THE WHISPERED WORDS.
"Well! what's all this?" abruptly demanded old Aaron Rockharrt, as he came up, followed by Clarence and Sylvan, just as Fabian was lifting the unconscious woman into the carriage.
"Mrs. Rockharrt has been over-fatigued, I think, sir, for she has fainted. But don't be alarmed; she is recovering," said Mr. Fabian, as he settled the lady in an easy position in a corner of the carriage, and found a smelling salts bottle and put it to her nose.
"'Alarmed?' Why should I be?"
"No reason why, sir," answered Mr. Fabian, who then stooped to the woman and whispered: "Nor need you be so. You are safe for the present."
"Will you get out of my way and let me come to my place?" demanded the Iron King.
"Pardon me, sir," said Fabian, stepping backward from the carriage.
"Fainting?" said the old man, in a tone of annoyance, as he took his seat beside his new wife—"fainting? The first Mrs. Rockharrt never fainted in her life; nor ever gave any sort of trouble. What's the matter with you, Rose? Don't be a consummate fool and turn nervous. I won't stand any nonsense," he said roughly, as he peered into the pale face of his new slave.
"Oh, it is nothing," she faltered—"nothing. I was overcome by heat. It is a very hot day."
"Why, it is a very cool afternoon. What do you mean?" he demanded.
"It has been a very hot day, and the heat and fatigue—"
"Rubbish!" he interrupted. "If I were to give any attention to your faints, you would be fainting every day just to have a fuss made over you. Now this fainting business has got to be stopped. Do you hear? If you are out of order, I will send for my family physician and have you examined. If you are really ill, you shall be put under medical treatment; if you are not, I will have no fine lady airs and affectations. The first Mrs. Rockharrt was perfectly free from them."
"I would not have given way to the weakness if I could have helped it—indeed I would not!" said the poor woman, very sincerely.
"We'll see to that!" retorted the Iron King.
Ah, poor Rose! She was not the old man's darling and sovereign, as she had hoped and planned to be. She was the tyrant's slave and victim.
A man of Aaron Rockharrt's temperament seldom, at the age of seventy-seven, becomes a lover; and never, at any age, a woman's slave.
Mr. Fabian now got into the carriage, and sat down on the front cushion opposite his father and step-mother. Mr. Clarence was following him in, when Mr. Rockharrt roughly interfered.
"What are you about here, Clarence? What are you going to do?"
"Take my seat in the carriage, of course, sir," answered the young man, with a surprised look.
"You are going to do nothing of the sort! I don't choose to have the horses overtasked in this manner. I myself, with Fabian and my coachman, to say nothing of Mrs. Rockharrt, are weight enough for one pair of horses, and you can't come in here. Where's Sylvan?"
"On the box seat beside the driver."
"Really?" demanded the Iron King, in a sarcastic tone, "How many more of you desire to be drawn by one pair of horses? Tell Sylvan to come down off that."
"But, sir, there is not a single conveyance of any description at the station," urged Clarence.
"Indeed! And pray what do you call your own two pairs of sturdy legs? Are they not strong enough to convey you from here to North End, where you can get the hotel hack? And, by the way, why did you not engage the hack to come here and take you back?"
"Because it was out, sir."
"Then you two should not have come here to over-load the horses. But as you have come, you must walk back. Has Sylvan got off his perch? Ah, yes; I see. Well, tell the coachman to drive first to the North End Hotel. And do you two long-legged calves walk after it. If the hack should be still out when we get there, you can stay at the hotel until it comes in."
"All right, sir," said Clarence, good humoredly; and he closed the door, and gave the order to the coachman, who immediately started his horses on the way to North End.
On the way home Mr. Clarence inquired of his nephew when he expected to receive his commission and where he expected to be ordered.
"How can I tell you? I must wait for a vacancy, I suppose, and then be sent to the Devil's Icy Peak or Fort Jumping Off Place, or some such other pleasant post of duty on the confines of terra incognita. But the farther off, the stranger and the savager it is, the better I shall like it for my own sake, but it will be rough on Cora," said the youth.
"But you do not dream of taking Cora out there?" exclaimed Clarence, in pained surprise.
"Oh, but I do! She insists on going where I go. She is bent on being a voluntary, unsalaried missionary and school-mistress to the Indians just because Rule died a martyred minister and teacher among them."
"She is mad!" exclaimed Mr. Clarence; "mad."
