.

Later in the afternoon the doctor, having finished all other professional calls for the day, arrived at Rockhold. He found his patient delirious. He took up his post by the sick bed for the night, and then peremptorily sent off the worn-out watcher, Rose, to the rest she so much needed.

The condition of Aaron Rockharrt was very critical. Irritative fever had set in with great violence, and this was the beginning of the hard struggle for life that lasted many days, during which delirium, stupor, and brief lucid intervals followed each other with the rise and fall of the fever. A professional nurse was engaged to attend him; but the real burden of the nursing fell on Rose.



CHAPTER XXVI.

A VOLUNTARY EXPIATION.

Rose never lost patience. She stayed by the bedside always until the doctor turned her out of the room. She came back the moment she was called, night or day.

Weeks passed and Mr. Rockharrt grew better and stronger, but Rose grew worse and weaker. The fine autumn weather that braced up the convalescent old man chilled and depressed the consumptive young woman.

It was certain that Mr. Rockharrt would entirely regain his health and strength, and even take out a new lease of life.

"I never saw any one like your grandfather in all my long practice," said the doctor to Cora one morning, after he had left his patient; "he is a wonder to me. Nothing but a catastrophe could ever have laid him on an invalid bed; and no other man that I know could have recovered from such injuries as he has sustained. Why in a month from this time he will be as well as ever. He has a constitution of tremendous strength."

"But the poor wife," said Cora.

"Ah, poor soul!" sighed the doctor.

"And yet a little while ago she seemed such a perfect picture of health."

"My dear, wherever you see that abnormally clear, fresh, semi-transparent complexion, be sure it is a bad sign—a sign of unsoundness within."

"Can nothing be done for Rose?"

"Yes; and I am doing it as much as she will let me. I advise a warmer climate for the coming winter. Mr. Rockharrt will be able to travel by the first of November, and he should then take her to Florida. But, you see, he pooh-poohs the whole suggestion. Well—'A willful man must have his way,'" said the doctor, as he took up his hat and bade the lady good-by.

A week after this conversation, on the day on which Aaron Rockharrt first sat up in his easy chair, Rose had her first hemorrhage from the lungs. It laid her on the bed from which she was never to rise.

Cora became her constant and tender nurse. Rose was subdued and patient. A few days after this she said to the lady:

"It seems to me that my own dear father, who has been absent from my thoughts for so many years, has drawn very near his poor child in these last few months, and nearer still in the last few days. I do not see him, nor hear him, nor feel him by any natural sense, but I do perceive him. I do perceive that he is trying to do me good, and that he is glad I am coming to him so soon. I am sorry for all the wrong I have done, and I hope the Lord will forgive me. But how can I expect Him to do it, when I can scarcely forgive—even now on my dying bed I can scarcely forgive—my step-mother and her husband for the neglect and cruelty that wrecked my life? Oh, but I forget. You know nothing of all this."

Cora did know. Fabian had told her; but he had also exacted a promise of secrecy from her; so she said nothing in reply to this.

Rose continued, speaking in a low, meditative tone:

"Yes; I am sorry, sorry for the evil I have done. It was not worth while to do it. Life is too short—too short even at its longest. But, oh! I had such a passionate ambition for recognition by the great world! for the admiration of society! Every one whom I met in our quiet lives told me, either by words or looks, that I was beautiful—very beautiful—and I believed them; and I longed for wealth and rank, for dress and jewels, to set off this beauty, and for ease and luxury to enjoy life. Oh, what vanity! Oh, what selfishness! And here I am, with the grave yawning to swallow me up," she murmured, drearily.

"No, dear; no," said Cora, gently laying her hand on the blue-white forehead of the fading woman. "No, Rose. No grave opens for any human being; but only for the body that the freed human being has left behind. It is not the grave that opens for you, Rose, but your father's arms. Would you like to see a minister, dear?"

"If Mr. Rockharrt does not object."

"Then you shall see one."

Rose's sick room was on the opposite side of the hall from Mr. Rockharrt's convalescent apartment.

If the Iron King felt any sorrow at his young wife's mortal illness, he did not show it. If he felt any compunction for having taxed her strength to its extremity, he did not express it. He maintained his usual stolid manner, and merely issued general orders that no trouble or expense must be spared in her treatment and in her interest. He came into her room every day, leaning on the arm of his servant, to ask her how she felt, and to sit a few minutes by her bed.

Violet could no longer come to Rockhold, because a little Violet bud, only a few days old, kept her a close prisoner at the Banks. But Mr. Fabian came twice a week. The minister from the mission church at North End came very frequently, and as he was an earnest, fervent Christian, his ministrations were most beneficial to Rose.

On the day that Mr. Rockharrt first rode out, the end came, rather suddenly at the last.

There was no one in the house but Cora and the servants, Mr. Clarence having gone back to North End. Cora had left Rose in the care of old Martha, and had come down stairs to write a letter to her brother. She had scarcely written a page when the door was opened by Martha, who said, in a frightened tone:

"Come, Miss Cora—come quick! there's a bad change. I'm 'feard to leave her a minute, even to call you. Please come quick!"

