"She cried a great deal over the separation from her lad, and she made a confidant of the elderly Irishwoman who was her sole servant.

"After two weeks, Ann began to watch daily for the letter carrier, in hope of getting a letter from Alfred; but day after day, week after week, pa.s.sed and none came. But there came news of the wreck of the Porpoise, which had sailed from New York for London on the very day that Alfred Whyte had left the country--and which had gone down in a storm in mid-ocean with all on board.

"But as numerous ships had left New York on that day bound for various British ports, it was impossible to discover whether the boy was on board, or if he shipped under his own name or an a.s.sumed one.

"Ann cried more than ever for a few days, but then seemed to give up her lad for lost, and to resign herself to the 'inevitable.'

"She wrote to Mr. Alfred Whyte, Senior, but got no reply to her letter; again and again she wrote with no better success. The little balance of money left by her boy-husband was all gone. She began to sell off the trifles of jewelry that he had given her.

"One morning the letter carrier left a letter with a London postmark containing a bill of exchange for a hundred pounds, and not one word besides.

"Had it come from her boy-husband, or from his father? She could not tell.

"Well, to be brief, she never saw nor heard of him again. She lived comfortably with her motherly old servant, enjoyed life thoroughly and grew more beautiful every day, and this fool's paradise lasted as long as her money did. Before her last dollar was gone, she saw the advertis.e.m.e.nt in the _Pursuivant_ for a nursery governess, and answered it, as has been told.

"This, my dear Cora, is the substance of the story told me by Ann White on the day that I called on her in answer to her letter. What do you think of it?" inquired Mr. Fabian when he had finished his narrative.

"I think the cruel neglect of her step-parents and the sufferings of her childhood accountable for all her faults, and I feel very sorry for her, notwithstanding that she seems to be a very heartless animal,"

replied Corona.

"That is the secret of the wonderful preservation of her youth and beauty even up to this present time. Nothing wears a woman out as fast as her own heart."

"You engaged her as you promised to do, but why did you introduce her at Rockhold as a single girl, and why under an alias?" gravely inquired Corona.

"I introduced her as a single girl at her own request because of her extreme youth and her timidity. She naturally shrank from being known as a discarded wife or a doubtful widow. Besides, I never did say she was a single girl. I merely presented her as Rose Flowers, and left it to be inferred from her baby face that she was so."

"But why Rose Flowers when her name was Ann White?"

"What a cross-questioner you are, Corona! but I will answer you. Again it was by her own desire that I presented her as Rose Flowers, which was not an alias, as she explained to me, but a part of her true name. She had been baptized as Rose Anna Flowers, which was the maiden name of her grandmother, her father's mother."

Cora might have asked another question, not so easily answered, if she had known the circ.u.mstances to which it related, namely: why Mr. Fabian had fabricated that false story of the young governess which he palmed upon his parents; but, in fact, Cora, at that time a child seven years old, had never heard of it. But she made another inquiry.

"What became of Rose Flowers after she left us? Did she really go to another place? Who was--Captain Stillwater?"

"Mr. Fabian drove slowly and thoughtfully on without answering her question until she had repeated it. Then he said:

"Cora, my dear, that is a story I cannot tell you. Let it be enough for me to say, the Stillwater episode in the life of this lady is the ground upon which I forbid my wife to visit her and object to my niece a.s.sociating with her."

"Does Violet know the Stillwater story?"

"No; not so much of it even as you have heard. Now, look here, Cora, you think it inconsistent perhaps that I should have brought this woman to Rockhold years ago to become your governess, and now, when she is my father's wife, object to your intimacy with her. In the first instance she has been far, very far, 'more sinned against than sinning;' she had been very imprudent, that was all. She was really the wife, by Scotch law, of the boy she ran away with and then lost. I saw nothing in her case that ought to prevent her entrance into a respectable family, and Heaven knows I pitied her and tried to save her by bringing her to Rockhold. I saved her only for a few years. After she left us--but there, I cannot tell you that story! You must not be intimate with her."

"Yet she is my grandfather's wife!"

"An irreparable misfortune. I can't expose her life to him; such a blow to his pride might be his death, at his age. No! events must take their course; but I hope he will not take her to any place where she is likely to be recognized. Nor do I think he will. He is aging fast, and will be likely to live quietly at Rockhold."

"And I think she also would avoid such risks. She was terribly frightened when she recognized the Dean of Olivet. Was he really her stepfather, the once poor curate?"

"Yes. You see while they were lionizing him in the Eastern cities, his portrait, with a short biographical notice, was published in one of the ill.u.s.trated weeklies, where I read of him, and identified him by comparing notes with what I had heard."

"How came he to rise so high?"

"Oh, he was a learned divine and eloquent orator. He was well connected, too. It would seem that a very few months after his step-daughter's flight he was inducted into that rich living for which he had been waiting so many years. From that position his rise was slow indeed, covering a period of twenty years, until a few months ago, when he was made Dean of Olivet."

"To think that a man capable of quarreling with his wife and ill-using their step-child should fill so sacred a position in the church!"

exclaimed Cora.

"Yes; but you see, my dear, the church is his profession, not his vocation. He is a brilliant pulpit orator, with influential friends; but every brilliant pulpit orator is not necessarily a saint. And as for his quarreling with his wife and ill-using their step-daughter, we have heard but one side of that story."

When they entered the Rockhold drawing room they found Mrs. Rockharrt alone. She arose and came forward and received them with a smile.

"Your grandfather, my dear," she explained to Cora, "came home later than usual from North End, and very much more than usually fatigued.

Immediately after dinner he lay down and I left him asleep."

"Where is Uncle Clarence?" inquired Corona.

"He remains at the works for the night. Will you have this chair, love?"

said Rose, pulling forward a luxurious "sleepy hollow."

"No, thank you. I must go to my room and change my dress. Will you excuse me for half an hour, Uncle Fabian?" inquired Cora.

"Most willingly, my dear," replied Mr. Fabian, with a very pleased look. Cora left the room.

"I will go with you," exclaimed Rose, turning pale and starting up to follow the young lady.

"No. You will not," said Mr. Fabian, in a tone of authority, as he laid his hand heavily on the woman's shoulder. "Sit down. I have something to say to you."

CHAPTER XXII.

FABIAN AND ROSE.

"What do you mean?"

"I should rather ask what do you mean, or rather what did you mean, by daring to marry any honest man, and of all men--Aaron Rockharrt? It was the most audacious challenging of destruction that the most reckless desperado could venture upon." Fabian Rockharrt continued, mercilessly:

"Do you not know what, if Mr. Rockharrt were to discover the deception you put upon him, he might do and think himself justified in doing to you?"

Rose shuddered in silence.

"The very least that he would do would be to turn you out of his house, without a dollar, and shut his doors on you forever. Then what would become of you? Who would take you in?"

"Oh, Fabian!" she screamed at last. "Do not talk to me so. You will frighten me into hysterics."

"Now don't make a noise. For if you do, you will precipitate the catastrophe that you fear. Be quiet, I beg you," said Mr. Fabian, composedly, putting his thumbs in his vest pockets and leaning back.