"If any other person than Mr. Rockharrt had made the public announcement that he did yesterday, I should have denounced the act as an unpardonable outrage; but of him I must say that he must have labored under some strange hallucination to have made such reckless assertions without one shadow of foundation. You yourself must have known that there was not one syllable of truth in his announcement."

"My dearest Mrs. Rothsay, I supposed that Mr. Rockharrt thought, even as I hoped, that our betrothal was but the question of a few days, or even of a few hours, and that he took the occasion of the family gathering to announce the fact. He had already given his consent to my suit for the blessing of your hand, and if he committed an indiscretion in that premature announcement, I did not know it. I thought such announcement might be a local custom, and I blessed him in my heart for observing it. Cora!" he said, taking her hand and dropping his voice to a pleading tone, "dear Cora, it was only premature."

"Duke of Cumbervale," she answered, coldly and gravely, withdrawing her hand, "it is not premature. It was utterly false and groundless; it was the declaration of an engagement that not only had never taken place, but could never take place—an engagement forever impossible!"

"Oh, do not say that! I have kept my faith. After your grandfather's rejection of me in your name I could rest nowhere in England. I went to the Continent, and thence to the East; but still could rest nowhere, because I was pursued by your image. When I came back to England, I learned that you had been widowed from your wedding day and almost as long as I had been absent. I determined to renew my suit, for I remembered that it was not you, but your grandfather in your name, who rejected my proposal. I remembered that you had once given me hope."

"You refer to a time of sad self-deception on my part, which led me even to unconsciously deceiving you. My imaginary preference for you was a brief hallucination. Let it be forgotten. The memory to me is humiliating. You must think of me only as the wife of Regulas Rothsay."

"As the widow, you would say. Surely that widowhood can be no bar to my suit."

"I do not call myself the widow of Rule Rothsay, but his wife," said Cora, solemnly.

"But, my dear lady, surely death has—"

"Death has not," said Cora, fervently interrupting him—"death cannot sever two souls as united as ours. I mean to spend the years I have to live on earth, temporarily and partially separated from my husband, in good works of which he would approve; with which he would sympathize and which would draw his spirit into closer communion with mine; and I hope at that ascension to the higher life which we miscall death to meet him face to face, to be able to tell him, 'I have finished my work, I have kept the faith,' and to be with him forever in one of the many mansions of the Father's kingdom."

"I see," said the suitor, with a deep sigh, "that my suit would be utterly useless at present. But I will not give up the hope that is my life—the hope that you may yet look with favor on my love. I will merit that you should do so. Cora Rothsay, I will no longer vex you with my presence in this house. I will take leave of you even now, and only ask of your courtesy the use of a dog cart to take me to the North End Hotel."

"You are good, you are very good to me, and I pray with all my heart that you may meet some woman much more worthy of your grace than am I, and that you may be very happy. God bless you, Duke of Cumbervale," said Cora, earnestly.

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it, bowed over it and silently left the room.

Cora stepped after him and shut the door; then she hastened across the floor, threw herself down on the sofa, buried her face in the cushions and gave way to the flood of tears that flowed in sympathy with the pain she had given. Meantime the duke went up to his room and rang for his valet.

That grave and accomplished gentleman came at once.

"Dubois, go down and order the dogcart to be at the door in half an hour; then return here to assist me."

The Frenchman bowed profoundly and withdrew.

"I have come a long way for a disappointment," murmured the rejected lover, as he threw himself languidly upon the outside of the bed and clasped his hands above his head. "A fanatic she certainly is. A lunatic also most probably. Yet I cannot get her out of my head. I would go to Canada—to Quebec—if it was not so abominably cold. Vane is there with the 110th. But the climate is too severe. I must move southward, not northward—southward, through California, and thence to the Sandwich Islands, New Zealand, and Australia. That will be a pleasant winter voyage. Talbot is at Sydney, and the climate, and the scenery, and the fruits and vegetables said to be the finest in the world. It will be a new experience, and if I can't forget her among soldiers and convicts, miners and bushmen—well, then, I will come back and make a third attempt. Well, Dubois, what is it?" This question to his valet, who just then re-entered the room.

"The carriage will be at the door on time, your grace."

"Right. Now attend to my directions. I am going immediately to North End, and shall leave thereby the six o'clock express, en route for San Francisco. After I shall have left Rockhold you are to pack up my effects. I shall send a hack from the hotel to fetch them. Be very sure to be ready."

The duke went out and entered the dog cart, received his valise from his valet, gave the order to the groom and was driven off, without having again seen Cora.

But from behind the screen of her lace-curtained window she watched his departure.

"I hope he will soon forget me," she murmured, as she turned away and went down stairs to the library to look over the morning' papers, which she had not yet seen. But before she touched a paper her eyes were attracted by a letter stuck in the letter rack, directed to herself in her brother's well known handwriting.

"To think that my grandfather should have neglected to give me my letter," she complained, as she seized and opened it.

It was dated Fort Farthermost, and announced the fact of the regiment's arrival at the new quarters near the boundary line of Texas, "in the midst of a wilderness infested with hostile Indians, half-breeds, wild beasts, rattlesnakes and tarantulas. Only two companies are to remain here; my company—B—for one. Two first lieutenants are married men, but they have not brought their wives. One of the captains is a widower, and the other an old bachelor. In point of fact, there are only two ladies with us—the colonel's wife and the major's. And when they heard from me that my sister was coming to join me, they were delighted with the idea of having another lady for company. All the same, Cora, I do not advise you to come here. Will write more in a few days; must stop now to secure the mail that goes by this train—wagon and mule train to Arkansaw City, my dear."

This was the substance of the young lieutenant's letter to his sister.

"But 'all the same,' I shall go," said Corona. And she sat down to answer her brother's letter.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

A DOMESTIC STORM.

It is a truth almost too trite for reference, that in the experience of every one of us there are some days in in which everything seems to go wrong. Such a day was this 13th of November to the Iron King.

When he reached North End that morning, the first thing that met him in his private office was the news that certain stocks had fallen. The news came by telegraph, and put him in a terrible temper.

This was about ten o'clock. Two hours later it was discovered that one of the minor bookkeepers, a new employe who had come well recommended about a month before, had just absconded with all he could lay his hands on—only a few thousand dollars—the merest trifle of a loss to Rockharrt & Sons, but extremely exasperating under the circumstances. So taking one provocation with another, at noon on that 13th of November old Aaron Rockharrt was about the maddest man on the face of the earth.

It was his custom to lunch with his sons in the private parlor of Mr. Clarence's suit of rooms at the North End Hotel, every day at two o'clock.

To-day, however, he showed no disposition to eat or drink. And although the two younger men were famishing for food they dared not go to lunch without him, or even urge him to make an effort to go with them. It was then three o'clock, an hour later than their usual hour, that Mr. Rockharrt made a movement in the desired way by rising, stretching his limbs, and saying:

"We will go over to the hotel and get something to eat."

The three men crossed the street and went directly to Mr. Clarence's room, where the table for luncheon was set out. But there was nothing on it but cut bread, casters, and condiments, for these men always preferred hot luncheon in cold weather, and it was yet to be dished up.

The Iron King was not in a humor to wait. He hurried the servants. And at length when the dishes, which had been punctually prepared for two o'clock, were placed on the table at twenty minutes past three, everything was overdone, dried up, and indigestible.

It was the Iron King's own fault for not coming to the table when the meal was first prepared to order. But he would not admit that into consideration. He ordered the waiter to take everything away and throw it out of doors, declared that he would have a restaurant started on the opposite side of the street where a man could get a decent meal, and rose from the table in a rage.

It was while the Iron King was in this amiable and promising state of mind that a waiter brought in a card and laid it before him. He took it up and read aloud:

"The Duke of Cumbervale."

"Show him in," said Mr. Rockharrt.

A few minutes later the visitor entered the parlor, bowed to his host, and then shook hands with the two younger men, whom he had not seen since the evening before.

"So you braved the storm after all, duke? You found the old house too dreary for a long, rainy day. Take a seat," said Mr. Rockharrt, waving his hands majestically around the chairs.

"No; it was not the weather that made Rockhold insupportable to me. But, sir, I have come a long way for a great disappointment," said the rejected lover.

"What! what! what! Explain yourself, if you please, sir!" exclaimed the Iron King, bending his heavy gray brows over flashing eyes.

"Mrs. Rothsay has rejected me."

"What! what! Rejected you! Why, your engagement was declared in the family conclave only last night."

"Mrs. Rothsay states that the declaration was erroneous, and that no such engagement ever has been or ever could be made between us."

"How dare she say that? How dare she try to break off with you in this scandalous manner? But she shall not! She shall keep faith with you or she is no granddaughter of mine! I will have nothing to do with false women! How did this breach occur? Tell me all about it! Fabian—Clarence! Go about your business. I want to have some private conversation with the duke."

The two younger men, thus summarily dismissed, nodded to the visitor and left the room, glad enough to go down below to the saloon and get something to eat and drink.

"Now, then, sir, what's the row with my granddaughter?" demanded the Iron King, wheeling his chair around to face his visitor.

"There is no 'row,'" said the young man, with the faintest possible hint of disgust in his tone and manner. "Mrs. Rothsay rejects me, positively, absolutely. She repudiates the announcement of our betrothal as unauthorized and erroneous."

"But you know, as we all know, that she was engaged to you! Yes; and she shall keep her engagement. I'll see to that!"

"Pardon me, Mr. Rockharrt, I am grieved to say that you have made a mistake. The lady was right. There was no engagement, between Mrs. Rothsay and myself at the time you made that announcement, nor has there been one since, nor, I fear, can there ever be."

"Sir!" exclaimed the Iron King, rising in his wrath. "Did you not come to this country for the express purpose of asking my granddaughter's hand in marriage? Did I not promise her hand to you in marriage?"

"You did, provi—"

"Then if that did not constitute an engagement, I do not know what does—that is all. But some people have very loose ideas about honor. You ask the hand of my granddaughter; I bestow it on you, and announce the fact to my family."

"Pardon me, Mr. Rockharrt, you promised me the hand of your granddaughter, provided she should be willing to give it to me."