Both went to the bedside of the dying woman, over whose face the dark shadows of death were creeping. Rose could no longer raise her hand to beckon or raise her voice to call, but she fixed her eyes imploringly on Cora, who bent low to catch any words she might wish to say. She was gasping for breath as in broken tones she whispered:

"Cora—the Lord—has given me—grace—to forgive them. Write to—my step-mother. Fabian—will tell you—where—"

"Yes; I will, I will, dear Rose," said Cora, gazing down through blinding tears, as she stooped and pressed her warm lips on the death-cold lips beneath them.

Rose lifted her failing eyes to Cora's sympathetic face and never moved them more; there they became fixed.

The sound of approaching wheels was heard.

"It is my grandfather. Go and tell him," whispered Cora to old Martha without turning her head.

The woman left the room, and in a few moments Mr. Rockharrt entered it, leaning on the arm of his valet.

When he approached the bed, he saw how it was and asked no questions. He went to the side opposite to that occupied by Cora, and bent over the dying woman.

"Rose," he said in a low voice—"Rose, my child."

She was past answering, past hearing. He took her thin, chill hand in his, but it was without life.

He bent still lower over her, and whispered:

"Rose."

But she never moved or murmured.

Her eyes were fixed in death on those of Cora.

Then suddenly a smile came to the dying face, light dawned in the dying eyes, as she lifted them and gazed away beyond Cora's form, and murmuring contented;

"Father, father—" and

"With a sigh of a great deliverance,"

she fell asleep.

They stood in silence over the dead for a few moments, and then Mr. Rockharrt drew the white coverlet up over the ashen face, and then leaning on the arm of his servant went out of the room.

Three days later the mortal remains of Rose Rockharrt were laid in the cemetery at North End.

It was on the first of November, a week after the funeral, that Mr. Rockharrt, for the first time in three months, went to the works.

On that day, while Cora sat alone in the parlor, a card was brought to her—

"The Duke of Cumbervale."

The Duke of Cumbervale entered the parlor.

Cora rose to receive him; the blood rushing to her head and suffusing her face with blushes, merely from the vivid memory of the painful past called up by the sudden sight of the man who had been the unconscious cause of all her unhappiness. Most likely the old lover mistook the meaning of the lady's agitation in his presence, and ascribed it to a self-flattering origin.

However that might have been, he advanced with easy grace, and bowing slightly, said:

"My dear Mrs. Rothsay, I am very happy to see you again! I hope I find you quite well?"

"Quite well, thank you," she replied, recovering her self-control.

In the ensuing conversation, Cora made known her grandfather's accident and the death of Rose.

"I am truly grieved to have intruded at so inopportune a time," asserted the visitor, and arose to take leave.

Then Cora's conscience smote her for her inhospitable rudeness. Here was a man who had crossed the sea at her grandfather's invitation, who had reached the country in ignorance of the family trouble; who had come directly from the seaport to North End, and ridden from North End to Rockhold—a distance of six or seven miles; and she had scarcely given him a civil reception. And now should she let him go all the way back to North End without even offering him some refreshment?

Such a course, under such circumstances, even toward an utter stranger, would have been unprecedented in her neighborhood, which had always been noted for its hospitality.

Yet still she was afraid to offer him any polite attention, lest she should in so doing give him encouragement to urge his suit, that she dreaded to hear, and was determined to reject.

It was not until the visitor had taken his hat in his left hand, and held out the right to bid her good morning, that she forced herself to do her hostess' duty, and say:

"This is a very dull house, duke, but if you can endure its dullness, I beg you will stay to lunch with me."

A smile suddenly lighted up the visitor's cold blue eyes.

"'Dull,' madam? No house can be dull—even though darkened by a recent bereavement—which is blessed by your presence. I thank you. I shall stay with much pleasure."

And now I have done it! thought Cora, with vexation.

At length the clock struck two, the luncheon bell rang, and Cora arose with a smile of invitation. The duke gave her his arm, they went into the dining room. The gray-haired butler was in waiting. They took their places at the table. Old John had just set a plate of lobster salad before the guest when the sound of carriage wheels was heard approaching the house. In a few minutes more there came heavy steps along the hall, the door opened, and old Aaron Rockharrt entered the room. Cora and her visitor both arose.

"Ah, duke! how do you do? I got your telegram on reaching North End; went to the hotel to meet you, and found that you had started for Rockhold. Had your dispatch arrived an hour earlier I should have gone in my carriage to meet you," said the Iron King with pompous politeness.

Now it seemed in order for the visitor to offer some condolence to this bereaved husband. But how could he, where the widower himself so decidedly ignored the subject of his own sorrow? To have said one word about his recent loss would have been, in the world's opinion and vocabulary, "bad form."

"You are very kind, Mr. Rockharrt; and I thank you. I came on quite comfortably in the hotel hack, which waits to take me back," was all that he said.

"No, sir! that hack does not wait to take you back. I have sent it away. Moreover, I settled your bill at the hotel, gave up your rooms, saw your valet, and ordered your luggage to be brought here. It will arrive in an hour," said the Iron King, as he threw himself into the great leathern chair that the old butler pushed to the table for his master's accommodation.

