"A MAD MARRIAGE, MY MASTERS."
When the party met at a late breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Stillwater seemed to have quite recovered her health, and what was still better, in her opinion, her complexion. She was once again a delicately blooming rose. They were still at breakfast when Sylvanus Haught burst in upon them, bowed to his grandfather, bowed to Rose Stillwater, and seized Cora Rothsay around the neck and covered her with kisses, all in a minute and before he spoke a word. Old Aaron Rockharrt glared at him. Rose Stillwater smiled on him. But Cora Rothsay put her arms around his neck and kissed him with tears of pleased affection.
"Well, sir! You have got through," said the Iron King with dignified gravity.
"Yes, sir, got through, 'by the skin of my teeth,' as I might say! And got leave of absence, waiting my commission. Hurrah, Cora! Hurrah, the Rose that all admire! I shall be your cavalier for the next three months at least, and until they send me out to Fort Devil's Icy Peak, to be killed and scalped by the redskins!" exclaimed the new fledged soldier, throwing up his cap.
"Will you have the goodness to remember where you are, sir, and endeavor to conduct yourself with some manner approximating toward propriety?" demanded Mr. Rockharrt, with solemn dignity.
"I beg your pardon, grandfather! I beg your pardon, ladies," said Sylvanus, assuming so sudden and profound a gravity as to inspire a suspicion of irony in the minds of the two women.
But old Aaron Rockharrt understood only an humble and suitable apology.
"Have you breakfasted?" he inquired in a modified tone.
"No, sir; and I am as hungry as a wolf—I mean I took the first train down this morning without waiting for breakfast."
The Iron King, whose glare had cut short the first half of the young man's reply, now rang, and when the waiter appeared, gave the necessary orders.
And soon Sylvanus was seated at the table, sharing the morning meal of his family.
"Now that my brother has joined us shall we leave for North End to-day, grandfather?" inquired Cora, as they all arose from breakfast.
"No; nor need you make any suggestions of the sort. When I am ready to go home, I will tell you. I have business to transact before I leave New York," gruffly replied the family bear.
Rose Stillwater took up one of the morning papers and ran her eyes down column after column, over page after page. Presently she came to the item she was so anxiously looking for:
"The Very Reverend the Dean of Olivet left the city last evening by the steamer Nighthawk for Boston."
With a sigh of relief she laid the paper down.
Mr. Rockharrt came and sat down beside her on the sofa, and began to speak to her in a low voice.
Sylvan, sitting by Cora at the other end of the apartment, began to tell all about the exercises at West Point which she had missed. His voice, though not loud, was clear and lively, and quite drowned the sound of Mr. Rockharrt and Mrs. Stillwater's words, which Cora could see were earnest and important. At last Rose got up in some agitation and hurried out of the room. Then old Aaron Rockharrt came up to the young people and stood before them. There was something so ominous in his attitude and expression that his two grandchildren looked dismayed even before he spoke.
"Sir and madam," he said, addressing the young creatures as if they were dignitaries of the church or state, "I have to inform you that I am about to marry Mrs. Stillwater. The ceremony will be performed at the church to-morrow noon. I shall expect you both to attend us there as witnesses."
Saying which the Iron King arose and strode out of the room.
The sister and brother lifted their eyes, and might have stared each other out of countenance in their silent, unutterable consternation.
Sylvan was the first to find his voice.
"Cora! It is an outrage! It is worse! It is an infamy!" he exclaimed, as the blood rushed to his face and crimsoned it.
Cora said never a word, but burst into tears and sobbed aloud.
"Cora! don't cry! You have me now! Oh! the old man is certainly mad, and ought to be looked after. Cora, darling, don't take it so to heart! At his age, too; seventy-seven! He'll make himself the laughing stock of the world! Oh, Cora, don't grieve so! It does not matter after all! Such a disgrace to the family! Oh, come now, you know, Cora! this is not the way to welcome a fellow home! For any old man to make such a—Oh, I say, Cora! come out of that now! If you don't, I swear I will take my hat and go out to get a drink!"
"Oh, don't! don't!" gasped his sister; "don't you lend a hand to breaking my heart."
"Well, I won't, darling, if you'll only come out of that! It is not worth so much grief."
"I will—stop—as soon as—I can!" sobbed the young woman, "but when I think—of his reverent gray hairs—brought to such dishonor—by a mere adventuress—and we—so powerless—to prevent it, I feel as if—I should die."
"Oh, nonsense; you look at it too gravely. Besides, old men have married beautiful young women before now!" said Sylvan, troubled by his sister's grief, and tacking around in his opinions as deftly as ever did any other politician.
"Yes, and got themselves laughed at and ridiculed for their folly!" sighed Cora, who had ceased to sob.