"'Provided' nothing of the sort, sir. I gave her hand unconditionally, absolutely, and announced the betrothal to the family."

"But, my dear Mr. Rockharrt, the lady's consent is a most necessary factor in such a case as this," urged the young man, who began to think that the despotic egotism of the Iron King had in these later years grown into a monomania, deceiving him into the delusion that his power over family and dependants was that of an absolute monarch over his subjects. This opinion was confirmed by the next words of the autocrat.

"Of course her consent would follow my act. That was taken for granted."

"But, sir, her consent did not follow your act. Quite the contrary; for my rejection followed it. It is of no use to multiply words. The affair is at an end. I have bidden good-by to Mrs. Rothsay. I am here to say good-by to you."

"You cannot mean it!"

"I have left Rockhold finally. I shall leave North End by this six p.m. train, en route for the South," continued the rejected lover.

"Then, by ——! if she has driven you out of my house, she shall go herself! I have done the best I could for the woman, and she has repaid me by ingratitude and rebellion. And she shall leave my house at once!" exclaimed the despot in a tone of savage resolution.

"Mr. Rockharrt, I must beg that you will not visit my disappointment on the head of your unoffending granddaughter."

"Duke of Cumbervale, you must not venture to interfere with me in the discipline of my own family. I don't very much like dukes. I think I said that once before. I rejected you for my granddaughter two years ago when she was bound to Rule Rothsay. Now that she is a widow and is free, I accepted your suit and bestowed her on you, not that I like dukes any better now than I did then, but I like you better as a man."

The young duke bowed with solemn gravity at this compliment, repressing the smile that fluttered about his lips. At this moment a waiter entered the room, and said that "the gentleman's" servant had arrived with his master's luggage, and requested to know where it was to be put.

"Tell him to get his dinner, and then take the luggage in the same carriage to the station," said the duke, and the messenger withdrew.

"Have you lunched, duke?" inquired Mr. Rockharrt, mindful, even in his rage, of his duties as a host.

"I have not thought of doing so," replied the young man.

"Umph! I suppose not!" grunted the Iron King, as he rang the bell.

A waiter appeared.

"Any game in the house?"

"Yes, sir; fine venison."

"Don't want venison—had it for breakfast. Anything else?"

"A very fine wild turkey, sir."

"Bother! Takes three hours to dress, and I want a hot lunch got up in twenty-five minutes, at longest. Any small game?"

"Uncommon fine partridges, sir."

"Then have a dozen dressed and sent up, with proper accompaniments; and lose no time about it! Also put a bottle of Johannisberg on ice."

"Yes, sir."

The waiter vanished.

"I must bid you good-by now, Mr. Rockharrt," said the duke, rising.

"No; you must not. Sit down. Sit down. You must lunch with me, and drink a parting glass of wine. Then you will have plenty of time to secure your train, and I to drive to Rockhold at my usual hour. Say no more, duke. Keep your seat."

Cumbervale looked at the iron-gray man before him, thought certainly this must be their last meeting and parting on earth, and that therefore he would not cross the patriarch in his humor.

"You are very kind. Thank you. I will break a parting bottle of wine with you willingly."

In double-quick time the broiled partridges were served, the wine placed, and all was ready for the two men.

"Go and tell Mr. Fabian and Mr. Clarence that I wish them to come here. You will find them somewhere in the house," said Mr. Rockharrt.

"Beg pardon, sir; both gentlemen have gone over to the works," replied the waiter.

This was true. Both "boys" had gorged themselves with cold ham, bread and cheese, washed down with quarts of brown stout, and were in no appetite to enjoy partridge and Johannisberg, even if they had been found in the hotel.

"Glad they have found out that they must be attentive to business. You and I, duke, will discuss the good things on the table before us. Come."

The two lingered over the luncheon until it was time for the duke to start for the depot.

"I will send over for my two sons, that you may bid them good-by," said Mr. Rockharrt, and he turned to the waiter, and told him to go and dispatch a messenger to that effect.

Messrs. Fabian and Clarence soon put in an appearance, and expressed their surprise and regret at the sudden departure of their father's guest, and their hope and trust to see him again in the near future. Neither of them seemed to know that the betrothal declared at the dinner table on the night before had no foundation in fact. The duke thanked them for their good wishes, invited them to visit him if they should find themselves in England, and then he took a final leave of the Rockharrts, entered the carriage, and drove off, through a pouring rain, to the railway station—and out of their lives forever.

"A fine thing Mistress Rothsay has done!" exclaimed the Iron King, when his guest had gone, and he explained Cora's action.

Corona had spent the day at Rockhold drearily enough. She felt reasonably sure that her rejection of the duke's hand would deeply offend her grandfather and precipitate a crisis in her own life. When she had finished her letter to her brother, in which she told him of the death of Mr. Rockharrt's wife and added her own resolution soon to set out to join him in his distant fort, she began to make preparations for her journey in the event of having to leave Rockhold suddenly. She knew her grandfather's temper and disposition, and felt that she must hold herself in readiness to meet any emergencies brought about by their manifestations. So she set about her preparations.

She had not much to do. The trunks that she had packed and dispatched to the North End railway station three months before at the hour when her own journey was arrested by the accident to her grandfather, had remained in storage there ever since.

The contents of her large valise, which was to have been her own traveling companion in her long journey to and through the "Great American Desert," and which was well packed with several changes of clothes and with small dressing, sewing and writing cases, supplied all her wants during the three months of her further sojourn at Rockhold.

She had only now to collect these together, cause all the soiled articles to be laundered, and then repack the valise. This occupied her all the afternoon of the short November day.

At six o'clock she came down into the parlor to see that the lamps were trimmed and lighted, and the coal fire stirred up and replenished, so that her grandfather should find the room warm and comfortable on his return home. Then she brought out his dressing gown and slippers, hung the first over his arm chair and put the last on the warm hearthstones.

At length the carriage wheels were heard faintly over the soft, wet avenue and under the pouring rain.

Old John, waiting in the hall to be ready to open the door in an instant, did so before the Iron King should leave the carriage, and hoisting a very large umbrella, he went out to the carriage door and held it over his master while they walked back to the house and entered the hall.

"Here! take off my rubber cloak! Take off my overcoat! Now my rubber boots! What a night!" exclaimed the old man, as he came out of his shell, or various shells.

Corona had the pitcher of punch on the table now with a cut-glass goblet beside it.

"I hope you have not taken cold, grandfather," she said, drawing his easy chair nearer the fire.

"Hold your tongue! Don't dare to speak to me! Leave the room this instant! John! come in here. Pour me out a glass of that punch, and while I sip it draw off my boots and put on my slippers," said the Iron King, throwing himself into his big easy chair and leaning back.

Corona was more pained than surprised. She had expected something like this from the Iron King. She replied never a word, but passed into the adjoining dining room and sat down there. Through the open door she could see the old gentleman reclining at his ease, and sipping his fragrant hot punch while old John drew off his boots, rubbed his feet, and put on his warm slippers. Presently the waiter brought in the soup, put it on the table, and rang the dinner bell. Mr. Rockharrt put down his empty glass, and arose and came to the table. Cora took her place at the head of the board, hardly knowing whether she would be allowed to remain there. But her grandfather took not the slightest notice of her. She filled his plate with soup, and put it on the waiter held by the young footman, who carried it to his master. In this manner passed the whole dinner in every course. Corona carved or served the dishes, filled the plate for her grandfather, which was taken to him by the footman. At the end of the heavy meal the Iron King arose from the table and said:

"I am going to my own room. Mistress Rothsay, I shall have something to say to you in the morning;" and he went out.



CHAPTER XXIX.

CORONA'S OPPORTUNITY.

Corona Rothsay stood behind her chair at the head of the breakfast table, waiting for Mr. Rockharrt. He entered presently, and returned no answer to her respectful salutation, but moodily took his seat, raised the cover from the hot dish before him, and helped himself to a broiled partridge. After the gloomy meal was finished the Iron King arose from the table and pushed back his chair so suddenly and forcibly as to nearly upset his servant.

"Come into the library! I wish to have a decisive talk with you!" he said, in a harsh voice, to his granddaughter, as he strode from the dining room.

Corona, who had finished her own slight breakfast some minutes before, immediately arose and followed him. On reaching the bookery, old Aaron Rockharrt sank heavily into his big leathern armchair, and pointed, sternly, to an opposite one, on which Corona obediently seated herself.

"Look at me, mistress!" he said, placing his hands upon the arms of his chair, bending forward and gazing on her with fixed, keen eyes, that burned like fire beneath the pent roof of his shaggy iron-gray brows.

Corona looked up at him.

"Do you know, madam, that in rejecting the hand of the Duke of Cumbervale you have offered me an unpardonable affront?"

"No, grandfather, I did not know it; and certainly I never meant—never could possibly have meant—to affront you," said Corona, deprecatingly. "If I have been so unhappy as to disappoint your wishes, I am very sorry, my dear grandfather, but—"

He harshly interrupted her.

"Do not you dare to call me grandfather, either now or ever again! I disclaim forever that relationship, and all relationship with the false, flirting, coquettish, unprincipled creature that you are! Your late suitor may forgive your treachery to him, beguiling him by your once pretended preference to pass by all eligible matches and cross the ocean for your sake! Yes; he may forgive you, because he is a fool (being a duke)! But as for me—I will never pardon the outrageous affront you have put upon me, in rejecting the man of my choice! Never, as long as I live, so help me—"

"Oh!—oh, grandfather!" cried Corona, arresting his half-sworn oath, "don't say that! I am sorry to have crossed your will in this matter, or in any way; but, oh, my dear grandfather—"

"Stop there!" vociferated the Iron King, with a stamp. "I am no grandfather of yours! How dare you insult me with the name when I have forbidden you to do so?"

"I beg your pardon, sir. It was a mere slip of the tongue. I spoke impulsively. I had forgotten your prohibition. I shall not certainly offend in that way again," said Corona, quietly.

"You had better not!"