The duke looked at the old man in a state of stupefaction. How on earth should he deal with this purse-proud egotist, who took the liberty of paying his hotel bill, giving up his apartments and ordering his servants? and doing all this without the faintest idea that he was committing an unpardonable impertinence.

"You are to know, duke, that from the time you entered upon my domain at North End, you became my guest—mine, sir! John, that Johannisberg. Fill the duke's glass. My own importation, sir; twelve years in my cellar. You will scarcely find its equal anywhere. Your health, sir."

The duke bowed and sipped his wine.

His future bearing to this old barbarian required mature reflection. Only for the duke's infatuation with Cora, it would have not have needed a minute's thought to make up his mind to flee from Rockhold forthwith.

When luncheon was over Mr. Rockharrt invited the duke into his study to smoke. Before they had finished their first cigar the Iron King, withdrawing his "lotus," and sending a curling cloud of vapor into the air, said:

"You have something on your mind that you wish to get off it, sir. Out with it! Nothing like frankness and promptness."

"You are right, Mr. Rockharrt. I do wish to speak to you on a point on which my life's happiness hangs. Your beautiful granddaughter—"

"Yes, yes! Of course I knew it concerned her."

"Then I hope you do not disapprove my suit."

"I don't now, or I never should have invited you to come over to this country and speak for yourself. The circumstances are different. When I refused my granddaughter's hand to you in London, it was because I had already promised it to another man—a fine fellow, worthy to become one of my family, if ever a man was—and I never break a promise. So I refused your offer, and brought the young woman home, and married her to Rothsay, who disappeared in a strange and mysterious manner, as you may have heard, and was never heard of again until the massacre of Terrepeur by the Comanche Indians—among whom, it seems, he was a missionary—when the news came that he had been murdered by the savages and his body burned in the fire of his own hut. But the horror is two years old now, and I am at liberty to bestow the hand of my widowed granddaughter on whomsoever I please. You'll do as well as another man, and Heaven knows that I shall be glad to have any honest white man take her off my hands, for she is giving me a deal of trouble."

"Trouble, sir? I thought your lovely granddaughter was the comfort and staff of your age, and, therefore, almost feared to ask her hand in marriage. But what is the nature of the trouble, if I may ask?"

"Didn't I tell you? Well, she has got a missionary maggot in her head. It's feeding on all the little brains she ever had. She wants to go out as a teacher and preacher to the red heathen, and spend her life and her fortune among them. She wants to do as Rule did, and, I suppose, die as Rule died. Oh, of course—

"Twas so for me young Edwin did, And so for him will I!'

"And all that rot. I cannot break her will without breaking her neck. If you can do anything with her, take her, in the Lord's name. And joy go with her."

The young suitor felt very uncomfortable. He was not at all used to such an old ruffian as this. He did not know how to talk with him—what to reply to his rude consent to the proposal of marriage. At length his compassion, no less than his love for Cora, inspired him to say:

"Thank you, Mr. Rockharrt. I will take the lady, if she will do me the honor to trust her happiness to my keeping."

"More fool you! But that is your look-out," grunted the old man.

The next morning when they met at breakfast Mr. Rockharrt invited his guest to accompany him to North End to inspect the iron mines and foundries, the locomotive works and all the rest of it.

The duke had no choice but to accept the invitation.

The two gentlemen left directly after breakfast, and Cora rejoiced in the respite of one whole day from the society of the unwelcome guest.

She saw the house set in order, gave directions for the dinner, and then retired to her own private sitting room to resume her labor of love, the life of her lost husband.

Earlier than usual that afternoon the Iron King returned home accompanied by their guest and by Mr. Clarence, who had come with them in honor of the duke. The evening was spent in a rubber of whist, in which Mr. Rockharrt and the duke, who were partners, were the winners over Cora and Mr. Clarence, their antagonists. The evening was finished at the usual hour with champagne and sago biscuits.

The next morning, when Mr. Rockharrt and Mr. Clarence were about to leave the house for the carriage to take them to North End, the Iron King turned abruptly and said to his granddaughter:

"By the way, Cora, Fabian and Violet are coming to dinner this evening to meet the duke. It will be a mere family affair upon a family occasion, eh, duke! A very quiet little dinner among ourselves. No other guests! Good morning."

And so saying the old man left the house, accompanied by his son.

Cora returned to the drawing room, where she had left the duke. He arose immediately and placed a chair for her; but she waved her hand in refusal of it, and standing, said very politely:

"You will find the magazines of the month and the newspapers of the day on the table of the library on the opposite side of the hall, if you feel disposed to look over them."

"The papers of to-day! How is it possible you are so fortunate as to get the papers of to-day at so early an hour, at so remote a point?" inquired the duke, probably only to hold her in conversation.

"Mr. Clarence Rockharrt's servant takes them from the earliest mail and starts with them for Rockhold. Mr. Rockharrt usually reads the morning papers here before his breakfast."

"A wonderful conquest over time and space are our modern locomotives," observed the duke.

Cora assented, and then said:

"Pray use the full freedom of the house and grounds; of the servants also, and the horses and carriages. Mr. Rockharrt places them all at your disposal. But please excuse me, for I have an engagement which will occupy me nearly all day."

