THE SIREN AND THE DESPOT.
That May night was clear and cool. The sky was brilliant with stars, sparkling and flashing from the pure, dark blue empyrean.
In the house it was chilly, so Cora had caused fires to be built in all the grates.
The drawing room at Rockhold presented a very attractive appearance, with its three chandeliers of lighted wax candles, its cheerful fire of sea coal, its warm crimson and gold coloring of carpets and curtains, and its luxurious easy chairs, sofas and ottomans, its choice pictures, books, bronzes and so forth. In the small dining room the table was set for dinner, in the best spare room all was prepared for its expected occupant.
Cora, in her widow's cap and dress, sat in an arm chair before the drawing room fire, awaiting the arrival. Half past eight had been the hour named by her grandfather for their coming. But a few minutes after the clock had struck, the sound of carriage wheels was heard on the avenue approaching the house.
Old Jason opened the hall door just as the vehicle drew up and stopped.
Mr. Rockharrt alighted and then gave his hand to his companion, who tripped lightly to the pavement, and let him lead her up stairs and into the house. Cora stood at the door of the drawing room. Mr. Rockharrt led his visitor up to his granddaughter, and said:
"Mrs. Stillwater is very much fatigued, Cora. Take her at once to her room and make her comfortable; and have dinner on the table by the time she is ready to come down."
He uttered these words in a peremptory manner, without waiting for the usual greeting that should have passed between the hostess and the visitor.
Cora touched a bell.
"Oh! let me embrace my sweet Cora first of all! Ah! my sweet child! You and I both widowed since the last time we met!" cooed Rose, in her most dulcet tones, as she drew Cora to her bosom and kissed her before the latter could draw back.
"How do you do?" was the formal greeting that fell from the lady's lips.
"As you see, dearest—'Not happy, but resigned,'" plaintively replied the widow.
"You quote from a king's minion, I think," said Cora, coldly.
Rose took no notice of the criticism, but tenderly inquired.
"And you, dearest one? How is it with you?"
"I am very well, thank you," replied the lady.
"After such a terrible trial! But you always possessed a heroic spirit."
"We will not speak of that, Mrs. Stillwater, if you please," was the grave reply.
Mr. Rockharrt looked around, as well as he could while old Jason was drawing off his spring overcoat, and said:
"Take Mrs. Stillwater to her room, Cora. Don't keep her standing here."
"I have rung for a servant, who will attend to Mrs. Stillwater's needs," replied the lady, quietly.
The Iron King turned and stared at his granddaughter angrily, but said nothing.
The housemaid came up at this moment.
"Martha, show Mrs. Stillwater to the chamber prepared for her, and wait her orders there."
The negro woman wiped her clean hand on her clean apron—as a mere useless form—and then held it out to the visitor, saying, with the scorn of conventionality and the freedom of an old family servant:
"How do Miss Rose! 'Deed I's mighty proud to see you ag'in—'deed I is! How much you has growed! I mean, how han'some you has growed! You allers was han'some, but now you's han'somer'n ever! 'Deed, honey, you's mons'ous han'some!"
This hearty welcome and warm admiration, though only from the negro servant, helped to relieve the embarrassment of the visitor, who felt the chill of Cora's cold reception.
"Thank you, Aunt Martha," she said, and followed the woman up stairs.
"Why did you not attend Mrs. Stillwater to her room?" sternly demanded the Iron King, fixing his eyes severely on his granddaughter, as soon as the visitor was out of hearing.
"It is not usual to do anything of the sort, sir, except in the case of the guest being a very distinguished person or a very dear friend. My ex-governess is neither. She shall, however, be treated with all due respect by me so long as she remains under your roof," quietly replied Cora.
"You had best see to it that she is," retorted the Iron King, as he stalked up stairs to his own room, followed by his valet.
Cora returned to the drawing room, and seated herself in her arm chair, and put her feet upon her foot-stool, and leaned back, to appearance quite composed, but in reality very much perturbed. Had she acted well in her manner to her grandfather's guest? She did not know. She could not, therefore, feel at ease. She certainly did not treat Mrs. Stillwater with rudeness or hauteur; she was quite incapable of doing so; yet, on the other hand, neither had she treated her ex-governess with kindness or courtesy. She had been calm and cold in her reception of the visitor; that was all. But was she right? After all, she knew no positive evil of the woman. She had only strong circumstantial evidence of her unworthiness. She recalled an old saying of her father's:
"Better trust a hundred rogues than distrust one honest man."
Yet all Cora's instincts warned her not to trust Rose Stillwater.
After all, she could do nothing—at least at present. She would wait the developments of time, and then, perhaps, be able to see her duty more clearly. Meanwhile, for family peace and good feeling, she would be civil to Rose Stillwater. Half an hour passed, and her meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the guest. Mrs. Stillwater seemed determined not to understand coldness or to take offense. She came in, drew her chair to the fire, and spread out her pretty hands over its glow, cooing her delight to be with dear friends again.
"Oh, darling Cora," she purred, "you do not know—you cannot even fancy—the ineffable sense of repose I feel in being here, after all the turbulence of the past year. You read my letter to your dearest grandfather?"
"From that you must have seen to what straits I was reduced. Think! After having sold everything I possessed in the world—even all my clothing, except two changes for necessary cleanliness—to pay my board; after trying in every direction to get honest work to do; I was in daily fear of being told to leave the hotel because I could not pay my board."
"That was very sad! but was it not very expensive—for you—living at the Wirt House? Would it not have been better, under your circumstances, to have taken cheaper board?"
"Perhaps so, dear; but Captain Stillwater had always made his home at the Wirt House when his ship was in port, and had always left me there when his ship sailed, so that I felt at home in the house, you see."
"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Rothsay.
"Oh, my fondly cherished darling—you, loved, sheltered, caressed—you, rich, admired, and flattered—cannot understand or appreciate the trials and sufferings of a poor woman in my position and circumstances. Think, darling, of my condition in that city, where I was homeless, friendless, penniless, in daily fear of being sent from the house for inability to pay my board!"
"I am sorry to hear all this," said Cora. And then she was prompted to add: "But where was Mr. Fabian Rockharrt? He was your earliest friend. He first introduced you to my grandfather. He never lost sight of you after you left us, but corresponded with you frequently, and gave us news of you from time to time. Surely, Mrs. Stillwater, had he known your straits, he would have found some way of setting you up in some business. He never would have allowed you to suffer privation and anxiety for a whole year."
While Cora spoke she fixed her eyes on the face of her listener. But Rose Stillwater was always perfect mistress of herself. Without the slightest change in countenance or voice, she answered sweetly:
"Why, dear love, of course I did write to Mr. Fabian first of all, and told him of the death of my dear husband, and asked him if he could help me to get another situation as primary teacher in a school or as a nursery governess."
"And he did not respond?"
"Oh, yes; indeed he did. He replied very promptly, writing that he had a situation in view for me which would be better suited to my needs than any I had ever filled, and that he should come to Baltimore to explain and consult with me."
"Well?"
"The next day, dear, he came, and—I hate to betray his confidence and tell you."
"Then do not, I beg you."
"But—I hate more to keep a secret from you. In short, he asked me to marry him."
"What!" exclaimed Cora, in surprise and incredulity.
"Yes, my love; that was what he had to explain. The position of his wife was the situation he had to offer me, and which he thought would suit me better than any other I had ever filled."
"When was this proposal made?"
"About five months ago, and about seven months after the death of my dear husband. He said that he would be willing to wait until the year of mourning should be over."
"Oh, that was considerate of him."
"But I was still heart-broken for the loss of my dear husband. I could not think of another marriage at any time, however distant. I told him so. I told him how much I esteemed and respected him and even loved him as a dear friend, but that I could not be faithless to the memory of my adored husband. I was very sorry; for he was very angry. He called me cold, silly and even ungrateful, so to reject his hand. I began to think that it was selfish and thankless in me to disappoint so good a friend, but I could not help it, loving the memory of my sainted husband as I did. I was grieved to hurt Mr. Fabian, though."
"I do not think he was seriously injured. At least I am sure that his wounds healed rapidly; for in a very few weeks afterward he proposed to Miss Violet Wood, and was accepted by her. They were married on the fourteenth day of February, and sailed for Europe the next day," said Mrs. Rothsay.
"Yes; I know. Disappointed men do such desperate deeds; commit suicide or marry for revenge. Poor, dear girl!" murmured Rose Stillwater, with a deep sigh.
"Why poor, dear girl?" inquired Cora.
"Oh, you know, she caught his heart in the rebound, and she will not keep it. But let us talk of something else, dear. Oh, I am so happy here. So free from fear and trouble and anxiety. Oh, what ineffable peace, rest, safety I enjoy here. No one will pain me by presenting a bill that I cannot pay, or frighten me by telling me that my room will be wanted for some one else. Oh, how I thank you, Cora. And how I thank your honored grandfather for this city of refuge, even for a few days."
"You owe no thanks to me," replied Cora.
"A thousand thanks, my darling!" said Rose, and hearing the heavy footsteps of the Iron King in the hail, she added—as if she heard them not: "And as for Mr. Rockharrt, that noble, large brained, great hearted man, I have no words to express the gratitude, the reverence, the adoration with which his magnanimous character and munificent benevolence inspires me. He is of all men the most—"
But here she seemed first to have caught sight of the Iron King, who was standing in the door, and who had heard every word of adulation that she had spoken.
"Cora, is not dinner ready?" he inquired, coming forward.
"Yes, sir; only waiting for you," answered the lady, touching a bell.
The gray haired butler came to the call.
"Put dinner on the table," ordered Mr. Rockharrt.
The old butler bowed and disappeared; and after awhile reappeared and announced:
"Dinner served, sir."
Mr. Rockharrt gave his arm to Mrs. Stillwater, to take her to the table.
"Will not my Uncle Clarence be home this evening?" inquired Cora, as the three took their seats.
"No; he will not be home before Saturday night. Since Fabian went away there has been twice as much supervision over the foremen and bookkeepers needed there, and Clarence is very busy over the accounts, working night and day," replied the Iron King, as he took a plate of soup from the hands of the butler and passed it to Mrs. Stillwater, who received it with the beaming smile that she always bestowed on the Iron King.
She was the life of the little party. If she was a broken hearted widow, she did not show it there. She smiled, gleamed, glowed, sparkled in countenance and words. The moody Iron King was cheered and exhilarated, and said, as he filled her glass for the first time with Tokay, "Though you do not need wine to stimulate you, my child. You are full of joyous life and spirits."
"Oh, sir, pardon me. Perhaps I ought to control myself; but I am so happy to be here through your great goodness; so free from care and fear; so full of peace and joy; so safe, so sheltered! I feel like a storm beaten bird who has found a nest, or a lost child who has found a home, and I forget all my losses and all my sorrows and give myself up to delight. Pardon me, sir; I know I ought to be calmer."
"Not at all, not at all, my child! I am glad to see you so gay. I approve of you. You have suffered more than either of us, for you have not only lost your life's companion, but home, fortune, and all your living. My granddaughter here, as you may see, is a monument of morbid, selfish sorrow, which she will not try to throw off even for my sake. But you will brighten us all."
"I wish I might; oh, how I wish I might! It seems to me it is easy to be happy if one has only a safe home and a good friend," said Rose.
"And those you shall always have in me and in my house, my child," said the Iron King.
Cora listened in pure amazement. Her grandfather sympathetic! Her grandfather giving praise and quoting poetry! What was the matter with him? Not softening of the heart; he had never possessed such a commodity. Was it softening of the brain, then? As soon as they had finished dinner and returned to the drawing room, the Iron King said to his guest:
"Now, my child, I shall send you off to bed. You have had a very long and fatiguing journey and must have a good, long night's sleep."
And with his own hands he lighted a wax taper and gave it to her. Rose received it with a grateful smile, bade a sweet toned good night to Mr. Rockharrt and Mrs. Rothsay, and went tripping out of the room.
"I shall say good night, too, Cora; I am tired. But let me say this before I go: Do you try to take pattern by that admirable child. See how she tries to make the best of everything and to be pleasant under all her sorrows. You have not had half her troubles, and yet you will not try to get over your own. Imitate that poor child, Cora."
"'Child,' my dear grandfather! Do you forget that Mrs. Stillwater is a widow thirty-six years old?" inquired Cora.
"'Thirty-six.' I had not thought of it, and yet of course I knew it. Well, so much the better. Yet child she is compared to me, and child she is in her perfect trust, her innocent faith, her meekness, candor and simplicity, and the delightful abandon with which she gives herself to the enjoyment of the passing hour. This will be a brighter house for the presence of Rose Stillwater in it," said the Iron King, as he took up his taper and rang for his valet and left the room.
Cora sat a long time in meditation before she arose and followed his example. When she entered her chamber, she was surprised and annoyed to find Rose Stillwater there, seated in the arm chair before the fire. Old Martha was turning down the bed for the night.
"Cora, love, it is not yet eleven o'clock, though the dear master did send us off to bed. But I wanted to speak to you, darling Cora, just a few words, dear, before we part for the night; so when I met my old friend, Aunt Martha, in the hall, I asked her to show me which was your room, so I could come to you when you should come up; but Aunt Martha told me she was on the way to your room to prepare your bed for the night, and she would bring me here to sit down and wait for you. So here I am, dear Cora."
"You wished to speak to me, you say?" inquired Mrs. Rothsay, drawing another chair and seating herself before the fire.
"Yes, darling; only to say this, love, that I have not come here to sponge upon your kindness. I will be no drone. I wish to be useful to you, Cora. Now you are far away from all milliners and dress makers and seamstresses, and I am very skillful with my needle and can do everything you might wish to have done in that line—I mean in the way of trimming and altering bonnets or dresses. I do not think I could cut and fit."
"Mrs. Stillwater," interrupted Cora, "you are our guest, and you must not think of such a plan as you suggest."
"Oh, my dear Cora, do not speak to me as if I were only company. I, your old governess! Do not make a stranger of me. Let me be as one of the family. Let me be useful to you and to your dear grandfather. Then I shall feel at home; then I shall be happy," pleaded Rose.
"But, Mrs. Stillwater, we have not been accustomed to set our guests to work. The idea is preposterous," said the inexorable Cora.
"Oh, my dear, do not treat me as a guest. Treat me as you did when I was your governess. Make me useful; will you not, dear Cora?"
"You are very kind, but I would rather not trouble you."
"Ah, I see; you are tired and sleepy. I will not keep you up, but I must make myself useful to you in some way. Well, good night, dear," said the widow, as she stooped and kissed her hostess. Then she left the room.