"She has had enough to make her mad, but she is sane enough on this subject, I can tell you, Uncle Clarence. She is the most level-headed young woman that I know, and the plan of life that she has laid out for herself is the best course she could possibly pursue under the present circumstances. She is very miserable here. This plan will give her the most complete change of scene and the most interesting occupation. It will cure her of her melancholy and absorption in her troubled past, and when she shall be cured she may return to her friends here, or she may meet with some fine fellow out there who may make her forget the dead and leave off her weeds. That is what I hope for, Uncle Clarence."
And for the rest of their walk they trudged on in silence or with but few words passed between them. It was sunset when they reached North End.
That evening when Sylvan and Cora found themselves together for a moment at Rockhold House, the youth said:
"Corona Rothsay, the sooner I get my orders and you and I depart for Scalping Creek or Perdition Peak, or wherever I am to be shoveled off to, the better, my dear," said the young soldier.
"What do you think of it all now, Sylvan?" she inquired.
"I think, Cora, that while we do stay here it would be Christian charity to be very good to 'the Rose that all admire.' Nobody will admire her any more, I think."
"Why?" inquired Cora, in surprise.
"Oh, you didn't see her face. She had her mask veil, do you call it?—down, so you couldn't see. But, oh, my conscience! how she is changed in these last six weeks! She is not a blooming rose any more. She is a snubbed, trampled on, crushed, and wilted rose. Her face looks pale; her hair dull; her eyes weak; her beauty nowhere; her cheerfulness nowhere else."
Early the next morning, after a hasty breakfast, Mr. Rockharrt entered his carriage to drive to the works. Young Mrs. Rockharrt, under the plea of fatigue from her long journey, retired to her own room.
Cora said to her brother:
"Sylvan, I wish you would order the little carriage and take me to the Banks to see Violet. I should have paid her this attention sooner but for the pressure of work that has been upon me. I must defer it no longer, but go this morning."
"All right, Cora!" answered the young man, and he left the room to do his errand.
Cora went up stairs to get ready for her drive.
In about fifteen minutes the two were seated in the little open landau, that had been the gift of the late Mrs. Rockharrt to her beloved granddaughter, and that the latter always used when driving out in the country around Rockhold during the summer.
They did not have to cross the ferry, as the new house of Fabian Rockharrt was on the same side of the river as was Rockhold.
The road on this west side was, however, much rougher, though the scenery was much finer.
They drove on through the woods, which here clothed the foot of the mountain and grew quite down to the water's edge, meeting over their heads and casting the road into deep shadow.
They drove on for about three miles, when they came to a point where another road wound up the mountain side, through heavy woods, and brought them to a beautiful plateau, on which stood the handsome house of Fabian Rockharrt, in the midst of its groves, flower gardens, arbors, orchards and conservatories.
It was a double, two-storied house, of brown stone, with a fine green background of wooded mountain, and a front view of the river below and the mountains beyond. There were bay windows at each end and piazzas along the whole front.
As the carriage drew up before the door, Violet was discovered walking up and down the front porch. She looked very fragile, but very pretty with her slight, graceful figure in a morning dress of white muslin, with blue ribbons at her throat and in her pale gold hair.
She came down to meet her visitors.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come, Cora and Sylvan!" she said, throwing her arms around the young lady and kissing her heartily, and then giving her hand and offering her cheek for a greeting from the young man.
"I fear you must be lonely here, Violet," said Cora.
"Awfully lonesome after Fabian has gone away in the morning, Cora. It would be such a charity in you to come and stay with me for a little while! Come in now and we will talk about it," said the little lady, as she led the way back to the house.
"Sylvan," she continued, as they paused for a moment on the porch, "send your coachman around to the stable to put up your carriage. You and Cora will spend the day with me at the very least."
"Just as Cora pleases; ask her," said the young man with a glance toward his sister.
"Yes," she answered.
"You are a love!" exclaimed Violet as she led the way into the hall and thence into a pleasant morning room.
Cora laid off her bonnet and sank into an easy chair by the front window.
"Now, as soon as you are well rested, I wish to show you both over the house and grounds. Such a charming house, Cora! Such beautiful grounds, Sylvan!" exclaimed the proud little mistress.
Cora smiled approval, but did not explain that she herself had gone all through the establishment several times, in the course of its fitting up, to see that all things were arranged properly before the arrival of the married pair.
And when, a little later, the trio went through the rooms, she expressed as much pleasure in their appearance as if she had never seen them before.