The duke looked disappointed, but bowed gravely and answered:

"Of course; pray do not let me be a hindrance to your more important occupations, Mrs. Rothsay."

"Thank you!" she answered, a little vaguely, and with a smile she left the room,

"Rejoicing to be free!"

The duke anathematized his fate in finding so much difficulty in the way of his wooing, his ladylove evading him with a grace, a coolness, and a courtesy which he was constrained to respect.

He strolled into the library, and then loitered along on the path leading down to the ferry.

Here he found the boat at the little wharf and old Lebanon on duty.

"Sarvint, marster," said the old negro, touching his rimless old felt hat. "Going over?"

"Yes, my man," said the duke, stepping on board the boat.

"W'ich dey calls me Uncle Lebnum as mentions ob me in dese parts, marster," the old ferryman explained, touching his hat.

"Oh, they do? Very well. I will remember," said the passenger, as the boat was pushed off from the shore.

"How many trips do you make in a day?" inquired the fare.

"Pen's 'pon how many people is a-comin' an' goin'. Some days I don't make no trip at all. Oder days, w'en dere's a weddin' or a fun'al, I makes many as fifty."

The passage was soon made, and the duke stepped out on the west bank.

"Is there any path leading to the top of this ridge, Uncle—Lemuel?" inquired the duke.

"Lebnum, young marster, if you please! Lebnum!—w'ich dere is no paff an' no way o' gettin' to de top o' dis wes' range, jes' 'cause 'tis too orful steep; but ef you go 'bout fo' mile up de road, you'd come to a paff leadin' zigzag, wall o' Troy like, up to Siffier's Roos'."

"Zephyr's—what?"

"Roos', marster. Yes, sar. W'ich so 'tis call 'cause she usen to roos' up dar, jes' like ole turkey buzzard. W'en you get up dar, you can see ober free States. Yes, sar, 'cause dat p'ints w'ere de p'ints o' boundy lines ob free States meets—yes, sah!"

"I think I will take a walk to that point. I suppose I can find the path?"

"You can't miss it, sah, if you keeps a sharp look-out. About fo' miles up, sah"

"Very well. Shall you be here when I come back?"

"No, sah. Dis ain't my stoppin' place; t'other side is. But I'll be on de watch dere, and ef you holler for me, I'll come. I'll come anyways, 'cause I'll be sure to see you."

"Quite so," said the duke, as he sauntered up that very road between the foot of the mountain and the bank of the river down which the festive crowd had come on Corona Haught's fatal wedding day.

An hour's leisurely walk brought him to the first cleft in the rock.

From the back of this the path ascended, with many a double, to the wooded shelf on which old Scythia's hut had once stood—hidden. When he reached the spot he found nothing but charred logs, blasted trees, and ashes, as if the spot had been wasted by fire.

A ray of dazzling light darted from the ashes at his feet. In some surprise he stooped to ascertain the cause, and picked up a ring; examined it curiously; found it to be set with a diamond of rare beauty and great value. Then in sudden amazement he turned to the reverse side of the golden cup that clasped the gem and saw a monogram.

"I thought so," he muttered to himself; "I thought that there was not another such a peculiar setting to any gem in the world but that; and now the monogram proves it beyond the shadow of a doubt to be the same. But how in the name of wonder should the lost talisman be found here—in the ashes of some charcoal burner's hut?"

With these words he took out and opened his pocket-book and carefully placed the ring in its safest fold, closed and returned the book to his pocket, and arose and left the spot. The duke turned to descend the mountain.

At length, however, he reached the foot, and then, under the shadow of the ridge that threw the whole narrow valley into premature twilight, he hurried to the ferry.

The boat was not there. Indeed, he had not expected to find it after what old Lebanon had told him. It was too obscure in the valley to permit him to see across the river, so he shouted:

"Boat!"

"All wight, young marster, but needn't split your t'roat nor my brain pan, nider! I can hear you! I's coming!" came the voice from mid-stream, for the old ferryman was already half across the river with a chance passenger.

In a few minutes more the boat grated upon the shore and the passenger jumped out, tipped his hat to the duke, and hurried up the river road toward North End.

"Dat pusson were Mr. Thomas Rylan', fust foreman ober all de founderies. Dere's a many foremen, but he be de fust. Come down long ob de ole mars dis arternoon arter some 'counts, I reckon, an' now gone back wid a big bundle ob papers an' doc'ments. Yes, sah. Get in. I's ready to start," said the ferryman, as he cleared a seat in the stern of the boat for the accommodation of the passenger.

"Who used to live in that hut on the mountain before it was burned down?" inquired the duke as he took his seat.

"Ole Injun 'oman named Siffier."

"Where did she come from?"

"Dunno dat nudder. Nobody dunno."

"Can't you tell me something about such a strange person who lived right here in your neighborhood?"

