"THE PEACE OF GOD WHICH PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING."
In the late dawn of that dark winter day Mr. Clarence came down into the parlor, and found Cora still there, with one gas jet burning low.
"Up so early, my dear child?" he said, as he took her hand and gave her the good morning kiss.
"I have not been in bed," she replied.
"Not in bed all night! That was wrong. How cold your hands are? Go to bed now, dear."
"I cannot. I do not wish to."
"My poor, doubly bereaved child, how much I feel for you!" he said, in a tender tone, and still holding her hand.
"Do not mind me, Uncle Clarence. I do not feel for myself. I am numb. I feel nothing—nothing," she replied.
Mr. Clarence, still holding her hand, led her to a large easy chair, and put her in it.
Then he went and rang the bell.
"Tell the cook to make a strong cup of coffee as quickly as she can, and bring it up here to Mrs. Rothsay," he said to the man who answered the call.
The latter touched his forehead and left the room.
Mr. Clarence had tact enough not to worry his niece with any more words. He went and opened one of the front windows to look out upon the wintry morning. The ground was covered very deeply with the snow, which was now falling so thickly as to obscure every object.
When the servant entered with the coffee, Mr. Clarence himself took it from the man's hand, and carried it to his niece and persuaded her to drink it.
The servant meanwhile, mindful of the proprieties, when he saw the front window open, went and closed it, and then passed down the room and opened both the back windows, which gave sufficient light to the whole area of the apartment.
Finally he turned off the gas, and taking up the empty coffee service, left the room.
Presently after Mr. Fabian came in, and greeted his niece and his brother in a grave, muffled voice.
A little later breakfast was served.
"Some one should go up to see if grandpa will have anything sent to him. Will you, Uncle Fabian?" inquired Cora, as they seated themselves at the table.
Mr. Fabian left his chair for the purpose, but before he had crossed the room they heard the heavy footsteps of the Iron King coming down the stairs.
He entered the dining room, and all arose to receive him. He came up and shook hands with each of his sons in turn and in silence. Then he took his place at the table. The three younger members of the family looked at him furtively, whenever they could do so without attracting his attention, and, perhaps, awakening his wrath.
Some change had come over him, but not of a softening nature. His hard, stern, set face was, if possible, more stony than ever.
Neither Mr. Clarence nor Cora dared to speak to him; but Mr. Fabian, feeling the silence awkward and oppressive, at length ventured to say:
"My dear father, in this our severe bereavement—"
But he got no further in his speech. Old Aaron Rockharrt raised his hand and stopped him right there, and then said:
"Not one word from any one of you to me or in my presence on this event, either now or ever. It happened in the course of nature. Drop the subject. Fabian, how are matters going on at the works?"
"I do not know, sir," replied Mr. Fabian, speaking for the first and last and only time, abruptly and indiscreetly to his despotic father.
But the Iron King took no notice of the words, nor did he repeat the question. He drank one cup of coffee, ate half a roll, and then arose and left the table, without a word. He did not return to his dead wife's chamber, which he probably knew would now have to be given up to dressers of the dead and to the undertakers.
He went and locked himself in the library, and was seen no more that day.
Cora, with her woman's intuition, understood the accession of hardness that was worn as a mask to conceal grief and remorse.
"Be patient with him, Uncle Fabian. He is your father, after all. And he suffers! Oh, he suffers! Yes; much more than any of us do," she said.
"Do you think so, Cora?" inquired Mr. Fabian, looking at her in surprise.
"I know he does," she answered.
"Well, he has good reason to!" concluded Mr. Fabian. Then, after a pause, he added: "But I am sorry I spoke roughly to my father! I will make it up to him, or try to do so, by extra deference."
Then they all arose from the table.
Mr. Fabian and Mr. Clarence to attend to the business of the mournful occasion, which Old Aaron Rockharrt, in his proud, reserved, absorbed sorrow, seemed to have ignored or forgotten.
Cora stepped away to her grandmother's room, to have a quiet hour beside the beloved dead before the undertaker should come in and take possession.
