"Perhaps he did not like to mix up sentiment with business," kindly suggested Sylvan.

"I don't think it was a question of sentiment," sighed Mr. Clarence.

"What? Not his marriage?"

"No," sighed Mr. Clarence.

"Well, don't worry about the matter. Let us order dinner and engage the carriage to take us all to Rockhold. How astonished the darkies will be to see us, and how much more astonished to hear the news we have to tell! I wonder if they will take kindly to the rule of the new mistress?" said Sylvan.

"Why did not one of you have the kindness, and thoughtfulness, to write and tell me of my father's marriage?" sorrowfully inquired Mr. Clarence, utterly ignoring the just spoken words of his nephew.

"Dear Uncle Clarence, I should certainly have written and told you all about it at once, if I had not taken for granted that grandfather had informed you of his intention, as was certainly his place to do. And even if I had written to you on any other occasion, I should a.s.suredly have alluded to the marriage. But, you see, I never wrote to any one while away," Cora explained.

"Now, Uncle Clarence, just take Cora's explanation and apology for both of us, will you, for it fits me as well as it does her? And now you two may keep the ball rolling, while I go out and order dinner and engage the hack," said Sylvan, starting for the office.

When he was gone Clarence asked Cora to give him all the details of the extraordinary marriage, and she complied with his request.

"It will make a country talk," said the young man, with a sigh, which Cora echoed.

"And you say they will be home on the first of July?" he inquired.

"Yes," said Cora.

"I wish I had known in time. I would have had old Rockhold Hall prepared as it should be for the reception of my father's bride, though I do so strongly disapprove the marriage. Do you know, Cora, that old house has never had its furniture renewed within my memory? Some of the rooms are positively mouldy and musty. And whoever heard of a wealthy man like my father bringing his wife home to a neglected old country house like Rockhold, without first having it renovated and refurnished?"

"I do not believe he ever once thought of the propriety or necessity of repairing and refitting. His mind is quite absorbed in his new and vast speculations. He spent every day down in Wall Street while we stayed in New York city."

"Well, Corona, this is the twenty-eighth of June, and we have four days before us; for I do not suppose the newly married pair will arrive before the evening of the first of July; so we must do the best we can, my dear, to make the house pleasant in this short time."

"And Uncle Fabian and his wife will be at Rockhold about the same time," added Cora.

"I knew Fabian would be at North End on the first of July, but I did not know that he would go on to Rockhold. I thought he would go on to their new house. So we shall have two brides to welcome, instead of one."

"Yes. And now, Uncle Clarence, will you please ring for a chambermaid? I must go to a bed room and get some of this railroad dust out of my eyes," said Cora.

At nine o'clock in the very warm evening, the three were sitting near the open windows, when they started at the sound of a hearty, genial voice in the adjoining room, inquiring for accommodations for the night.

"It is Fabian!" cried Mr. Clarence, springing up in joy and rushing out of the room to welcome his only and much beloved brother.

The glad voices of the two brothers in greeting reached their ears, and a moment after the door was thrown open again, and Mr. Clarence entered, conducting Mr. and Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt.

As soon as they found themselves alone, the two brothers took convenient seats to have a talk.

"How goes on the works, Clarence?" inquired Mr. Fabian.

"Very prosperously. You will go through them to-morrow and see for yourself."

"And how goes on the great scheme?"

"Even better than the works. Last reports shares selling at one hundred and thirty."

"Same over yonder. When I left Amsterdam shares selling like hot cakes at a hundred and thirty-one seventenths. How is the governor?" inquired Mr. Fabian.

"As flourishing as a successful financier and septuagenarian bridegroom can be."

"Why!--what do you mean?"

"Haven't you heard the news?"

"What is it? You--you don't mean--"

"Has our father written nothing to you of a very important and utterly unexpected act of his life?"

"No."

"I advised him to marry--"

"You! You! Fabian! You advised our father to do such an absurd thing at his age?"

"I confess I don't see the absurdity of it," quietly replied the elder brother.

"Oh, why did you counsel him to such an act?" inquired Mr. Clarence, more in sorrow than in anger.

"Out of pure good nature. I was getting married myself and wanted everybody to be as happy as I was myself, particularly my old father.

Now I wonder he did not write to me of his happiness; but perhaps he has done so and the letter pa.s.sed me on the sea. When did this marriage take place?"

"On the last day of May."

"Whe-ew! Then there was ample time in which to have written the news to me. And I have had at least half a dozen business letters since the date of his marriage, in any of which he might have mentioned the occurrence had he so chosen. The lady is no longer young. She must be forty-eight, and she is handsome, cultured, dignified and of very high rank. A queenly woman!"

"Do you know whom you are talking about, Fabian?"

"Mrs. Bloomingfield, the lady I recommended, whom father married."

"Oh, indeed; I thought you didn't know what you were talking about or whom you were talking of," said Mr. Clarence.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Our father never accepted your recommendation; never proposed to the handsome, high spirited Mrs. Bloomingfield."

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Fabian. "Whom, then?" "Whom? Whom should he have selected but

"'The Rose that all ad-mi-r-r-?'

"Clarence, what, in the fiend's name, do you mean? Whom has my father married?" demanded Mr. Fabian, starting up and staring at his younger brother.

"Mrs. Rose Flowers Stillwater," replied Mr. Clarence, staring back.

Mr. Fabian dropped back in his chair, while every vestige of color left his face.