"Look yere, marster, leas' said soones' mended where she's 'cerned. I can't tell you on'y but jes' dis: She 'peared yere 'bout twenty year ago, or mo'. She built dat dere hut wid her own han's, an' she use to make baskets an' brackets an' sich, an' fetch 'em roun' to de people to sell. She made 'em out'n twigs an' ornimented 'em wid red rose berries an' hollies an' sich, an' mighty purty dey was, an' de young gals liked 'em, dey did. An' she made her libbin outen de money she got for her wares. She use to tell fortins too; an' folks did say as she tole true, an' some did say as she had a tell-us-man ring w'ich, when she wore it, she could see inter de futur; but Lor', young marse, dey was on'y supercilly young idiwuts as b'leibed dat trash! But she nebber would take no money for tellin' fortins—nebber!—w'ich was curous. De berry day as de gubner-leck was missin' ob, she wanished too. When de cons'able went to 'rest her, he foun' her gone an' de hut burnt up. Now, yere we is, young marse, at de lan'in', an' you can get right out yere 'dout wettin' your feet," said the old ferryman, as he pushed the boat up to the dry end of the wharf.

The passenger astonished the old ferryman by putting a quarter of an eagle in his hand, and then sprang from the boat and ran up the avenue leading toward the house. There was no light visible from the windows of the mansion. The dinner party was a strictly private family affair, and nothing but the solitary lamp at the head of the avenue appeared to guide the pedestrian's steps through the darkness of the newly fallen night.

He reached the house, and was admitted by the old servant.

When his toilet was complete, the duke went down to the drawing room to join the family circle.

The dinner, quiet as it was, was a success. To be sure, the diners were all in deep mourning and the conversation was rather subdued; but, then, it was perhaps on that account the more interesting.

The many courses, altogether, occupied more than an hour.

When the cloth was drawn and the dessert placed upon the table, at a signal from the Iron King the butler went around the table and filled every glass with champagne, then returned and stood at his master's back. Mr. Rockharrt arose and made a speech, and proposed a toast that greatly astonished his company and compromised two of them. With his glass in his hand, he said:

"My sons, daughters, and friend: You all doubtless understand the object of this family gathering, and also why this celebration of an interesting family event must necessarily be confined to the members of the family. In a word, it is my duty and pleasure to announce to you all the betrothal in marriage of his grace the Duke of Cumbervale and my granddaughter, Mrs. Corona Rothsay. I propose the health of the betrothed pair."

Cora put down her glass and turned livid with dismay and indignation. All the other diners, the duke among them, arose to the occasion and honored the toast, and then sat down, all except the duke, who remained standing, and though somewhat embarrassed by this unexpected proceeding on the part of the Iron King, yet vaguely supposed it might be a local custom, and at all events was certainly very much pleased with it. Being in love and being taken by surprise, he could not be expected to speak sensibly, or even coherently. He said:

"Ladies and gentlemen: This is the happiest day of my life as yet. I look forward to a happier one in the near future, when I shall call the lovely lady at my side by the dearest name that man can utter, and I shall call you not only my dear friends, but my near relatives. I propose the health of the greatest benefactor of the human race now living. The man who, by his mighty life's work, has opened up the resources of nature, compelled the everlasting mountains to give up their priceless treasures of coal and iron ore; given employment to thousands of men and women; made this savage wilderness of rock, and wood, and water 'bloom and blossom as the rose,' and hum with the stir of industry like a myriad hives of bees. I propose the health of Mr. Aaron Rockharrt."

All, except Cora, arose and honored this toast.

Mr. Fabian Rockharrt replied on the part of his father.

Then the health of each member of the party was proposed in turn. When this was over the two ladies withdrew from the table and went into the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their wine.

"Oh, my dear, dear Cora! I am so glad! I wish you joy with my whole, whole heart!" exclaimed Violet, effusively, but most sincerely and earnestly, as she clasped Corona to her heart. The next instant she let her go and gazed at Cora in surprise and dismay.

"Why, what is the matter, Cora? You are as white and as cold as death. What is the matter?" demanded Violet as she led and half supported Corona to an easy chair, in which the latter dropped.

"Tell me, Cora. What is it, dear? What can I do for you? Can I get you anything? Is all this emotion caused by the announcement of your betrothal to the duke?" demanded Violet, hurrying question upon question, and trembling even more than Cora.

"Sit down, Violet. Never mind me. I shall be all right presently. Don't be frightened, darling," said Cora, as well as she could speak.

"But let me do something for you!"

"You can do nothing."

"But what caused this?"

"My feelings have been outraged!—outraged! That is all!"

"How? How? Surely not by Mr. Rockharrt's announcement of your betrothal to the duke? It was rather embarrassing to the betrothed pair, I admit; but surely it was the proper thing to do."

"'The proper thing to do!' Violet, it was false! false! I am not betrothed to the duke. I never was. I never shall be. I would not marry an emperor to share a throne. My life is consecrated to good works in the very field in which my dear husband died. I have said this to my grandfather and to you all, over and over again. If it had not been for Mr. Rockharrt's accident that endangered his life, I should have gone out to the Indian Territory with my brother, and should have been at work there at this present time. I shall go at the first opportunity."

Cora spoke very excitedly, being almost beside herself with wrath and shame at the affront which had been put upon her.