"It is only her body that is dead, I know. But the hands had caressed me and the lips kissed me; and, right or wrong, I love that body as well as the heavenly soul that lived within it! The flesh cleaves to the flesh. And so long as we are in the flesh we will, we must, haunt the shrines that contain the bodies of those we love," she thought, as reverently she entered the chamber of death, closed the door, and went up to the bed whereon lay the tenantless temple in which so lately lived the most loving, the most patient spirit she had ever known!
But what is this! Into what strange sphere of ineffable peace has Cora entered? She could not understand the change that came over her. She had a gentle impulse to close her eyes to all visible matters and yield herself up to the sweetness of this sphere. Her dear one was living, was young again, was happy, was sleeping, watched by angels, who would presently awaken her to the eternal life.
Cora knelt down by the bed and lifted up her heart to the Lord of life in silent, wordless, thoughtless, profoundly quiet aspiration. She did not wish to move or speak, or form a sentence even in her mind. She found her state a strange one, but she did not even wonder at it, so deep was the calm that enveloped her spirit.
Not long had she knelt there in this rapt serenity, when she was conscious that some one was rapping softly at the door. This did not disturb her. She arose from her knees, still in deep peace, went to the door, and said:
"Presently. I will open presently. Wait a moment."
Then she went back to the bed, turned down the sheet, and gazed upon the beloved face. How placid it was, and how beautiful. Death had smoothed every trace of age and care from that little fair old face. She lay as if sleeping, and almost smiling in her sleep—
"As though by fitness she had won
The secret of some happy dream."
Cora stooped and kissed the placid brow, then covered the face, and went to open the door.
The gray-haired old Jason was waiting outside.
"If you please, ma'am, it is the—"
"I know, I know," said Cora, quietly. "Show them in."
And she passed out and went to her own room.
Her front windows were closed; but through the slats of the shutters she saw that it was still snowing fast.
"What a winding sheet this will make for her grave," she thought, as she looked out upon the wintry scene.
There was no wind, the fine white snow fell softly and steadily, giving only the dimmest view of the government house on the opposite side of the square draped in mourning.
The funeral of Mrs. Rockharrt took place on the third day after her death. The snow had ceased, and the winter sun was shining brightly from a clear blue sky on a white world, whose trees wore pendent diamonds instead of green leaves, and as every house in the city was hung in black for the dead governor, the effect of all this glare and glitter and gloom was very weird and strange, as the funeral cortege passed from the Rockharrt home to the Church of the Lord's Peace.
After the rites were over, the family returned to their city home, but only for the night; for preparation had been already completed for their removal to Rockhold, there to pass the year of mourning.
Old Aaron Rockharrt never changed from his look of stony immobility. If he mourned for his patient wife of more than half a century, no outward sign betrayed his feelings. If his spirit suffered with suppressed grief, his strong frame bore up under it without the slightest weakening.
On the afternoon of his return from his wife's funeral he shut himself up in his library and remained there all the evening, refusing to come to dinner, calling for a bottle of wine and a sandwich and desiring afterward to be left alone.
Later in the evening he sent for Mr. Fabian to come to him, and there opened to his eldest son and partner, in whose business talents he had great confidence, a scheme of speculation so venturous, so gigantic that the younger man was shocked and staggered, and began to lose faith in the sound intellect of the Iron King.
"This will make us twice told the wealthiest men in the United States, if not in the whole world," concluded Old Aaron Rockharrt.
"If it should succeed," said Mr. Fabian, dubiously.
"It shall succeed; I say it. We shall go down to Rockhold to-morrow morning and the next day to the works, and there I shall give my whole mind to this matter and make it succeed, do you hear? Make it succeed! And place my name at the head of the list of wealthy men of this age."
Mr. Fabian did not dare to raise any objection.
"I am pleased, sir," he said, "that you find in this new enterprise an object of so much interest to engage your mind. Employ me in any way you think fit. I am quite at your service, as it is my bounden duty to be."
"Very well; that is as it should be. Now I am going to bed. Good night," said the Iron King, abruptly dismissing his son, then rising and ringing for his valet, whose office, since the patient old lady's death, was now no longer a sinecure.
It seems passing strange that a man of seventy-six years, who had just lost his life-long and beloved companion—for in his own selfish way he loved her after a sort, and perhaps more than he loved any human being in the world—and who must expect before many years to follow her, should be so full of this world's avarice and ambition; so eager to make more, and more, and more money, and to stand at the head of the list of all the wealthiest men in the land. Strange, yet the name of such a one is legion. But in the case of Old Aaron Rockharrt there might have been this additional motive—the necessity to seek refuge from the pains of grief and remorse in the anxieties and activities of speculation. So he was very eager to get back as soon as possible to business and to enter at once upon the enterprise he had planned.
Cora was also anxious to leave the city, which she knew was in a fresh ferment of gossip and conjecture on the subject of her lost husband, the deceased governor-elect. The news from the Indian Territory had renewed all the public interest in the mystery of his disappearance.
For some months before this news arrived, the community had settled down to the conviction that the missing governor had been murdered and his body made away with, although, as there was no proof to establish the fact of their theory, there was no thought of inaugurating the lieutenant-governor as chief magistrate of the State.
Yet, now, when the startling news came that the missing statesman had been killed by the Comanches in the wilds of the Indian Reservation, far from any agency, and that he had been living and preaching there as a volunteer missionary for many months before the massacre, the mystery of his sudden and unexplained disappearance from the State capital on the day of his inauguration was not cleared up and made intelligible, but darkened and rendered more inscrutable.
It was easy enough to understand why a missing man might have been lured away from his dwelling by some false letter or plausible message, and murdered in some secret place where his body lay buried in earth or water, for such crimes were not unfrequent.
But that a bridegroom should secretly depart on the evening of his wedding day, that a governor should take flight on the evening before his inauguration, was a course of action only to be explained on the ground of insanity; and yet Regulas Rothsay was always considered one of the most level-headed and mentally well balanced among the rising young statesmen of the country.
Conjecture had once been wild as to the cause of his disappearance—had he been murdered, or kidnapped, or both? Those were the questions then.
Conjecture was now rampant as to the cause of his sudden flight and self expatriation to the Indian Territory. Had he suddenly gone mad? Or committed a capital crime which was on the eve of discovery? These were the questions now.
Every newspaper was full of the problem, which none but one could solve, and she was bound to secrecy.
But it gave her inexpressible pain to know that his motives and his character were being discussed and censured for that course of conduct for which only herself was to be blamed, and which only she could explain. A word from her would show him in a very different light before his critics. But she must not speak that word to save his reputation.
So Cora was anxious to leave the city.
The next morning the whole family set out on their return journey to Rockhold, where they arrived early in the afternoon. They found everything in good order, for Cora had taken the precaution to write to the housekeeper, and warn her of the return of the family.
The grief of the servants for the loss of their kind and gentle old mistress broke out afresh at the sight of the young lady. And it was long before the latter could soothe and quiet them.
Fortunately Mr. Rockharrt had gone at once to his room, and so he escaped annoyance from their loud lamentations, and they escaped stern rebuke for their want of self-control.
The two young Rockharrts had left the family party at North End, to inspect the condition of the works, and were to remain there overnight. Old Aaron Rockharrt, Sylvanus Haught, and Cora Rothsay were, therefore, the only ones who sat down at the once full dinner table.
The meal passed in almost utter silence, for neither Sylvan nor Cora ventured to address one word to the hard old man who, whenever they had spoken to him since his loss of his wife, had replied in short, harsh words, or not replied at all. The brother and sister, therefore, only spoke in suppressed tones, at intervals, to each other.
After dinner the old man bade them an abrupt good night, and left the room to retire to his own chamber. Cora felt sorry for him, despite all his harshness. She stepped after him and asked:
"Grandfather, can I be of any service to you at all? Help you at your—"
He stopped her by turning and bending his gray brows over the fierce black eyes which fixed her motionless. He stared at her for an instant and then said:
"No. Certainly not," and turned and went up stairs.
Cora walked slowly back into the drawing room, at the open door of which stood Sylvan, who had heard all that passed.
"You had better let the old man alone, Cora. Or you'll have your head bitten off. I don't want to break the fifth commandment by saying anything irreverent of our grandfather, but indeed, indeed, indeed it is as much as one's life, or at least as one's temper, is worth to speak to him," said the young man.
"I never reverenced my grandfather as much as I do now, Sylvan," gravely replied the young lady.
"That is all right! Reverence him as much as you please; but don't go too near the old lion in his present mood. Come and sit down on the sofa by me, sister, and let us have a pleasant talk—"
"Pleasant talk! Oh, Sylvan!"
"Well, then, Cora, dear sister, a cozy, confidential talk. Do you know we have not had one for years and years and years?"
They sat down side by side holding each other's hands in silence for a little while, when Cora said:
"Do you think you will graduate next year, Sylvan?"
"Yes, Cora, certainly."
"And then you will come home for a long visit."
"For a short one, on leave."
"And afterward, Sylvan?"
"Well, afterward I shall be ordered out to 'The Devil's Icy Peak.'"
"What!"
"That was Aunt Cassy's name for all remote parts, you know. 'Devil's Icy Peak,' which in my destination means some remote frontier fort, among hostile Indians, border ruffians, grizzly bears, buffaloes, rattlesnakes, mosquitoes, malaria, and other wild beasts. There is where they send all the new-fledged military officers from West Point, and there they may spend the best part of their lives," said Sylvan.
"Unless they have influence with the higher authorities. If they have such influence, they may be sent to choice posts near the great cities, in reach of all the best society, best libraries, and all the luxuries and advantages of the highest civilization."
"Yes, I know; but—" said the young cadet, hesitatingly.
"You, or rather our grandfather, has influence enough to have you ordered to Washington, New York, Portsmouth—any place."
"Yes, I know; but—"
"But what, Sylvan?"
"Cora, our grandfather's influence is that of wealth—great wealth—and it is a mighty power in this world at this age; but, you see, Aaron Rockharrt would not use it in such a way. He would not consider it honest to do so. Nor would I have it either. No; since the government has given me a free military education, I think it my duty to go exactly wherever they may order me, without attempting to evade orders through the influence of friends or money."
"You are entirely right, dear brother. And I tell you this: Though I must and will remain with my grandfather so long as he shall need me—so long as he shall live—yet, when he departs, if you should be stationed at one of those border posts, I will go out and join you, Sylvan," said Cora Rothsay, taking both his hands and pressing them warmly.
"No, dear sister; you shall not make such a sacrifice for me," he answered.
"But after my aged grandfather, whose days on earth cannot be long, whom have I in this world to live for but you, Sylvan?"
"Other interests in life, I hope, will arise, sister, to give you happiness," he replied.
Cora shook her head, and as the waiter now entered the parlor with the bedroom candles, she lighted one, bade her brother good night, and retired.
The next morning, as but one day of his leave of absence remained, the young cadet bade good-by to his friends, and left Rockhold for West Point, where he arrived the next morning just in time to report for duty, and save his honor.
Old Aaron Rockharrt went up to North End, where his sons awaited him; there to inspect the works, and commence proceedings toward that vast enterprise which the Iron King had planned out while in the city.
And from this day forth. "Rockharrt & Sons" devoted all their energies to this mammoth speculation, while, as the months passed, it grew into huge and huger proportions, and great and greater success.
Old Aaron Rockharrt's spirits rose with the splendor of his fortune.
He was nearly seventy-seven years of age, yet he said to himself, in effect: "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years."
Cora, meanwhile, living a secluded and almost solitary life at Rockhold, occupied herself with a labor of love, in writing the life of her late husband, with extracts from his letters, speeches, and newspaper articles. In doing this her soul seemed once more joined to his.
In this manner the year of mourning passed, and the month of January was at hand.