"I was about to say, when you interrupted me," resumed Cora, earnestly, "that I am grieved to have been compelled to disappoint you by rejecting the Duke of Cumbervale; but, sir, I could not do otherwise. I could not accept a man whom I could not love. To have done so would have been a great sin. Surely, sir, you must know it would have been a sin," pleaded Corona.

"Stuff and nonsense!" roared the Iron King. "Don't dare to talk such sentimental rubbish to me! You can't love him, can't you? Tell that to an idiot, not to me! When we were in London, two or three years ago, you loved him so well that you were ready to break your engagement with your betrothed husband, Regulas Rothsay, in order to marry this duke. Yes; and you would certainly have done so if I had not put a stop to the affair by having an explanation with the suitor, telling him of your prior engagement, and also of your want of fortune, and bringing you back home to your forgotten duties."

"Oh, sir, I deserve all your reproaches for that forgetfulness. I was very wrong then," said Cora, with a sigh.

"Bosh! You are always wrong!" sneered old Aaron Rockharrt. "And you always will be wrong! You were wrong when you wished to break your engagement with Regulas Rothsay to marry the Duke of Cumbervale, and you are wrong, now that you are free, to reject the man. Why, look at it: Now that you have been a widow for more than two years, and Cumbervale has proved his constancy by remaining a bachelor two years for your sake, and crossing the ocean and coming down here to propose for you again, and even after I—I myself—have positively promised him your hand, and have given a family dinner in honor of the occasion, and have announced the engagement, and after speeches have been made and toasts have been drank to the happiness and prosperity of your married life, and all due formalities of betrothal had been observed, then, mistress, what do you do?" severely demanded old Aaron Rockharrt.

"Only my duty under the circumstances. I was not in the least bound or compromised by or responsible for anything that was said or done at that dinner table," replied Corona.

"This is what you do: You dare to set me at defiance! You dare to set your will against mine! You dare to reject the man whom I chose for your husband, whom I announced as your betrothed husband! You dare to drive him away from my house, grieved, disappointed, humiliated, to become a wanderer over the face of the earth for your sake, even as you drove Regulas Rothsay from the goal of his ambition into exile, and—"

A sharp cry from Corona suddenly stopped him in full career.

"Do not, oh! do not speak of that! I—I would have given my life to have prevented Rule's loss, if I could! As for this man—this duke—he is nothing whatever to me, and never can be!"

"And yet you were ready to fall down and worship him three years ago!"

"It was a brief insanity—a self-delusion. That is past. Cumbervale never was and never can be anything to me. No man can ever be anything to me! I could not live Rule's wife, but I will die Rule's widow; and I do not care how soon—the sooner the better, if it were the Lord's will!" moaned Corona.

"Drivel!" angrily exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt. "I am tired of your idiotic, imbecile hypocrisies! Here are two men driven away by your unprincipled vacillation—to call your conduct by the lightest name. One driven to his death; one driven, it may be, to his ruin. It is quite time you were sent to follow your victims. Look you! I am just about to start for North End. I shall return home at my usual time this evening. Do not let me find you here when I arrive, for I never wish to see your false face again!" said the Iron King, rising from his arm chair and striding from the room.

Corona started up and ran after him, pleading, imploring—

"Grandfather! Dear grandfather! Oh, I beg pardon! I forgot! Sir! sir! Oh, do not part from me in this way!"

He turned sharply, stared at her mockingly, and then demanded:

"Come! Shall I call Cumbervale back? Tell him that you have changed your whirligig mind, and are ready to marry him, if he will only take time by the forelock and return before you shift around again? I can easily do that. I can send a telegram that will over-take him and turn him back so promptly that he may be here in twenty-four hours! Come! Shall I do that?"

Corona, who had been gazing at the mocking speaker scarcely knowing whether he spoke in earnest or in irony, now answered despairingly:

"Oh, no, no! not for the world! I have not changed my mind. I could not do so for any cause."

"Then don't stop me. I'm in haste. I am going to North End. Don't let me find you here when I come back. Don't let me ever see or hear from you again, without your consent to marry the man I have chosen for you. John!"

"Oh, sir, consider—" began Corona, pleadingly.

"John!" vociferated the Iron King, pushing rudely past her.

The old servant came hurrying up, helped his master on with his overcoat and with his rubber coat, then gave him his hat and gloves, and finally hoisted a large umbrella to hold over his master's head as he passed from the house to the carriage in front.

Corona stood watching until the carriage rolled away and old John came back into the hall and closed the door. Then she returned to the library and sank sobbing into the big leathern chair. She now realized for the first time what the parting with her grandfather would be—the parting with the gray old man who had been the ogre of her childhood, the terror of her youth, and the autocrat of her maturity, and yet whom, by all the laws of nature, she tenderly loved, and whom by the commandment of God she was bound to honor.

She glanced mechanically toward the card rack, and saw there another letter in the handwriting of her brother—a letter that had come in the morning's mail and had been stuck up there, and in the excitement of the hour had been neglected or forgotten.

She seized it eagerly and tore it open, wondering what could have urged Sylvan to write so soon after his last letter.

It was dated three weeks later than the one she had received only the day previous, the first one having, no doubt, been delayed somewhere along the uncertain route.

In this letter Sylvan complained that he had not received a word from his dear sister since leaving Governor's Island, and mentioned that he himself had written all along the line of march and three times since the arrival of his regiment at Fort Farthermost.

But he admitted, also, that the mails beyond the regular United States mail roads were very uncertain and irregular. Then he came to the object of this particular epistle.

"It is, my dear Cora, to tell you," he wrote, "that if you should still be resolved to come out and join me here, an opportunity for your safe conduct will be offered you this autumn which may never occur again. Our senior captain—Captain Neville, Company A—has been absent on leave for several months. So he did not come out here with the regiment. His leave expires on the 30th of November. He will be obliged to start in the latter part of October in order to have time enough to accomplish the tedious journey by wagon from Leavenworth to Fort Farthermost, which is, as I believe I told you, in the southern part of the Indian Reserve, bordering on Texas. He is to bring his wife with him.

"But our colonel thinks it is I who want you, and, moreover, I who need you; for he says that, next to a wife, a sister is the best safeguard a young officer can have out in these frontier forts, and he gave me the address of Captain Neville and advised me to write to him and ask him and his wife to take charge of my sister on the route.

"And then, dear, he went further than that. He took my letter after I had written it, and inclosed it in one from himself. So now, my dear, all you have to do is to go to Washington, call on Mrs. Neville, at Brown's Hotel, Pennsylvania Avenue, and send up your card. She will expect you. Then you must hold yourself in readiness to start when the captain and his wife do."

Cora had no time to indulge in reverie. She must be up and doing.

Her luggage had long been stored in the freight house of the North End railway station, and her traveling bags had been packed the day before. The servants knew she was going out to join her brother, though they did not know that her grandfather had discarded her. She had very little to do for herself on that day, but she resolved to do all that she could for the comfort of her grandfather before she should leave the house forever.

So she went and ordered the dinner—just such a dinner as she knew he would like. Then she called old John to her presence and directed him to have the parlor prepared for his master just as carefully as if she herself were on the spot to see it done; to have the fire bright; the hearth clean; the lamps trimmed and lighted; the shutters closed and the curtains drawn; the easy chair, with dressing gown and slippers, before the fire, and, lastly, a jug of hot punch on the hearth.

Old John promised faithfully to perform all these duties. Then Cora went and wrote two letters.

One to her brother Sylvan, in which she acknowledged the receipt of his letter, expressed her thanks to the colonel for his kindness, and assured him that she should gladly avail herself of the escort of the Nevilles and go out under their protection to Fort Farthermost.

This letter she put in the mail bag in the hall ready for the messenger to take to the North End post office.

The second letter was a farewell to her grandfather, in which she expressed her sorrow at leaving him even at his own command; her grief at having offended him, however unintentionally; her prayers for his forgiveness, and her hope to meet him again in health, happiness and prosperity.

This letter Corona stuck on the card rack, where he would be sure to find it.

Then she ordered her own little pony carriage, and went and put on her bonnet and her warm fur-lined cloak and called Mark to bring her shawls and traveling bags down to the hall.

When all this had been done, Corona called all the servants together, made them each a little present, and then bade them good-by.

Then she stepped into the little carriage and bade the groom to drive on to Violet Banks.

"I think I shall go no further than that to-night, my friends, and leave for Washington to-morrow morning," she said, in a broken voice, as the pony started.

"Then all ob us wot kin get off will come to bid yer annurrer good-by to-morrow mornin'!" came hoarsely from one of the crowd, and was repeated by all in a chorus.

The carriage rolled down the avenue to the ferry—not that Corona intended to cross the river, for Violet Banks, it will be remembered, was on the same side and a few miles north of Rockhold—but that she would not leave the place without taking leave of old Moses, the ferryman. Fortunately the boat lay idle at its wharf, and the old man sat in the ferry house, hugging the stove and smoking his pipe.

He came out at the sound of wheels. Corona called him to the carriage, told him that she did not want to cross the river, but that she was going away for a while and wished to take leave of him.

Now old Moses had seen too many arrivals and departures to and from Rockhold to feel much emotion at this news; besides he had no idea of the gravity of this departure. So he only touched his old felt hat and said:

"Eh, young mist'ess, hopes how yer'll hab a monsous lubly time! Country is dull for de young folks in de winter. Gwine to de city, s'pose, young mist'ess?"

"Yes, Uncle Moses, I am going to Washington first," replied Corona.

"Lors! I hear tell how so many folkses do go to Washintub! Wunner wot dey go for? in de winter, too! Lors! Well, honey, I wish yer a mighty fine time and a handsome husban' afore yer comes home. Lor' bress yer, young mist'ess!"

"Thank you, Uncle Moses. Here is a trifle for you," said Cora, putting a half eagle in his hand.

"Lor' bress yer, young mist'ess, how I do tank yer wid all my heart! I nebber had so much money at one time in all my life!" exclaimed the overjoyed old ferryman.



CHAPTER XXX.

FAREWELL TO VIOLET BANKS.

Along the north road, between the thickly wooded east ridge and the swiftly running river, Corona drove on her last journey through that valley. Three miles up, the road turned from the river, and, with several windings and doublings, ascended the mountain side to the elevated plateau on which were situated the beautiful house and grounds called Violet Banks.