"I thought the duke was an old admirer of yours, and had come over on purpose to marry you," said Violet.

"That is too true. He came against my will. I have never given him the slightest encouragement. How could I when my life is consecrated to the memory of my husband and to the work he left unfinished? I fear Mr. Rockharrt assured the duke of my hand; and when he heard the false announcement of our betrothal, he took it for granted that it was all right. He must have done so; though he himself was much taken by surprise."

"How very strange of Mr. Rockharrt to do such a thing. If I had been you, Cora, I should have got up and disclaimed it."

"No you would not. You would not have made a scene at the dinner table. I was in no way responsible for the announcement made by my grandfather, and in no way bound by it. The silence that seemed to indorse it was rendered absolutely necessary under the circumstances."

"But what shall you do about it?"

"As soon as I can speak of it without making a scene, I shall tell Mr. Rockharrt and the Duke of Cumbervale that a most reprehensible liberty has been taken with my name. I will say that I never have been, and never will be, engaged to the Duke of Cumbervale, or to any other man. That is what I shall do about it."

"It would mortify the duke very much."

"I do not care if it does."

"And, indeed, it would put Mr. Rockharrt into a terrible rage."

"I cannot help it. Here come the gentlemen."

At that moment the four gentlemen entered the drawing room. The duke came directly up to Cora, and bending over her, said in a low voice inaudible to the rest of the party:

"Corona, you have blessed me beyond the power of words to express! Only the dedication of a life to your happiness—"

There the ardent lover was suddenly stopped by the cold look of surprise in Cora's eyes. His face took on a disturbed expression.

"I think there is some serious mistake here, sir, which we may set right at some more fitting opportunity. Will you have the kindness not to refer to the comedy enacted at our dinner table to-night?"

"I will obey you, although I do not understand you," said the duke.

"Oblige me, duke! I want to show you a map of the projected Oregon and Alaska railroad," said the Iron King, coming toward his guest with a roll of parchment in his hands.

The duke immediately arose and went off with his host to a distant table, where the map was spread out, and the two gentlemen sat down to examine it. Mr. Fabian and Mr. Clarence came over to join Cora and Violet.

"This is a pretty march you have stolen on us, Cora! I had no more idea of this than the man in the moon! But I congratulate you, my dear! I congratulate you! Your present from me shall be a set of the most splendid diamonds that can be got together by the diamond merchants of Europe. No mere set that can be picked up ready set, eh? Diamonds that shall grace a duchess, my dear!" said Mr. Fabian ostentatiously.

"Cora, my dear, I was as much surprised as Fabian. But, oh! I was happy for your sake. The duke is a good fellow, I am sure, and awfully in love with you. Ah! didn't he offer a just and heartfelt tribute to the father! I declare, Cora, I never fully appreciated my father, or realized what a great benefactor he was to the human race, until the duke made that little speech in proposing his health. How appreciative the duke is! Really, Cora, dear, you are a very happy woman, and I congratulate you with all my heart and soul; indeed, I do," said Mr. Clarence, wringing the young lady's hand, and turning away to hide the tears that filled his eyes.

"Thank you, Uncle Clarence. Thank you, Uncle Fabian. I am grateful for your congratulations, on account of your good intentions; but—congratulations are quite uncalled for on this occasion."

"Why—what on earth do you mean, Cora?" inquired Mr. Fabian, while Mr. Clarence looked full of uneasiness.

"I mean that I have never been engaged to the Duke of Cumbervale, and never mean to marry him. Mr. Rockharrt's announcement was unauthorized and unfounded. It was just an act of his despotic will, to oblige me to contract a marriage which he favors."

The two men looked on the speaker in mute amazement.

"We will not talk more of this to-night. But the matter must be set right to-morrow," said Cora.

A little later Mr. and Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt took leave and departed for their home.



CHAPTER XXVII.

UNREQUITED LOVE.

The Duke of Cumbervale, weary of a sleepless pillow, arose early and rang his bell, startling his gentlemanly valet from his morning slumbers; dressed himself with monsieur's assistance, and went down stairs with the intention of taking a walk before the family should be up.

But his intention was forestalled by the appearance of Mr. Rockharrt coming out of his chamber on the opposite side of the hall.

The Iron King looked up in some surprise at the apparition of his guest at so early an hour; but quickly composed himself as he gave him the matutinal salutation:

"Ah, good morning, duke. An early riser, like myself, eh? Come down into the library with me, and let us look over the morning papers."

A cheerful coal fire was burning in the grate, a very acceptable comfort on this chill November morning.

This was one of the happy days when there is "nothing in the papers"—that is to say, nothing interesting, absorbing, soul harrowing, in the form of financial ruin, highway robbery, murder, arson, fire, or flood. Everything in the world at the present brief hour seemed going on well, consequently the papers were very dull, flat, stale and unprofitable, and were soon laid aside by the host and his guest, and they fell into conversation.

"You took a long walk yesterday, I hear—went across in the ferry boat, and strolled up to the foot of Scythia's Roost."

"I did. Can you tell me anything about that curious spot?"

