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

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

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

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

Cora had yielded to her grandfather's despotic will in going a little into society while they occupied their town house in the State capital.

But she took no pleasure--not the least pleasure--in this.

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

The only life worth living she had lost, or had recklessly thrown away.

Her soul turned, sickened, from all on earth, to seek her lost love through the unknown, invisible spheres.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One very rainy, dismal Sunday they were all at home and in the drawing room. Cora had sat for hours in silence, or replying to Mrs.

Stillwater's frequent attempts to draw her into conversation in brief monosyllables, until at last the visitor arose and left the room, not hurt or offended, as Mr. Rockharrt supposed, but simply tired of staying so long in one place.

But the Iron King turned on his granddaughter and demanded:

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIV.

IN THE WEB.

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

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

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

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

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

Neither spoke or could speak.

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

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

"'Glad life lives on forever.'

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

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

"As you please," coldly replied Cora.

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

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

Mr. Clarence, however, went and opened the piano for her. Then old Mr.

Rockharrt arose, went to the instrument slowly and deliberately, put his youngest son aside, wheeled up the music stool, seated her and then--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So do I, with all my heart."

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

Then Clarence and Corona ceased their whispered conversation.