As the carriage reached the magnificent plateau, Corona stopped the horse for a moment to take in the glory of the view. In the midst of her admiration of this scenery, two distinct thoughts were strongly borne in on the mind of Corona. One was that Violet Rockharrt would never be willing to leave this enchanting spot to make her home at Rockhold. She might consent to do so to please others, but she would suffer through it.

The other thought was that old Aaron Rockharrt would never consent to live in a place which, however beautiful it might be, was too difficult of access and egress for a man of his age.

What, then, could be done to cheer the old man's solitude at his home? The only hope lay in the chance of Mr. Clarence finding a wife who might be acceptable to his father, and bringing her home to Rockhold.

The carriage drew up before the long, low villa, with its vine-clad porch, where, though the roses had faded and fallen, the still vivid green foliage and brilliant rose berries made a gay appearance.

Violet was not sitting on the porch, beside her little wicker workstand basket, as she always had been found by Cora in the earlier months of her residence there, but, nevertheless, she saw her visitor's approach from the front windows of her sitting room, and ran out to meet her.

"Oh, so glad to see you! And such a delightful surprise!" were the words with which she caught Cora in her arms, as the latter alighted from the carriage.

"How well you look, dear. A real wood violet now, in your pretty purple robe," said Corona, with assumed gayety, as she returned the little creature's embrace, and went with her into the house.

"I am going to send the carriage to the stable. You shall spend the afternoon and evening with me, whether you will or not, and whether the handsome lover breaks his heart or not!" exclaimed Violet, as they entered the parlor.

"Don't trouble yourself, dear. See, the man is driving around to the stable now, and I have come, not only to spend the afternoon, but the night with you," said Cora, sitting down and beginning to unfasten her fur cloak. "Will my uncle be late in returning this evening?"

"Fabian? Oh, no! this is his early day. He will be home very soon now. But where did you leave his grace? Why did he not escort you here?" inquired the little lady.

"Have you not heard that he has left Rockhold?" asked Corona, in her turn.

"Why, no. I have heard nothing about him since the night of the dinner given in honor of your betrothal. Are you tired, Cora, dear? You look tired. Shall I show you to your room, where you may bathe your face?" inquired Violet, noticing for the first time the pale and weary aspect of her visitor.

"No; but you may bring the baby here to see me."

"My baby? Oh, the little angel has just been put to sleep—its afternoon sleep. Come into the nursery, and I will show it to you," exclaimed the proud and happy mother, starting up and leading the way to the upper floor and to a front room over the library, fitted up beautifully as a nursery. Corona, on entering, was conscious of a blending of many soft bright colors, and of a subdued rainbow light, like the changes of the opal.

Violet led her directly to the cradle, an elegant structure of fine light wood, satin and lace, in which was enshrined the jewel, the treasure, the idol of the household—a tiny, round-headed, pink-faced little atom of humanity, swathed in flannel, cambric and lace, and covered with fine linen sheets trimmed with lace, little lamb's-wool blankets embroidered with silk, and a coverlet of satin in alternate tablets of rose, azure and pearl tablets.

The delighted mother and the admiring visitor stood gazing at the babe, and talking in low tones for ten or fifteen minutes perhaps, and were then admonished by the nurse—an experienced woman—that it was not good for such young babies to be looked over and talked over so long when they were asleep.

Violet and her visitor softly withdrew from the cradle, and Corona had leisure to look around the lovely room, the carpet of tender green, like the first spring grass, and dotted over with buttercups and daisies; the wall paper of pearl white, with a vine of red and white roses running over it; the furniture of curled maple, upholstered in fine chintz, in colors to match the wall paper. But the window curtains were the marvels of the apartment. There were two high front windows, draped in rainbow silk—that is, each breadth of the hangings was in perfect rainbow stripes, and the effect of the light streaming through them was soft, bright, and very beautiful.

"It is a creation! Whose?" inquired Corona, as she stood before one of the windows.

"Well, it was my idea, though I am not at all noted for ideas, as everybody knows," said Violet, with a smile. "But I wanted my baby's first impressions of life to be serenely delightful through every sense. I wanted her to see, when she should open her eyes in the morning, a sphere of soft light and bright, delicate shades of color. So I prepared this room."

"But where did you find the rainbow draperies?"

"Oh, them! I designed them for my baby, and Fabian sent the pattern to Paris, and we received the goods in due time. I will tell you another thing. I have an AEolian harp for her. It is under the front window of the upper hall, but its aerial music can reach her here when it is in place. When she is a little stronger I am going to have a music box for her. Oh, I want my little baby to live in a sphere of 'sweet sights, sweet sounds, soft touches.'"

A brisk, firm footstep, a cheery, ringing voice in the hall below, arrested the conversation of the two women.

"It is Fabian! Come!" exclaimed Violet, joyfully, leading the way down stairs.

Mr. Fabian stood at the foot. He embraced his young wife boisterously, and then seeing Cora coming down stairs behind Violet, went and shook hands with his niece, saying:

"Glad to see you! Glad to see you! Has Violet been showing you our little goddess? I tell you what, Cora: everything has changed since that usurper came. This place is no longer 'Violet Banks' It is the Holy Hill. This house is the temple; that nursery is the sanctuary; that cradle is the altar; and that babe is the idol of the community. Now go along with Violet. Oh! she is high priestess to the idol. Go along. I'm going to wash my face and hands, and then I'll join you."

Mr. Fabian went up stairs, and Cora followed Violet into the parlor.

"Here are the English magazines, my dear, come this morning. Will you look over them, while I go and see to the dinner table? I will not be gone more than ten minutes," said Violet, lifting a pile of pamphlets from a side table and placing them on a little stand near the easy chair into which Corona had thrown herself.

"Certainly, Violet, love. Don't mind me. Go."

Violet kissed her forehead and left the room.

Cora never touched the magazines, but sat with her elbow on the stand and her forehead resting on her hand.

She sat motionless, buried in painful thought until her Uncle Fabian entered the room.

Then she looked up.

He came and sat down near her; looked at her inquiringly for a few moments; and then, as she did not break the silence, he said:

"Well, Cora?"

"Well, Uncle Fabian?"

"What is up, my dear?"

"I would rather defer all explanations until after dinner, if you please."

"Very well, my dear Cora."

And indeed there was no time for further talk just then, for Violet came hurrying into the room laughing and exclaiming:

"I am the pink of punctuality, Cora, dear. Here I am back again in just ten minutes."

The next moment the dinner bell rang, and they all went into the dining room.

Violet—trained by Mrs. Chief Justice Pendletime, who was a great domestic manager—excelled in every housekeeping department, especially, perhaps, in the culinary art; so the little dinner was an exquisite one, and thoroughly enjoyed by the master and mistress of the house, and might have been equally appreciated by their visitor if her sad thoughts had not destroyed her appetite.

After dinner, when they adjourned to the parlor, Violet said:

"Again I must beg you to excuse me, Cora, dear, while I go up and put baby to sleep. It is a little weakness of mine, but I always like to put her to sleep myself, though I have the most faithful of all nurses. You will excuse me?"

"Why, of course, darling!" Corona heartily replied; and the happy little mother ran off.

"Now then, Cora, what is it? You said you would explain after dinner. Do so now, my dear; for if it is anything very painful I would rather not have my Wood Violet grieved by hearing it," said Mr. Fabian, drawing his chair nearer to that of Corona.

"It is very painful, Uncle Fabian, and I also would like to shield Violet as much as possible from the grief of knowing it. But—is it possible that you do not know what has happened at Rockhold?" gravely inquired Corona.

"I know this much: That the announcement of an engagement between yourself and the Englishman was premature and unauthorized; that you have finally rejected the suitor—who has since left Rockhold—and by so doing you have greatly enraged our Iron King. I know no more than that, Cora."

"What! Has not my grandfather told you anything to day?"

"Not one word."

"Then I must tell you. He has cast me off forever."

"Cora! Cora!"

"It is true, indeed. This morning he ordered me to quit his house; not to let him find me still there on his return; never to let him see or hear from me again unless it was with my consent to recall and marry my English suitor."

"But, Cora, my dear, why can you not come into his conditions? Why can you not marry Cumbervale? He is a splendid fellow every way, and he loves you as hard as a horse can kick. He is awfully in love with you, my dear. Now, why not marry him and make everybody happy and all serene?"

"Because, Uncle Fabian, I don't happen to be in love with him," replied Corona, with just a shade of disdain in her manner.

"Well, my dear, I will not undertake to persuade you to change your mind. If you have inherited nothing else from the Iron King, you have his strength of will. What are you going to do, Cora?"

"I am going to carry out my purpose of going to the Indian Reserve as missionary to the Indian tribes, to devote all my time and all my fortune to their welfare."

"A mad scheme, my dear Cora. How are you, a young woman, going to manage to do this? Under the auspices of what church do you act?"

"Under that of the broad church of Christian charity—no other."

"But how are you going to reach the field of your labors? How are you going to cross those vast tracts, destitute of all inhabitants except tribes of savages, destitute of all roads except the government 'trails'?"

"You know, if you have not forgotten, that it was my purpose to join my brother at his post, and to establish my school near his fort and under its protection."

"Well, yes; I remember hearing something of the sort; but really, Cora, I thought it was all talk since Sylvan went away."

"But it is more than that. Some time late in this month I shall go out to Fort Farthermost under the protection of Captain and Mrs. Neville. They are now in Washington, where I am going immediately to join them. When you read this letter, which I received after my grandfather had left me in anger this morning, you will understand all about it," said Corona, drawing her brother's last letter from her pocket and handing it to her uncle.

Mr. Fabian took it and read it carefully through; then returned it to her, saying:

"Well, my dear, it does seem as if there were a fate in all this. But what a journey is before you! At this season of the year, too! But, Cora, do not let Violet know that the grandfather has discarded you. It would grieve her tender heart too much. Just tell her that you are going out to your brother. Do not even tell her so much as that to-night. It would keep her from sleep."

"I will not hint the subject this evening, Uncle Fabian. I love Violet too much to distress her."

"You will have to explain that your engagement with the Englishman is at an end."

"Or, rather, that it has never had a beginning," said Corona.

"Very well," assented Mr. Fabian. "And now I must go and dispatch a messenger to North End to fetch Clarence here to spend the night. A hasty leave-taking at the railway depot would hardly satisfy Clarence, Cora."

"I know! And I thank you very much, Uncle Fabian," replied Corona.

"Ah, Violet! here you are, just in time to take my place. I am going out to send for Clarence to spend the evening with us," said Mr. Fabian, as he passed his young wife, who entered the room as he left it.

Instead of sending a messenger, Fabian put his fastest horse into his lightest wagon, and set off at his best speed himself. He reached North End Hotel in twenty minutes, and burst in upon Clarence, finding that gentleman seated in an arm chair before a coal fire.

"Anything the matter, Fabian?" he inquired, looking up in surprise.

"Yes! The devil's to pay! The monarch has driven his granddaughter from court!" exclaimed the elder brother, throwing his hat upon the floor, and dropping into a chair.

"You don't mean to say—"

"Yes, I do! Father has turned Cora out of doors because she refused to marry the Englishman."

"Good Heaven!"

"Come! There is no time to talk! Cora is at my house. She leaves for Washington to join Captain and Mrs. Neville, and go out with them to Fort Farthermost."

"But, look here, Fabian. Why do you let her do that?"

"Don't be a fool! Who is to stop her if she is bound to go? Come, hurry up; put on your overcoat and get into my trap, and I will take you back with me, see Cora, and stay all night with us."

Mr. Clarence started up, rang for a waiter to see to his rooms, then put on his overcoat, and in five minutes more he was seated beside his brother in the light wagon, behind the fastest horse in Mr. Fabian's stables, bowling out of the village at a rate of speed that I would not dare to state. It was not nine o'clock when they reached Violet Banks.

Mr. Fabian drove around to the stables, gave his team up to the groom, and walked back to the house with Clarence.

"You must not drop a word to Violet about Cora's intended journey. She thinks that Cora has only come to spend the night with her. If she knew otherwise she would be too distressed to sleep. Not until after breakfast to-morrow is she to be told that Cora is going away; and never is she to know that our niece has been driven away."

"I understand, Fabian. Who is going to Washington with Cora?"

"No one that I know of; but she is quite able to take care of herself, so far."

"I will not have it so, Fabian. I will go with our niece!" said Mr. Clarence.

"Are you mad? The monarch would never forgive such misprision of treason. He would discard you, Clarence!" exclaimed Mr. Fabian, in consternation.

"I do not think so. Our father is too just for that. And in any case I shall take the risk."

"The Iron King is just in all his business relations; he would not be otherwise to save himself from bankruptcy. But has he been just to Cora?"

"From his point of view. He has not been kind; that is all. I must be kind to our niece at all costs."

This brought them to the door of the house, which Mr. Fabian opened with his latch key, and the two men entered the parlor together.

"Why, how soon you have come! I am so glad!" exclaimed Violet, rising to welcome the new visitor.

"That is because, instead of sending, I went for him," explained Mr. Fabian.

"So I suspected when I found that you did not return immediately to the parlor," said Violet.

Mr. Clarence meanwhile went to his niece, took her hand and kissed her in silence. He could not trust his voice to speak. She understood him, and returned the pressure of his hand. If it had not been for Violet, the evening would have passed very gloomily; but she, who knew nothing of the domestic tempest that had driven Cora from home, nor even of the impending separation in the morning, and who heartily enjoyed the presence of her two favorite relatives in the house, kept the party enlivened by her own good spirits and gay talk.

Once during the evening Clarence and Cora found themselves far enough off from their friends for a short tete-a-tete, in which there was a brief but perfect explanation between them.

Then Clarence announced his intention of escorting her to Washington and seeing her safe under the protection of the Nevilles.

Cora strongly opposed this plan, on the ground that his escort was unnecessary and might be deeply offensive to Mr. Rockharrt.

But Clarence was firm.

"You may turn your back on me, Cora. You may refuse to speak to me during the whole journey. But you cannot prevent me from going on the same train with you, and so becoming your guardian on the journey," said Clarence.

Cora's answer to this was prevented by the approach of Violet, who said:

"Clarence, it is half past eleven o'clock, and Cora looks tired to death. Your room is ready whenever you would like to retire."

Acting upon this very broad hint, Mr. Clarence laughed, kissed his niece good night, shook hands with his sister-in-law, and left the room, preceded by Mr. Fabian, who offered to show him to his chamber. Violet conducted Cora to the room prepared for her, and, with a warm embrace, left her to repose for the last time in that house.



CHAPTER XXXI.

"IT IS THE UNEXPECTED THAT HAPPENS."

After her exciting and fatiguing day, Corona slept long and heavily, and when she reached the family sitting room she found her two uncles there in conversation.

"I am sorry I kept you waiting, Uncle Fabian," she said, hurriedly.

"You have not done so, my dear. The bell has not yet rung."

"Then I'm glad. Good morning, Clarence," she said, turning to her younger uncle.

"Good morning, Cora. How did you sleep?"

"Perfectly, Clarence dear. I hope you will set out for North End immediately after breakfast. I shall not start for Washington until to-night. I shall spend the day here, so that after telling Violet of my intended journey I may have some little time to reconcile her to it."

"How good you are, Cora. I do appreciate this consideration for Violet," said Mr. Fabian earnestly.

"It is only her due, uncle. Well, Clarence, since you are determined to escort me to Washington, whether or not, you may meet me at the depot for the 6:30 express. I feel that it is every way better that I should go by the night train; better for Violet, with whom I can thus spend a few more hours, and better for Clarence, who need not by this arrangement lose this day's work."

"Quite so," assented Mr. Fabian. "And now," he added, as light footsteps were heard approaching the room, "here comes Violet. Not a word about the journey until after breakfast."

They all went into the breakfast room, where a fragrant, appetizing morning meal was spread.

How different this was from the breakfast at Rockhold on the preceding-day, darkened by the sullen wrath of the Iron King and eaten in the most gloomy silence! Here were affectionate attentions and jests and laughter. Violet was in such gay spirits that her vivacity became contagious, and Fabian and Clarence often laughed aloud, and Corona was won to smile at her sallies.

At last Mr. Fabian arose with a sigh, half of satisfied appetite, half of reluctance to leave the scene, and said:

"Well, I suppose we must be moving. Clarence, will you drive with me to North End?"

"Certainly. That is all arranged, you know," replied the younger brother.

"Mr. Fabian walked out into the hall, saying as he left the breakfast room:

"Corona, a word with you, my dear."

Corona went to him, and he said:

"After you have had an explanation with Violet, persuade her to accompany you to North End. You had better come in your own pony carriage, my dear; it is so easy and the horse so safe. And then, after you have left us, I can drive her home in the same vehicle. And, by the way, my dear, what shall you do with that little turnout? Shall I send it to Hyde's livery stable for sale? You can get double what was given for it. And remit you the price?"

"No, Uncle Fabian; it is not to be sold. And I am glad you reminded me of it. I have intended all along to give it to our minister's wife. She has no carriage of any sort, and she really needs one, and she will enjoy this because she can drive the pony herself. So, after I have gone, will you please send it to Mrs. Melville, with my love?"

"Certainly, my dear; with the greatest pleasure. Cora, that is well thought of. Now I must go up to the nursery and bid good-by to baby, or her mother would never forgive me."

And high and heavy Mr. Fabian tripped up the stairs like a lamplighter.

Corona lingered in the hall, talking with Mr. Clarence, who had now come there to put on his overcoat. Presently Mr. Fabian came hurrying down stairs alone. He had left Violet in the sanctuary.

"Come, come, Clarence, hurry up! We are late! What if the monarch should reach the works before us? I shouldn't like to meet him in his roused wrath! Should you?

"Old age ne'er cooled the Douglass blood!"

said Mr. Fabian, hurriedly pulling on his overcoat, seizing hat and gloves, and with a hasty—

"Good-by, Cora, until to-night," hurried out of the front door.

He need not have been in such haste—the Iron King was not destined to reach North End in advance of his sons that morning.

Mr. Clarence kissed Corona good-by, and hurried after his elder brother, and then stopped short at what he saw.

Mr. Fabian was standing before the carriage door with one foot on the step.

Beside him was a horseman who had just ridden up—the horse in a lather of foam, the man breathless and dazed—telling some news in broken sentences; Mr. Fabian listening pallid and aghast.

"Great Heaven! how sudden! how shocking!" he exclaimed at last, turning back toward the house, and hurrying up the steps.

"What is it? What is the matter? What has happened, Fabian?" anxiously demanded Clarence.

"The father has had a stroke! No time for particulars now! Take the fastest horse in the stable and go yourself to North End to fetch the doctor. You can bring him sooner than any servant. I must go directly on to Rockhold. Cora must delay her journey again. Be off, Clarence!" said Mr. Fabian.

And while the elder brother returned to the house, the younger went to get his horse.

"Cora!" called Mr. Fabian.

Corona came out of the parlor.

"You cannot go away to-day."

"Why?" inquired the young lady.

"Don't talk! Listen! Your grandfather is ill—very ill. Old John has just come from Rockhold to tell me."

"Oh! I am very sorry."

"No time for words! Go put on your bonnet, and come along with me; the carriage that was to have taken me to North End must take us both to Rockhold. Hurry, Cora."

"But Violet?"

"I will go and tell Violet that the grandfather is not feeling very well, and has sent for you. I can do this while you are getting ready to go. Then come into the nursery and bid Violet good-by."

Corona hurried up to her room, and quickly put on her bonnet and fur-lined cloak, and then ran into the nursery, where she found Violet nursing her baby, looking serious but composed, and evidently unconscious of old Aaron Rockharrt's danger. Mr. Fabian was standing at the back of her chair, so that she might not read the truth in his face.

"So you are going home so suddenly, Cora, dear? I am so sorry the father is not feeling well that I cannot even ask you to stay here a moment longer. Give my love to the father, and tell him if he does not get better in a day or two I shall be sure to come and nurse him."

She could not rise without disturbing her precious baby, but she raised her head and put up her lips, that Cora might kiss her good-by. Then Cora followed her uncle down stairs, and in five minutes more they were seated in the carriage, slowly winding their way down the dangerous mountain pass to the river road that led to Rockhold.

"Uncle Fabian," said Corona, gravely, "I have been trying to think what is right for me to do. This sorrowful news took me so completely by surprise, and your directions were so prompt and peremptory, that I had not a moment for reflection; so that I followed your lead automatically. But now, Uncle Fabian, I have considered, and I ask you as I have asked myself—am I right in going back to Rockhold, after my grandfather has sent me away, and forbidden me ever to return? Tell me, Uncle Fabian."

"My dear, what do you yourself wish to do?" he inquired.

"To return to Rockhold and nurse my grandfather, if he will allow me to do so."

"Then by all means do so."

"But, Uncle Fabian—against my grandfather's express command?"

"Good Heaven, girl!" Those 'commands' were issued by a well and angry man. You are returning to minister to an ill and perhaps a dying one."

"Still, Uncle Fabian, would it not seem to be taking advantage of my grandfather's helpless state to return now, after he had forbidden me to enter his house? I think it would. And the more I reflect upon the subject, the surer I feel that I ought not to enter Rockhold unbidden. And—I will not."

"You will not! What! Can you show resentment to your stricken—it may be dying—grandfather?"

"Heaven forbid! But I must not disobey his injunction, now that he is too helpless to prevent me. No, Uncle Fabian, I must not enter the house. But neither will I be far from it. I will remain within call."

"Where?"

"At the ferryman's cottage. Will you, Uncle Fabian, as soon as you have an opportunity, say that I am deeply grieved for all that has estranged us. Will you ask him to forgive me and let me come to him?"

"Yes; I will do so, my dear, if there is an opportunity. But, Cora, I think you are morbidly scrupulous. I think that you should come to the house. He may wish to see you if he should have a lucid interval, and there may not be time to send for you."

"I must risk that rather than disobey him in his extremity."

"As you will," replied Mr. Fabian. And no more was said on the subject.

When they reached the foot of the mountain and the level of the river road, the horses were put upon their speed, and they soon arrived at Rockhold.

"I will wait in the carriage until you go in and inquire how he is," said Corona, as the vehicle drew up before the front door.

Mr. Fabian got out and hurried up the steps. The door stood open, cold as the day was, and all things wore the neglected aspect of a dwelling wherein the master lay stricken unto death. The housekeeper, Martha, was coming down the stairs and crying.

"How is your master?" breathlessly inquired Mr. Fabian.

"Oh, Marse Fabe, sir, jes' livin', an' dat's all!" sobbed the woman. "Dunno nuffin. Layin' dere jes' like a dead corpe, 'cept for breavin' hard," wept the woman.

"Who is with him?"

"Me mos' times an' young Mark. I jes' come down to speak 'long o' you, Marse Fabe, w'en I see de carriage dribe up."

"Well, go back to your master. I will speak to my niece, and then come in," said Mr. Fabian, as he hurried out to the carriage. All his interview with the housekeeper had not occupied two minutes, but Cora was pale with suspense and anxiety.

"How is he?" she panted.

"Unconscious, my poor girl. Oh, Cora! come in!"

"No, no; I must not. Not until he permits me. I will stop at the ferryman's cottage. Oh, if he should recover consciousness—oh, Uncle Fabian, ask him to let me come to him, and send me word."

"Yes, yes; I will do it. I must go to him now. Charles," he said, turning to the coachman, "drive Mrs. Rothsay down to the ferry house, and then take the carriage to the stables."

And then, with a grave nod to Corona, Mr. Fabian re-entered the house. The coachman drove the carriage down to the ferryman's cottage and drew up. The door was open and the cottage was empty.

"Boat on t'other side, ma'am," said Charles.

"For the doctor, I suppose—and hope," said Corona, looking across the river, and seeing a gig with two men coming on to the ferryboat.

She watched from the door of the ferryman's cottage while Charles drove off the empty carriage toward the stables and the two ferrymen poled their boat across the river. She retreated within the house before the boat touched the land, for she knew that the doctor, if he should see her there, would wonder why she was not at her grandfather's bedside, and perhaps—as he was an old friend—he might ask questions which she would find it embarrassing to answer. The boat touched the shore; the gig, containing the doctor and Mr. Clarence, rolled off the boat on along the drive leading to the house.

Meanwhile Mr. Fabian had re-entered the hall and hurried up to his father's room. He found the Iron King in bed, lying on his right side and breathing heavily. His eyes were half closed.

"Father," said the son, in a low voice, taking his hand and bending over him.

There was no response.

"It ain't no use, Marster Fabe. Yer can't rouse him, do wot yer will. Better wait till de doctor come, young marse. I done been tried all I knowed how, but it wa'n't no use," said Martha, who stood on the other side of the bed watching her insensible master.

"Tell me when this happened. Come away to the upper end of the room and tell me about it."

"Might's well tell yer right here, marse. 'Twon't sturve him. Lor! thunder wouldn't sturve him, the way he is in."

"Then tell me, how was it? When was he stricken?"

"We don't know, marse. He was found jes' dis way by John dis mornin'—not jes zackly dis way, howaseber, case he was a-layin' on his lef side, w'ich was berry bad; so me an' John turn him ober jes so like he is a-layin' now. Den we sent right off for you, marse, to ketch yer at home 'fore yer went to de works."

"Did he seem well when he came home last night?'

"Jes 'bout as ujual, marse. He came in, an' John he waited on him. An he ax, ole marse did, 'was Mrs. Rossay gone?' W'ich John tole him she were. Den he ordered dinner to be fotch up. An' John he had a pitcher ob hot punch ready. An' ole marse drank some. Den he went in to dinner all by hisself. An' young Mark he waited on de table, w'ich he tell me, w'en I ax him dis mornin', how de ole marse eat much as ujual, wid a good relish. Den arter dinner he went to de liberairy and sot dere a long time. Ole John say it were midnight 'fo' de ole marse walk up stairs an' call him to wait on him."

"Was John the last one who saw my father before he was found unconscious this morning?"

"Hi! yes, young marse, to be sure he were. De las' to see de ole marse in healt' las' night, an' de firs' to fine him dis way dis mornin'."

"How came he to find his master in this condition?"

"It was dis way. Yer know, young marse, as dere is two keys to ole marser's do', w'ich ole marse keeps one in his room to lock hisse'f in, an' John keeps one to let hisse'f in wen de ole marse rings for him in de mornin'."

"Yes; I know."

"Well, dis mornin' de ole marse didn't ring at his ujual hour. An' de time passed, an' de breakfast were ready an' spilin'. So I tole John how he better go up an' see if ole marse was well, how maybe he didn' feel like gettin' up an' might want to take his breakfas' in bed. But Lor! I nebber participated sich a sarious 'tack as dis. Well, den, John he went an' rapped soft like. But he didn't get no answer. Den he rap little louder. But still no answer. Den John he got scared, awful scared. Las' John he plucks up courage, an' unlocks de do', slow an' saf', an' goes in on tiptoe to de bedside, an'—an'—an'—dis yer is wot he seen. He t'ought his ole marse were dead sure, an' he come howlin' an' tumblin' down to me, an' tole me so, an' I called young Mark to follow me, case ole John wa'n't no good, an' I run up yere, an'—an'—an' dis yer is wot I foun'! O'ly he were a layin' on his lef side, an' I see he were breavin' an' I turn' him ober on his right, an' did all I could for him, an' sent John arter you."

"I wish the doctor would come," said Mr. Fabian, anxiously, as he took his father's hand again and tried to feel the pulse.

The door opened very quietly, and Clarence came into the room. Fabian beckoned him to approach the bed.

"How is he?" inquired the younger man.

"As you see! He was found in this condition by his servant this morning. He has shown no sign of consciousness since," replied the elder.

"The doctor is below. Shall he come up now?"

"Certainly."

Clarence left the room and soon returned with the physician. After a very brief examination of pulse, temperature, the pupils of the eyes of the patient, prompt measures were taken to relieve the evident pressure on the brain. The doctor bled the sufferer, who presently opened his eyes, and looked slowly around his bed. His two sons bent over him.

He tried to speak.

They bent lower still to listen.

After several futile efforts he uttered one word:

"Cora."

"Yes, father—she is here. Go, Clarence, and fetch her at once. She is at the ferryman's cottage."

The last sentence was added in a low whisper. Clarence immediately left the room to do his errand. A few minutes later the door opened softly, and Clarence re-entered the room with Cora.

Mr. Fabian went to meet her, saying softly:

"He has called for you, my dear! The only word he has spoken since he recovered consciousness was your name."

"So Uncle Clarence told me," she said, in a broken voice.

"Come to him now," said Fabian, leading her to the bedside.

She sank on her knees and took the hand of the dying man and kissed it, pleading:

"Grandfather, dear grandfather, I love you. I am grieved at having offended you. Will you forgive me—now?"

He made several painful efforts to answer her, before he uttered the few disconnected words:

"Yes—forgive—you—Cora."

She bathed his hand with her tears. All on her part also was forgotten now—all the harshness and despotism of years was forgotten now, and nothing was remembered but the gray-haired man, always gray-haired in her knowledge of him, who had protected her orphanage and given her a home and an education. She knelt there, holding his hand, and was presently touched and comforted because the lingers of that hand closed on hers with a loving pressure that they had never given her in all her life before. That was the last sign of consciousness he gave for many hours.

Mr. Fabian took the doctor aside.

"Ought I to send for my wife?" he inquired.

"Yes; I think so," replied the physician.

And the son knew that answer was his father's sentence of death. Not one of the family could be spared from this death bed to go and fetch Violet. So Mr. Fabian went down stairs to the library and wrote a hasty note:

DEAR VIOLET: You offered to come and help to nurse the father, who is sicker than we thought, but with no contagious fever. Come now, dear, and bring baby and nurse, for you may have to stay several days.

FABIAN.

He inclosed this letter in an envelope, sealed and directed it, and took it down to the stable, where he found his own groom Charles in the coachman's room.

"Put the horses to the carriage again, and return to Violet Banks to bring your mistress here. Give her this note. It will explain all," said Mr. Fabian, handing the note to the servant.

He found the same group around the death bed. Clarence and the doctor standing on the left side, Cora kneeling by the right side, still holding the hand of the dying man, whose fingers were closed upon hers and whose face was turned toward hers, but with "no speculation" in it. Two hours passed away without any change. The sound of wheels without could be heard through the profound stillness of the death chamber. Mr. Fabian again left the room to receive his wife.

He met Violet in the hall, just as old John had admitted her. She was closely followed by the nurse and the child.

"How is father?" she inquired.

"He is very ill, my dear, but resting quietly just at present. Here is Martha; she will take you to your room and make you and the baby comfortable. Then, as soon as you can, come to the father's chamber; you know where to find it," said Mr. Fabian, who feared to shock his sensitive wife by telling her that he was sinking fast, and thought that it would be safer to let her come into the room and join the group around the bed, and gradually learn the sad truth by her own observation.

"Yes; I can find my way very well," answered Violet, as she handed her bag, shawl, and umbrella to Martha, and followed the housekeeper up stairs, with the nurse and baby.

Mr. Fabian returned to the chamber of the dying man, around whose bed the group remained as he had left it, and where in a very few minutes he was joined by Violet. She entered the room very softly, so that her approach was not heard until she reached the bedside. Then she took and silently pressed the hands that were silently held out by Cora, and finally she knelt down beside her.

More hours passed; no one left the sick room, for no one knew how soon the end might come. Old John thoughtfully brought in a waiter of refreshments and set it down on a side table for any one who might require it.

Day declined. Through the front windows of the death room the western sky could be seen, dark, lowering, and stormy. A long range of heavy clouds lay massed above the horizon, obscuring the light of the sinking sun, but leaving a narrow line of clear sky just along the top of the western ridge.

Presently a singularly beautiful effect was produced. The sun, sinking below the dark cloud into the clear gold line of sky, sent forth a blaze of light from the mountain heights, across the river, and into the chamber of death! Was it this sudden illumination that kindled the fire of life in the dying man into a last expiring flame, or was it indeed the presence of a spiritual visitant, visible only to the vanishing spirit? Who can tell?

Suddenly old Aaron Rockharrt opened his eyes—those great, strong black eyes that had ever been a terror to the evil doer—and the well doer also—and stared before him, held up his hands and exclaimed:

"Deborah! Deborah!"

And then he dropped his arms by his side, and with a long, deep-drawn sigh fell asleep. The name of his old wife was the last word upon his dying lips.

No one but the doctor knew what had happened. He bent over the lifeless shell, gazed on the face, felt the pulse, felt the heart, and then stood up and said:

"All is over, my dear friends. His passage has been quite painless. I never saw an easier death."

And he drew up the sheet over the face of the dead.

Although all day they had hourly expected this end, yet now they could not quite believe that it had indeed come.

The huge, strong man, the rugged Iron King—dead? He who, if not as indestructible as he seemed, was at least constituted of that stern stuff of which centenarians are made, and whom all expected should live far up into the eighties or nineties—dead? The father who had lived over them like some mighty governing and protecting power all their lives, necessary, inevitable, inseparable from their lives—dead?

"Come, my dear," said Mr. Clarence, gently raising Corona and leading her away. "You have this to console you: he died reconciled to you, holding your hand in his to the last."

"Ah, dear Uncle Clarence, you have much more to console you, for you never failed even once in your duty to him, and never gave him one moment of uneasiness in all your life," replied Corona, as she left him in front of her old room.

She entered and shut the door and gave way to the natural grief that overwhelmed her for a time.

When she was sufficiently composed she sat down and wrote to her brother, informing him of what had occurred, and telling him that she still held her purpose of going out to him with the Nevilles.



CHAPTER XXXII.

"SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI."

If old Aaron Rockharrt, the Iron King, had never been generally loved, he was certainly very highly respected by the whole community. The news of his sudden death fell like a shock upon the public. Preparations for the obsequies were on the grandest scale.

They occupied two days. On the first day there were funeral services at Rockhold, performed by the Rev. Luke Melville, pastor of the North End Mission Church, and attended by all the neighboring families, as well as by all the operatives of the works. After these were over, the whole assembly, many in carriages and many more on foot, followed the hearse that carried the remains to the North End railway depot, where the coffin was placed in a special car prepared for its reception, and, attended by the whole family, it was conveyed to the State capital and deposited in the long drawing room of the Rockharrt mansion, where it remained until the next day. On the second day funeral services were held at the town house by the bishop of the diocese, assisted by the rector of the church of the Lord's Peace, and attended by a host of the city friends of the family.

After these services the long funeral procession moved from the house to the cemetery of the Lord's Peace, where the body was laid in the Rockharrt vault beside that of his old wife.

On the return of the family to the house they assembled in the library to hear the reading of the will of Aaron Rockharrt, which had been brought in by his solicitor, Mr. Benjamin Norris.

There were present, seated around the table, Fabian, Violet, and Clarence Rockharrt, Cora Rothsay, the doctor and the lawyer. Standing behind these were gathered the servants of the family.

Mr. Norris blew his nose, cleared his throat, put on his spectacles, opened the will and proceeded to read it.

The testament may be briefly summed up as follows:

First there were handsome legacies left to each of the old servants. One full half of the testator's vast estate was left to his elder son, Fabian; one quarter to his younger son, Clarence; and one quarter to be divided equally between his grandson, Sylvan Haught, and his granddaughter, Corona Rothsay.

Fabian was appointed sole executor.

The lawyer folded up the document and handed it to Fabian Rockharrt.

"Clarence, old boy, I hardly think this is altogether fair to you," said Fabian, good naturedly, and ready to deceive him into the delusion that he had not schemed for this unequal division of the enormous wealth.

"It is all right, Fabian. Altogether right. You are the eldest son, and now the head of the firm, and you have ten times over the business brains that I have. I am perfectly satisfied, and even if I were not, I would not dream of criticising my father's will," replied Clarence, with perfect good humor and sincerity.

The legacies were promptly paid by Fabian Rockharrt. Mr. Clarence decided to remain as his brother's junior partner in the firm that was henceforth to be known as "Aaron Rockharrt's Sons," and to leave all his share of the money invested in the works.

When Corona was asked when and how she would receive her own, she also declared that she would leave it for the present where it was invested in the works, and the firm might pay her legal interest for its use, or make her a small silent partner in the business. Sylvan had yet to be consulted in regard to the disposal of his capital.

The month of October was in its third week. It was high time for Corona to go to Washington and make the acquaintance of the Nevilles, if she wished to go to travel west under their protection. She had several times spoken of this purpose in the presence of Violet, so as to accustom that emotional young woman to the idea of their separation. But Violet, absorbed in her grief for the dead, paid but little attention to Corona's casual remarks.

At the end of a few days Fabian Rockharrt began to talk about going back to Violet Banks, and invited Corona to accompany his wife and himself to their, pleasant country home.

It was then that Corona spoke decisively. She thanked him for his invitation and reminded him of her unalterable resolution to go out to Fort Farthermost to join her brother.

When Fabian Rockharrt tried to combat her determination, she informed him that she had during the funeral week received a joint letter from Captain and Mrs. Neville, inviting her to join their party to the frontier. This letter had been written at the suggestion of the colonel of Captain Neville's regiment, and had not been mentioned or even answered until after the funeral. She said that she had accepted this kind invitation, and had forwarded all her baggage, which had been so long stored at North End, to Washington to wait her arrival in that city.

"Very well, then," said Fabian. "If you are set upon this expedition, I cannot hinder you, and shall not try to do so. But I tell you what I will do. I will take Violet to Washington with you, and get rooms at some pleasant house before the rush of winter visitors. We shall not be able to go into general society, but there is a great plenty of sightseeing in the national capital with which to divert the mind of my poor little girl. Her old guardians, the Pendletimes, are there also, and it will comfort her to see them. With them she will be able to let you depart without breaking her poor little heart."

"Oh, Uncle Fabian, I am so glad you have thought of this! It will be so good for Violet. She has had a sad time since her home-coming. She needs a change," said Corona, eagerly.

"I think she will be very much pleased with the plan. Now, Cora, when do you wish to go?"

"As soon as possible; but since you are so kind as to accompany me, my wish must wait on yours, Uncle Fabian."

"Let us go and consult Violet," said Fabian Rockharrt, rising and leading the way to the nursery, which had been hastily fitted up for the accommodation of the Rockharrt baby and her nurse, and where he felt sure of finding the young mother, too.

Violet, when told of the scheme to go immediately to Washington and see her old friends, was more than "pleased;" she was delighted. To show her baby to her more than mother, as she often called Mrs. Pendletime, would fill her soul with pride and joy.

Very early the next morning Mr. Fabian and his party left the city by the express train en route for the national capital, leaving Mr. Clarence to go to North End and take charge of the works. They reached Baltimore at 11 p.m., and remained over night. The next day they went on to Washington, where they arrived about noon, and went directly to the hotel where Captain and Mrs. Neville were staying.

Violet, very much fatigued, lay down to rest and to get her baby to sleep at her bosom. Mr. Fabian, as we must continue from habit to call him, though his rightful style was now Mr. Rockharrt, went down to the reading room to send his own and his wife's cards to Chief Justice and Mrs. Pendletime, and to collect Washington gossip.

Corona changed her traveling dress, went down into the ladies' parlor, and sent her card to the rooms of the Nevilles. And presently there entered to her a very handsome middle-aged pair.

The captain was a fine, tall, broad-shouldered, soldierly-looking man, with a bald head and a gray mustache. He was clothed in a citizen's morning suit. The captain's wife was also rather tall, slender, dark complexioned, with a thin face, black eyes, and black hair very slightly touched with gray, which she wore in ringlets over her ears, and in a braid behind her neck. Her dress was a plain, dark cashmere, with white cuffs and collar.

"It is very kind of you to take charge of me," said Corona to Mrs. Neville, as the three seated themselves on a group of chairs near together.

"My dear, I am very glad to have your company, as well on the long and dreary journey over the plains as at that distant frontier fort. You will find life at the fort with your brother a severe test to your affection for him," said Mrs. Neville, with her rather doubtful smile.

"You have some experience of life at Fort Farthermost?" remarked Corona pleasantly.

"No; not at that particular fort. We have never been quite so far as that yet. It is a new fort—an outpost really on the extreme southwestern frontier, as I understand. We shall have to cross what used to be called the Great American Desert to reach it. We go first to Leavenworth, and, of course, the journey to Leavenworth is easy enough. But from Leavenworth the long, tedious traveling by army wagons over the plains and through the wilderness to the southwestern forts will try your endurance, my dear."

"Come, come!" said the captain, heartily; "it is not all unmitigated dreadfulness. To be sure we have no railroads through the wilderness, no fine city hotels to stay at; but, then, there are some few forts along the line of travel, where we can stop a day or two to rest, and have good sport. And when we have no fort at the end of a day's journey, it is not very awful to bivouac under the shelter of some friendly rock or in the thicket of some forest. The wagons by day make good couches by night; and as for the bill of fare, a haunch of venison from a deer shot by some soldier on the road, and cooked on a fire in the open air, has a very particularly fine flavor. All civilized condiments we carry with us. As for amusements, though we have no theaters or concerts, yet there is always sure to be some fellow along who can sing a good song, and some other fellow who can tell a good story. I rather think you will enjoy the trip as a novelty, Mrs. Rothsay. I observe that most young people do."

"I really think I shall enjoy it," assented Corona.

"I hope that you will be able to endure it, my dear," added Mrs. Neville.

"You see the journey is no novelty to my wife, Mrs. Rothsay. She has spent all her married life on the frontier. Thirty years ago, my dear lady, I received my first commission as second lieutenant in the Third Infantry, and was ordered to Okononak, Oregon. I married my sweetheart here, and took her with me, and she has been with me ever since; for we both agreed that anything was better than separation. We have raised children, and they have married and left us, and we have never been parted for a week. We have lived on the frontier, and know every fort from the confines of Canada to those of Mexico. We have lived among soldiers, savages, pioneers, scouts, border ruffians, wild beasts, and venomous reptiles all the days of our married life. What do you think of us?"

"I think it is unjust that some military officers have to vegetate all their days in those wilds of the West, while others live for all that life is worth in the Eastern centers of civilization."

"Bless you, my dear, we don't vegetate. If nothing else should rouse our souls the Indians would, and make it lively for us, too! It is not an unpleasant life, upon the whole, Mrs. Rothsay; but you see we are growing old, and my wife is tired of it, that is all."

"How soon shall we leave for the West?" inquired Corona.

"How soon can you be ready, my dear young lady?"

"I am quite ready now."

"Then on Monday, I think. What do you say, Mrs. Neville?" inquired the captain.

"Monday will do," replied the wife.

"Now here are some people coming in to interrupt us," said the captain in a vexed tone.

Corona looked up and said:

"They are Chief Justice and Mrs. Pendletime, come to call on their late ward, Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt. You know them?"

"Not a bit of it. So if you please, my dear, we will retire at once and leave you to receive them, especially as we are both engaged to dine at the arsenal this afternoon," said the captain; and he arose, and with his wife withdrew from the parlor.

Cora went forward to receive the new visitors. They both greeted her very warmly, and then expressed the deepest sympathy with her in her sorrow at the loss of her grandfather, and made many inquiries for the particulars of his illness.

When Corona had answered all their questions, and they had again expressed their sympathy, she inquired:

"Have you sent for Violet? Does she know you are here? If not, I will go and call her."

"Oh, yes; the servant took up our card. And here she comes! And the baby in her arms, by all that is beautiful!" said Mrs. Pendletime, as she arose to meet her favorite, and took the infant from the fond mother and covered both with caresses.

"To think of my child coming to a hotel instead of directly to my house!" said the elder lady, reproachfully.

"But I wished to stay a day or two with Corona before she leaves for the West. And after I meant to go to you and stay as long as you would let me," Violet replied.

"Mrs. Rothsay going West!" exclaimed the old lady.

"Yes; she is," said Violet, emphatically and impatiently. And then there ensued more explanations, and exclamations, and remonstrances.

And finally Mrs. Pendletime inquired:

"And when do you leave on this fearful expedition, my dear?"

"On Monday next I go, with Captain and Mrs. Neville," replied Corona.

"Well, I am truly sorry for it; but, of course, I cannot help it. On Monday, therefore, after your friend has taken leave of you, you will remove to my house, Violet?"

"Oh, yes; the thought of going to you is the only comfort I have in parting from Corona," replied Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

CORONA'S DEPARTURE.

On the Sunday following her arrival in Washington, the last day of her sojourn in the capital, the day before her departure for the frontier, Corona Rothsay rose early in the morning, and soon as she was dressed went down to the ladies' parlor. Neither her uncle nor his young wife had yet left their rooms. In fact, so early was it that none of the ladies staying in the house had yet come down to the parlor. The place was vacant.

Corona went up the long room and sat down by one of the front windows, to look down on the passing life of the avenue below.

While she sat looking out of the window she heard a movement at the lower end of the room. Some one entered and sat down to wait. And some one else went out again. Corona never turned round to see who was there. She continued to look through the window. She was not interested in the comers and goers into and out of the hotel.

Presently some one came in again and said:

"Mrs. Rothsay is not in her room, sir."

"Then I will wait here until she can be found," replied the new comer in a familiar voice.

But then Corona started up and rushed down the length of the room, crying eagerly:

"Uncle Clarence! Oh, Uncle Clarence! Is this you? Is this indeed you? I am so glad to see you once more before I go! I had thought never to see you again! Or, at least, not for many years! And here you are!"

He caught the hands she held out as she reached him, drew her to his bosom and kissed her as he answered:

"Yes, my dear, it is I, your old bachelor uncle, who was not satisfied with the leave taking on last Thursday, but longed to see you again before your departure."

"You dear Uncle Clarence!"

"So yesterday afternoon I telegraphed to Fabian to ask him when you were to start for the West. He telegraphed back that you expected to leave Washington on Monday morning. I got this answer about five o'clock in the afternoon. And, as it was Saturday night and I had a clear day, the blessed Sabbath, before me, I only waited to close the works at six o'clock, as usual, and then I hurried away, packed a carpet bag and caught, by half a minute, the six-thirty express for Baltimore and Washington, and came straight through! It was a twelve hours' journey, my dear, without stopping except to change cars, which connected promptly, and so you see I have lost no time! I have just arrived, and did not have to wait five minutes even to see you, for you were here to receive me! And now that I am here, my dear, I shall stay to see you off with the Nevilles. You go to-morrow, as I understand? There has been no change in the programme?"

"We go to-morrow, Uncle Clarence," replied Corona, in a grave, sorrowful tone, for she was sympathizing with him.

"By what train, my child?"

"The eight-thirty express, Baltimore and Ohio Railroad."

"Then I need not part with you here in Washington. Our routes are the same for some hundred miles. I shall travel with you as far as the North End Junction, and take leave of you there. That will be seeing the very last of you, up to the very last minute."

Just at this moment Mr. Fabian entered the parlor, and recognizing his younger brother and junior partner, approached him with a shout:

"Clarence! by all that's magical! Pray, did you rise from the earth, or fall from the skies, that I find you here?"

"How do you do, Fabian? I came in the most commonplace way you can imagine—by the night express train—and have only just now arrived," replied Mr. Clarence.

"And how goes on the works?" inquired Fabian Rockharrt.

"Admirably."

"Glad to hear it. And what brought you here, if it is a civil question?"

"It isn't a civil question, but I'll answer it all the same. I came to see Cora once more, to spend the last Sabbath with her and to accompany her as far on the journey to-morrow as our way runs together, which will be as far as the North End Junction."

"And you will not reach North End before Monday night! A whole day lost at the works, Clarence! Ah! it is well you have me to deal with instead of the father—Heaven rest his soul!"

"See here, Fabian," said Mr. Clarence, "for a very little more I will go with Cora all the way to Fort Farthermost, as her natural protector and helper in her missionary work. What, indeed, have I to keep me here in the East since the father left us? Nothing whatever. You have your wife and child; I have no one. Cora is nearer to me than any other being."

"Come! Come down to breakfast. You have been traveling all night without food, I feel sure; and fasting and vigils never were means of grace to a Rockharrt. Come!" said Mr. Fabian, with a laugh.

"I must get a room and go to it first. Look at me!" said Clarence.

"You do look like the ash man or blacksmith, certainly. Well, come along; we'll go to the office and get a room, and then you can get some of that dust off you. It won't take ten minutes. After that we will go to breakfast."

The brothers left the parlor together.

The next moment Violet entered it, and bade good morning to Corona, who in turn told her of the new arrival.

"Clarence! Oh, I am so glad! What an addition he will be to our party, Cora, especially after you have left us, my dear, when we shall miss you so sadly," said Violet.

Cora made no reply. She disliked to tell Violet that she, Violet, would lose the society of Clarence at the same time that she would lose that of herself, as her uncle was to leave Washington by the same train.

While they were still talking the two brothers re-entered the parlor.

When Fabian demanded whether they were ready to go down to breakfast, and received a satisfactory answer, he drew the arm of his wife within his own, and led the way down stairs. Clarence and Corona followed. When they entered the breakfast saloon, the polite waiter came forward and ushered them to a table at which Captain and Mrs. Neville were already seated. Morning greetings were exchanged, and Mr. Clarence was introduced and welcomed.

After breakfast all the party went to church.

Then Clarence and Corona spent the afternoon together at one end of the long parlor, which was so long and had so many recesses that half a dozen separate groups might have isolated themselves there, each without fear of their conversation being overheard by the others.

All the members of our party sat up late that evening to eke out the time they might spend together before parting. It was after midnight when they retired.

The travelers met at an early breakfast the next morning. Their baggage had been sent on and checked in advance. They had nothing to do but make the most of the few remaining minutes.