"No; nothing but that it was the dwelling of an Indian woman, who pretended to second sight, and who should have been sent to the State's prison as a felon, or, at the very least, to the madhouse as a lunatic. She was burned out, or perhaps burned herself out, and vanished on the same night that Governor Rothsay disappeared. She was in some way cognizant of a plot against him that would prevent him from ever entering upon the duties of his office. I, in my capacity as magistrate, issued a warrant for her arrest, but it was too late. She was gone. It is said by some people that she is a Mexican Indian, who had been very beautiful in her youth, and who had become infatuated with an English tourist who admired her to such a degree that he married her—according to the rites of her nation. He was a false hearted caitiff, if he was an English lord. Having committed the folly of marrying the Indian woman, he should have been true to her—made the best of the bad bargain. Instead of which he grew tired of her, and finally abandoned her."

"Did he return to his native country, do you know?"

"He did not. She never gave him time. She went mad after he left her, followed him to New Orleans and tomahawked him on the steamboat. She was tried for murder, acquitted on the ground of insanity, and sent to a lunatic asylum. After a time she was discharged, or she escaped. It is not known which; most probably she escaped, as she certainly was not cured. She was as mad as a March hare all the time she lived here; but as she was harmless—comparatively harmless—it seemed nobody's business to have her shut up! And as I said, when at last I thought it was time to have her arrested on a charge of vagrancy, it was too late. She had fled."

"Why do you suspect that she had some knowledge of a plot to make away with the governor-elect?"

"I suspect that she was in the plot. Developments have led me to the conclusion. By these I learned that Rothsay was not murdered, as his friends feared, nor abducted, as some persons believed, but that he went away, and lived for many months among the Indians in the wilderness, without giving a sign of his identity to the people among whom he lived, or sending a hint of his whereabouts, or even of his existence, to his anxious friends. But that the massacre of Terrepeur—in which he was murdered and his hut was burned—occurred when it did, we might never have learned his fate."

"Yet, still, I cannot see the ground upon which you suspect this Indian woman of complicity in the man's disappearance," said Cumbervale.

"But I am coming to that. Scythia was a Mexican Indian. It is well known to travelers that the Mexican Indians possess the secret of a drug which, when administered to a man, will not kill him, or do him any physical harm, but will reduce him to a state of abject imbecility, so that his free will is destroyed, and he may be led by any one who may wish to lead him. This drug administered to Rothsay, by the woman, must have so deprived him of his reason as to induce him to follow any one influencing him."

"What interest could she have had in reducing the man to this state of dementia?"

"She had been like a mother to the young man, and had sheltered him in her hut for years, when he had no other home. She was very much attached to this adopted son of hers; she was longing to go back to her tribe and die among her own people. It may be that she wished to take him with her, and so gave him the drug that destroyed his will. Or, she may have been the tool of others. All this is the merest conjecture. But the facts remain that she foretold his fate, and that she vanished on the same day on which he disappeared, and that he remained in exile, voluntarily, until he was murdered by the Indians. Still—there might have been another cause for this self-expatriation."

"May I inquire its nature?"

"No, duke; it is only in my secret thought. I have no just right to speak of it to you. But if the question be not indiscreet, will you tell me why you take so deep an interest in the unreliable story of this Indian woman's life?"

"Certainly; because the wild young blade who married and left her, and paid down his life for that desertion, was my own uncle, my father's elder brother, Earl Netherby, the heir to the dukedom, by whose death my father, and subsequently myself, succeeded to the title."

"You astonish me! Are you sure of this?"

"Reasonably sure. I was but five years old when my uncle came to bid us good-by, before setting out for America. But I remember his having on his finger a wonderful ring, a large solitaire diamond with certain flaws in it; but these flaws were very curious; they were faint traces left by the hand of nature shaping out a human eye. When ordinary mortals like myself looked at the diamond, they saw the delicate outline of an eye traced by the flaws in the stone; but it was said that whenever a clairvoyant looked into it they could see, not the human eye, but, as through a telescope, they could view the panorama of future events."

"What nonsense!" said Mr. Rockharrt.

"Nonsense, of course," assented the duke. "I did not speak of the ring on account of its supposed magic power, but because it was so peculiar a jewel that it would be impossible to mistake it for any other ring, or any other ring for itself; and to lead up to the statement that its discovery enabled me to identify the Mexican Indian woman with the maniac who murdered my uncle, as you will see very soon. When my uncle took leave of us, my father, noticing the family talisman—which, by the way, was picked up by our ancestor, Raoul-de-Netherbie, the great Crusader, on the battle field of Acre, and was said to have belonged to an Eastern magician, and has remained an heirloom with the head of our family ever since—inquired of his brother whether he was going to wear that outre jewel in open view upon his finger. My uncle answered that he was; and half laughing, and wholly incredulous, he added:

"'You know, Hugh, that this stone is a talisman against shipwreck, fires, floods, robbery, murder, illness, and all the perils by land or by sea, and all the ills that flesh is heir to. While I wear this ring I expect to be safe from the evils of the world, the flesh, and the devil. So it shall never leave my living hand while I am away; but it shall bring me home safe to live to a patriarchal age and then die peacefully in my bed, with my children and children's children of many generations weeping and wailing around me.'