"Behind their backs, and that did not hurt them one bit."
"Oh, if Uncle Fabian were only here!"
"Why, what could he do to prevent the marriage?"
"I do not know. But I know this, that if any man could prevent this degradation, he would be Uncle Fabian! It would be no use, I fear, to telegraph to Clarence!"
"Clarence!" said Sylvanus with a laugh, "Why he has no more influence with the Iron King than I have. His father calls him an idiot—and he certainly is weakly amiable. He would back his father in anything the old man had set his heart upon. But, Cora, listen here, my dear! You and I are free at present. We need not countenance this marriage by our presence. I, your brother, can take you to another hotel, or take you off to Saratoga, where we can stay until I get my orders, and then you can go out with me wherever I go. There! the Devil's Icy Peak itself will be a holier home than Rockhold, for you."
Cora had become quite calm by this time, and she answered quietly:
"No; you misapprehend me, Sylvan. It was not from indignation or resentment that I cried, and not at all for myself. I grieved for him, the spellbound old man! No, Sylvanus; since we feel assured that no power of ours, no power on earth, can turn him from his purpose, we must do our duty by him. We must refrain from giving him pain or making him angry; for his own poor old sake, we must do this! Sylvan, I must attend his bride to the altar; and you must attend him—as he desired us to do."
"'Desired!' by Jove, I think he commanded! I do not remember ever to have heard his Majesty the King of the Cumberland Mines request anybody to do anything in the whole course of his life. He always ordered him to do it! Well, Cora, dear, I will be 'best' man to the bridegroom, since you say so! I have always obeyed you, Cora. Ah! you have trained me for the model of an obedient husband for some girl, Cora! Now, I am going down stairs to smoke a cigar. You don't object to that, I hope, Mrs. Rothsay?" lightly inquired the youth as he sauntered out of the room.
He had just closed the door when Mrs. Stillwater entered.
She came in very softly, crossed the room, sat down on the sofa beside Cora, and slipped her arm around the lady's waist, purring and cooing:
"I have been waiting to find you alone, dearest. I just heard your brother go down stairs. Mr. Rockharrt has told you, dear?"
"Yes; he has told me. Take your arms away from me, if you please, Mrs. Stillwater, and pray do not touch me again," quietly replied the young lady, gently withdrawing herself from the siren's close embrace.
"You are displeased with me. Can you not forgive me, then?" pleaded Rose, withdrawing her arms, but fixing her soft blue eyes pleadingly upon the lady's face.
"You have given me no personal offense, Mrs. Stillwater."
"Cora, dear—" began Rose.
"Mrs. Rothsay, if you please," said Cora, in a quiet tone.
"Mrs. Rothsay, then," amended Rose, in a calm voice, as if determined not to take offense—"Mrs. Rothsay, allow me to explain how all this came to pass. I have always, from the time I first lived in his house, felt a profound respect and affection for your grandfather—"
"Mr. Rockharrt, if you please," said Cora.
"For Mr. Rockharrt, then, as well as for his sainted wife, the late Mrs. Rockharrt. I—"
"Madam!" interrupted Cora. "Is there nothing too holy to be profaned by your lips? You should at least have the good taste to leave that lady's sacred memory alone."
"Certainly, if you wish; but she was a good friend to me, and I served her with a daughter's love and devotion. In my last visit to Rockhold I also served Mr. Rockharrt more zealously than ever, because, indeed, he needed such affectionate service more than before. He has grown so much accustomed to my services that they now seem vitally necessary to him. But, of course, I cannot take care of him day and night, in parlor and chamber, unless I become his wife—'the Abisheg of his age.' And so, Cora, dear—I beg pardon—Mrs. Rothsay, I have yielded to his pleadings and consented to marry him."
"Mr. Rockharrt has already told me so," coldly replied Cora.
"And, dear, I wish to add this—that the marriage need make no difference in our domestic relations at Rockhold."
"I do not understand you."
"I mean in the family circle."
"Oh! thank you!" said Cora, with the nearest approach to a sneer that ever she made. "I have heard all you have to say, Mrs. Stillwater, and now I have to reply—First, that I give you no credit for any respect or affection that you may profess for Mr. Rockharrt, or for disinterested motives in marrying the aged millionaire."
"Oh, Cora—Mrs. Rothsay!"
"I will say no more on that point. Mr. Rockharrt is old and worn with many business cares. I would not willingly pain or anger him. Therefore, because he wills it, for his sake, not for yours, I will attend you to the altar. Also, if he should desire me to do so, I shall remain at Rockhold until the return of Mr. Fabian Rockharrt."
At the sound of this name Rose Stillwater winced and shivered.
"Then, knowing that his favorite son will be near him, I shall leave him with the freer heart and go away with my brother, withersoever he may be sent. Mr. Fabian is expected to return within a few weeks, and will probably be here long before my brother receives his orders. Now, Mrs. Stillwater, I think all has been said between us, and you will please excuse my leaving you," said Cora, as she arose and withdrew from the room.
Then Rose Stillwater lost her self-command. Her blue eyes blazed, she set her teeth, she doubled her fist, and shaking it after the vanished form of the lady, she hissed:
"Very well, proud madam! I'll pay you for all this! You shall never touch one cent of old Aaron Rockharrt's millions!"
Having launched this threat, she got up and went to her room. Ten minutes later she drove out in a carriage alone. She did not return to luncheon. Neither did Mr. Rockharrt, who had gone down to Wall Street. Sylvan and Cora lunched alone, and spent the afternoon together in the parlor, for they had much to say to each other after their long separation, and much also to say of the impending marriage. During that afternoon many packages and bandboxes came by vans, directed to Mrs. Rose Stillwater. These were sent to her apartment. At dusk Mrs. Stillwater returned and went directly to her room. She probably did not care to face the brother and sister together, unsupported by their grandfather. A few minutes later Mr. Rockharrt came in, looking moody and defiant, as if quite conscious of the absurdity of his position, or ready to crush any one who betrayed the slightest, sense of humor. Then dinner was served, and Rose Stillwater came out of her room and entered the parlor—a vision of loveliness—her widow's weeds all gone, her dress a violet brocaded satin, with fine lace berthe and sleeve trimmings, white throat and white arms encircled with pearl necklace and bracelets; golden red hair dressed high and adorned with a pearl comb. She came in smiling and took her place at the table.
Old Aaron Rockharrt looked up at her in surprise and not altogether with pleasure. Rose Stillwater, seeing his expression of countenance, got a new insight into the mind of the old man whom she had thought she knew so well. During dinner, to cover the embarrassment which covered each member of the small party, Sylvan began to talk of the cadets' ball at West Point on the preceding evening; the distinguished men who were present, the pretty girls with whom he had danced, the best waltzers, and so forth, and then the mischievous scamp added:
"But there wasn't a brunette present as handsome as my sister Cora, nor a blonde as beautiful as my own grandmamma-elect."
When they all left the table, Mrs. Stillwater went to her room, and Mr. Rockharrt took occasion to say:
"I wish you both to understand the programme for to-morrow. There is to be no fuss, no wedding breakfast, no nonsense whatever."
Sylvan thought to himself that the marriage alone was nonsense enough to stand by itself, like a velvet dress, which is spoiled by additions; but he said nothing. Mr. Rockharrt, standing on the rug with his back to the mantlepiece and his hands clasped behind him, continued:
"Sylvan, you will wear a morning suit; Cora, you will wear a visiting costume, just what you would wear to an ordinary church service. Rose will be married in her traveling dress. Immediately after the ceremony we, myself and wife, shall enter a carriage and drive to the railway depot and take the train for Niagara. You two can return here or go to Rockhold or wherever you will. We shall make a short tour of the Falls, lakes, St. Lawrence River, and so on, and probably return to Rockhold by the first of July. I cannot remain long from the works while Fabian is away. Now, am I clearly understood?"
"Very clearly, sir," replied Sylvan, speaking for himself and sister.
"Then, good night; I am going to bed," said the Iron King, and without waiting for a response, he strode out of the room.
"Who ever heard of a man dictating to a woman what she shall wear?" exclaimed Cora.
Sylvan laughed.
"Why, the King of the Cumberland mines would dictate when you should rise from your seat and walk across the room; when you should sit down again; when you should look out of the window, and every movement of your life, if it were not too much trouble. Good night, Cora."
The brother and sister shook hands and parted for the night, each going to his or her respective apartment. Early the next morning the little party met at breakfast. The Iron King looked sullen and defiant, as if he were challenging the whole world to find any objection to his remarkable marriage at their peril. Mrs. Stillwater, in a pretty morning robe of pale blue sarcenet, made very plainly, looked shy, humble, and deprecating, as if begging from all present a charitable construction of her motives and actions. Cora Rothsay looked calm and cold in her usual widow's dress and cap.
Sylvan seemed the only cheerful member of the party, and tried to make conversation out of such trifles as the bill of fare furnished. All were relieved when the party separated and went to their rooms to dress for church. At eleven o'clock they reassembled in the parlor. Mr. Rockharrt wore a new morning suit. He might have been going down to Wall Street instead of to his own wedding. Rose Stillwater wore a navy blue, lusterless silk traveling dress, with hat, veil and gloves to match, all very plain, but extremely becoming to her fresh complexion and ruddy hair. Cora wore her widow's dress of lusterless black silk with mantle, bonnet, veil and gloves to match. Sylvan, like his grandfather, wore a plain morning suit.
"Well, are you all ready?" demanded old Aaron, looking critically upon the party.
"All ready, sir," chirped Sylvan for the others.
"Come, then."
And the aged bridegroom drew the arm of his bride-elect within his own and led the way down stairs and out to the handsome carriage that stood waiting.
He handed her in, put her on the back seat and placed himself beside her.
Sylvan helped his sister into the carriage and followed her. They seated themselves on the front seat opposite the bridal pair.
And the carriage drove off.
"Oh!" suddenly exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, rummaging in the breast pocket of his coat and drawing thence a white envelope and handing it to Sylvan; "here, take this and give it to the minister as soon as we come before him."
The young man received the packet and looked inquiringly at the elder. It was really the marriage fee for the officiating clergyman, and a very ostentatious one also; but the Iron King did not condescend to explain anything. He had given it to his grandson with his orders, which he expected to be implicitly obeyed without question. They reached the church, the same church in which they had heard the dean preach on the previous Sunday. They alighted from the carriage and entered the building, old Aaron Rockharrt leading the way with his bride-elect on his arm, Sylvan and Cora following. The church was vacant of all except the minister, who stood in his surplice behind the chancel railing, and the sexton who had opened the door for the party, and was now walking before them up the aisle.
The church was empty, because this, though the wedding of a millionaire, was one of which it might be said that there was "No feast, no cake, no cards, no nothing."
The party reached the altar railing, bowed silently to the minister, who nodded gravely in return, and then formed before the altar—the venerable bridegroom and beautiful bride in the center, Sylvan on the right of the groom, Cora on the left of the bride. The young man performed the mission with which he had been intrusted, and then the ceremony was commenced. It went on smoothly enough until the minister in its proper place asked the question:
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
There was an awful pause.
No one had thought of the necessity of having a "church father" to give away the bride.
The officiating clergyman saw the dilemma at a glance, and quietly beckoned the gray-haired sexton to come up and act as a substitute. But Sylvan Haught, with a twinkle of fun in his eyes, turned his head and whispered to the new comer:
"'After me is manners of you.'"
Then he took the bride's hand and said mightily:—
"I do."
The marriage ceremony went on to its end and was over. Congratulations were offered. The register was signed and witnessed.
And old Aaron Rockharrt led his newly married wife out of the church and put her into the carriage. Then turning around to his grandchildren he said:
"You can walk back to the hotel. See that the porters send off our luggage by express to the Cataract House, Niagara Falls. They have their orders from me, but do you see that these orders are promptly obeyed. Now, good-by."
He shook hands with Sylvan and Cora, and entered the carriage, which immediately rolled off in the direction of the railway station.
The brother and sister walked back to the hotel together.
"It will be a curious study, Cora, to see who will rule in this new firm. I believe it is universally conceded that when an old man marries a pretty young wife, he becomes her slave. But our honored grandfather has been absolute monarch so long that I doubt if he can be reduced to servitude."
"I have no doubts on the subject," replied his sister.
"I have been watching them. He is not subjugated by Rose. He is not foolishly in love with her, at his age. He likes her as he likes other agreeable accessories for his own sake. I have neither respect nor affection for Rose, yet I feel some compassion for her now. Whatever the drudgery of her life as governess may have been since she left us, long ago, it has been nothing, nothing to the penal servitude of the life upon which she has now entered. The hardest-worked governess, seamstress, or servant has some hours in the twenty-four, and some nook in the house that she can call her own where she can rest and be quiet. But Rose Rockharrt will have no such relief! Do I not remember my dear grandmother's life? And my grandfather really did love her, if he ever loved any one on earth. This misguided young woman fondly hopes to be the ideal old man's darling. She deceives herself. She will be his slave, by day and night seldom out of his sight, never out of his service and surveillance. Possibly—for she is not a woman of principle—she may end by running away from her master, and that before long."
Cora's last words brought them to the "Ladies' Entrance" of their hotel.
"Go up stairs, Cora, and I will step into the office and see if there are any letters," said Sylvan.
Mrs. Rothsay went up into their private sitting room, dropped into a chair, took off her bonnet and began to fan herself, for her midday walk had been a very warm one.
Presently Sylvan came up with a letter in his hand.
"For you, Cora, from Uncle Fabian! There is a foreign mail just in."
"Give it to me."
Sylvan handed her the letter, Cora opened it, glanced over it, and exclaimed:
"Uncle Fabian says that he will be home the last of this month."