The brother and sister spent a very pleasant day at Violet Banks, and when in the cool of the evening they would have taken leave, the young wife pleaded with them to stay all night.
In the midst of this discussion Mr. Fabian Rockharrt came home from North End.
As he entered the parlor he heard his Wood Violet at her petition. He greeted them all, kissed his wife, kissed Cora, and shook hands with Sylvan.
"Now let me settle this matter," he said, good humoredly, as he threw himself into a large arm chair.
"First tell me, Cora, what is the obstacle to your spending the night with us?"
"Only that I did not announce even this visit to the family at Rockhold."
"Do you owe any special obligation to do so?"
"It is not a question of obligation, but of courtesy. I should certainly be remiss in politeness to leave the house for a two days' visit without giving notice of my intention," she answered.
"Oh! I see. Well, I can fix all that. You will both remain to dinner. After dinner it will not be too late for Sylvan to take my sure-footed cob and ride back to Rockhold and explain to the family that Cora is to remain here overnight, and that I will myself take her home to-morrow evening if she should wish to go."
"What do you say, Cora," inquired the young man.
"I accept Uncle Fabian's offer and will remain here for the present," said the young lady.
"Like the sensible woman that you are!" exclaimed Mr. Fabian.
Half an hour later the four sat down to dinner in one of the prettiest little dining rooms that ever was seen.
Soon after the pleasant meal was over, Sylvan took leave of his friends, mounted the white cob that stood saddled at the door, and rode down the wooded hill to the river road leading to Rockhold.
The three left behind spent the remainder of the evening on the front porch, watching the deep river, the hoary mountains, the starry sky, and listening to the hum of insects, the whirl of waters and the singing of the summer breeze through the pines that clothed the precipice, and talking very little.
They retired to rest at a late hour.
Yet on the next morning they met at an early breakfast, for Mr. Fabian had to go to the works to make up for much lost time while affairs were left under the sole management of Mr. Clarence.
Cora remained with Violet, who took her into a more interior confidence, and exhibited with equal pride and delight sundry dainty little garments of fine cambric and linen richly trimmed with lace or embroidery, all the work of her own delicate fingers.
"They tell me, Cora, that I could buy all these things as cheap and as good as I can make them. But I do take such pleasure in making them with my own hands."
Cora kissed her tenderly for all reply.
Then the little lady began to ask questions about her new step-mother-in-law.
"You know, Cora, that I could not ask you yesterday while Sylvan was with us. He is in your full confidence, no doubt, and I have perfect faith in him; but for all that we cannot speak freely on all subjects before a third person, however near and dear. At least I could not ask searching questions about Mr. Rockharrt's marriage, before Sylvan. Such a strange marriage, with such a disparity in years between a man of Mr. Rockharrt's venerable age and Mrs. Stillwater's blooming youth! I saw her once by chance. She looked a perfect Hebe of radiant health and beauty."
Cora Rothsay smiled. She might have told this little lady that there was not much more difference between the ages of Rose Stillwater at thirty-seven and Aaron Rockharrt at seventy-seven than there was between Violet Wood at seventeen and Fabian Rockharrt at fifty-two. But as the young wife did not see this fact, Cora refrained from showing it to her.
Then Violet wanted to know what Cora herself thought of the marriage.
Cora said she thought it concerned only the parties in question, and only time could tell how it would turn out.
In such confidential talk passed the long summer day.
In the cool of the evening Mr. Fabian came home to dinner.
He joined his wife in trying to persuade Cora to remain with them yet another day; but Cora explained that there were many reasons for her return to Rockhold.
Finding her obdurate, Mr. Fabian ordered Mrs. Rothsay's landau to be at the door at a certain hour.
And as soon as dinner was over and Cora had put on her bonnet and taken leave of Violet, with a promise to return within a few days, Mr. Fabian placed her in the Carriage, took his seat beside her, and drove down the wooded hill to the river road below.
"It is not altogether for pleasure that I pressed you to stay till to-night, Cora, although your presence gave great pleasure to my wife and self. I wished to have a private talk with you. Cora, you ought not to stay at Rockhold. You should come to us," said Mr. Fabian, as they bowled along the wooded road between the foot of the hills and the banks of the river.
"Why?" inquired the lady.
He did not answer at once, but drove slowly on as if to gain time for thought. At length, however, he said:
"I think that a home with Violet and myself at the Banks would be much more congenial to you than one with your grandfather and his new wife at Rockhold."