"These or words to this effect he was speaking, while I, standing by the chair in which he sat, toyed with his hand, and gazed curiously upon the talismanic jewel, and got into my mind an impression of it that never was lost. My uncle soon after left the house, and we never saw him alive again."

"He was the victim of this mad woman?"

"I know it. News was slow in those days. We seldom heard from my uncle. His letters were but the mark of the cities he stopped at. We had one letter from Boston; a month later one from New York; a fortnight later, perhaps—for I only remember these matters by hearing them talked over by my parents—from Philadelphia; later still, and later, Baltimore, Washington, Nashville, New Orleans, and so on as he journeyed southward. Then came a long interval, during which we heard nothing from him, while all his family suffered the deepest anxiety, fearing that he had fallen a victim to the terrible fever that was then desolating the Crescent City. Then at length came a letter from his valet—a deep black-bordered letter—which announced the terrible news of the murder of his master by a Mexican Indian woman, supposed to be mad. There were no details, but only the explanation that he, the valet—who had seen the murder, which was the work of an instant—was detained in New Orleans as a witness for the prosecution, and should not be able to return home until after the trial. It was two months after the latter that the valet came back to England in charge of his late master's effects, which had all been sealed by the New Orleans authorities, and reached us intact. Only the family talisman was missing, and could nowhere be found. And as the family's prosperity, and even continuity, was supposed to depend upon the possession of that ring, its loss was considered only a less misfortune than my uncle's death. Later, my uncle's remains were brought home from New Orleans and deposited in the family vault at Cumbervale Castle.

"The ring was never again heard of. On the death of my grandfather, the seventh duke, my father, who was the second son, succeeded to the title. But fortune seemed to have deserted us. By a series of unlucky land speculations my father lost nearly all his riches, which calamities preyed upon his mind so that his health broke down and he sank into premature old age and died. I came into the title with but little to support it. So that when I honestly loved a lady believed to be wealthy, my motives were supposed to be mercenary."

The Iron King might have felt this thrust, but he gave no sign. The duke continued:

"My after life does not concern the story of the ring. On learning, since my return from long travel in the East, that your fair granddaughter was widowed nearly two years before, you know I wrote to you asking her address, with a view of renewing my old suit. You replied by telling me that Mrs. Rothsay made her home with you, and inviting me to visit you. I refer to this only to keep the sequence of events in order. I came. Yesterday morning I went to Scythia's Roost, climbed from that shelf to the top of the mountain and viewed the scene from it. After I came down again to Scythia's Roost I sat down to rest. The sun was sinking behind the ridge, but through a crevice in the rocks a ray—'a line of golden light'—pierced and seemed to strike fire and bring out an answering ray from some living light left in the ashes. I went to see what it was, and picked up the magic ring, the family talisman. There it was, the wonderful stone for which no other could possibly be mistaken, the gem of intolerable light and fire that had to be shaded before it could be steadily looked at and before the delicate lines of its flaws delineating the human eye could be discerned. Here is the ring, Mr. Rockharrt. Examine it for yourself."

Mr. Rockharrt took the ring, examined it curiously, turned it toward the clouded window, then toward the blazing sea coal fire; in both positions it burned and sparkled just like any other diamond. Then he shaded it and looked at it through his eye-glasses; finally he shook his head and returned it to its owner, saying:

"It is a fine gem, barring a flaw, and I congratulate you on its recovery, but I see no human eye in it. I see some indistinct lines, fine as the thread of a spider's web, that is all. There is the breakfast bell, duke. We will go into the drawing room and find Cora. She must be down by this time."

Cora was standing at one of the front windows, looking out upon the driving rain. She turned as the two gentlemen entered the room, and responded to their greeting.

"Well, now we will go in to breakfast. Did the fresh venison come in time, Cora?"

"I think so, sir."

"We cook it on the breakfast table, duke, each one for himself. Put a slice on a china plate over a chafing dish. The only way to eat a venison cutlet," said old Aaron Rockharrt, as he led the way into the breakfast room, where his eyes were immediately rejoiced by the sight of three chafing dishes filled with ignited charcoal ready for use, and a covered china dish, which he knew must contain the delicate venison cutlets.

When breakfast was over and they had all left the table, the Iron King, addressing his guest, said:

"Well, sir, I must be off to North End. I hope you will find some way of entertaining yourself within doors, for certainly this is not a day to tempt a man to seek recreation abroad. Nothing but business of importance could take me out in such weather."

"I regret that any cause should take you out, sir," replied the guest.

As soon as the noise of the wheels had died away, the duke, who had lingered in the hall to see his host depart, turned and entered the drawing room, where he found Cora as before, standing at a window looking out upon the dull November day.

"Will you permit me now to speak on the subject nearest my heart?" he pleaded, taking the hand which had dropped down by her side.

"I had rather that the subject had never been started, but under the circumstances, after what was said last night at dinner, I feel that the sooner we come to a perfect understanding the better it will be," said Cora, leading the way to a group of chairs and by a gesture inviting him to be seated. Then, to prevent him further committing himself and incurring a humiliating refusal, she herself took the initiative and said: