"I am sure he does."

Cora did not confirm this statement.

Rose made another venture in conversation:

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

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

"At the works?"

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

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

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

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

Old Mr. Rockharrt came in.

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

"Oh, quite, thank you! And when I woke up this morning, I was so surprised and delighted to find myself safe at home! Ah! I beg pardon!

But I spent so many years in this dear old house, the happiest years of my life, that I always think of it as home, the only home I ever had in all my life," said Rose, pathetically, while tears glistened in her soft blue eyes.

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

"Oh, sir, you are so good to me! May heaven reward you! But Mrs.

Rothsay?" she said, with an appealing glance toward Cora.

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

"You see, my dear ex-pupil will not let me serve her in any capacity,"

said Rose, with a piteous glance toward the Iron King.

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

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

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

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

she prattled, as she deftly a.s.sisted him.

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

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

"But it will give you trouble."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

said Rose.

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

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

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

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

"Yes. Just as it used to be in the old times when I was so happy here!

When the dear old lady was here! Ah, me! But I will not think of that.

She is in heaven, as sure as there is a heaven for angels such as she, and we must not grieve for the sainted ones. But I have no letters to write, dear. I have no correspondents in all the world. Indeed, dear Cora, I have no friend in the world outside of this house," said Rose, with a little sigh that touched Cora's heart, compelling her to sympathize with this lonely creature, even against her better judgment.

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

"Fabian?" sweetly replied Rose. "No, dear. I lost the friendship of Mr.

Fabian Rockharrt when I declined his offer of marriage. You refuse a man, and so wound his vanity; and though you may never have given him the least encouragement to propose to you, and though he has not the shadow of a reason to believe that you will accept yet will he take great offense, and perhaps become your mortal enemy," sighed Rose.

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

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

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

Punctually at six o'clock Mr. Rockharrt returned. And the evening pa.s.sed as on the preceding day, with this addition to its attractions: Mrs.

Stillwater went to the piano and played and sang many of Mr. Rockharrt's favorite songs--the old fashioned songs of his youth--Tom Moore's Irish melodies, Robert Burns' Scotch ballads, and a miscellaneous a.s.sortment of English ditties--all of which were before Rose's time, but which she had learned from old Mrs. Rockharrt's ancient music books during her first residence at Rockhold, that she might please the Iron King by singing them.

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