"But, my dear Uncle Fabian, under present circumstances my grandfather is my natural protector and Rockhold my proper home until my brother has one to offer me."
"Cora, you are not frank with me. I know how you feel about staying at Rockhold, and also why you feel as you do; though I do not see by what agency or intuition you could have gained the knowledge you seem to possess."
"Uncle Fabian, I have no positive knowledge of any cause why I should shrink from continuing in my natural home. I have only suspicions, which perhaps you could clear up or confirm, if you would be frank with me."
He drove on slowly in silence without answering her. She continued:
"I wrote to you while you were in Europe, informing you that Mrs. Stillwater had been invited by my grandfather to come to Rockhold to remain as long as should be convenient to herself. You never replied to my letter."
"I never got such a letter, Cora. It must have been lost with others that miscarried among the Continental mails, when they were following me from one office to another. But even if I had received such a letter, it could have made no difference. I could not have prevented Mrs. Stillwater's visit, nor the event that resulted from the visit. I could not have written or returned in time."
"Should you have prevented the visit or the marriage that followed if you could have done so?"
"Most certainly I should."
"Why?"
"For the same reason that you, or Clarence, or Sylvan would have done so. For the reason of its total unfitness. But, Cora, my dear, I repeat that you have not been frank with me. You are hiding something from me."
"And I repeat, Uncle Fabian, that I have no positive knowledge of any—"
"Yes; so you said before," he exclaimed, interrupting her. "You have no positive knowledge, but you have very strong suspicions founded upon very solid grounds! Now, what are these grounds, my dear? I am your uncle. You should give me your confidence."
If Mr. Fabian had not put the matter in this way, and if they had not been driving along the dark and over-shadowed road where the meeting branches of the trees above almost hid the light of the stars, so that only one or two occasionally gleamed through the foliage, Cora would never have been able to reply to her uncle as she did.
"Uncle Fabian, do you remember a certain warm night in September some five years ago, when we stopped at the Wirt House in Baltimore?"
"On our way home from Canada—yes, I do."
"My room was close that night and I could not sleep. A little after midnight I got up and put oil my dressing-gown and went into the adjoining room, which was our private parlor, and I sat down in a cool corner in the shadow of the curtain and in the draught of the window. I fell asleep, but was soon awakened by the sound of a door opening and some one whispering. I was about to call out when I recognized your voice. The room was pitch dark. I could not see you; but then I was about to speak, when I recognized another voice—Mrs. Stillwater's. You had let yourself in by your own key, through the door leading from the hall. She had come in through the door leading from her room, which was on the opposite side of the parlor from mine."
Cora paused to wait for the effect of her words.
Mr. Fabian drove on slowly in silence.
"I sat there quite still, too much surprised to speak or move."
"And so you overheard that interview," said Mr. Fabian, with a dash of anger in his usually pleasant voice.
"I could not escape. I was amazed, spellbound, too confused to know what to do."
"Well?"
"I gathered from your words that you and she were either secretly married or secretly engaged to be married."
"That was your opinion."
"What other opinion could I form? You were providing her with a house and an income. She was speaking of herself as a daughter-in-law sure to be acceptable to your father and mother. Of course, I judged from that that you were either wedded or betrothed, which was an incomprehensible thing to me, who had been led to believe that the lady was the wife of Captain Stillwater, remaining in Baltimore to meet her husband, whose ship was then daily expected to arrive."
"You were wrong, Cora," said Mr. Fabian, now speaking in his natural tone without a shade of anger—quite wrong, my dear; there was nothing of the sort. I was never engaged to Mrs. Stillwater."
"Then she subsequently refused you. I am telling you what I thought then, not what I think now. I have heard from her own lips that after her husband's death you proposed to her and she refused you."
Mr. Fabian shook with silent laughter. When he recovered he asked:
"And you believed her?"
"I do not know. I was in a maze. There were so many contradictory and inconsistent circumstances surrounding the woman that seemed to live and move in a web of deception woven by herself," said Cora, wearily, as if tired of the subject.
"And, after all, she is a very shallow creature, incapable of any deep scheming; there is no great harm. She knows that she is beautiful—still beautiful—and her only art is subtle flattery. She flattered your grandfather 'to the bent of his humor,' with no deeper design than to marry him and gain a luxurious home and an ample dower, as well as an adoring husband. You see she has succeeded in marrying him, poor little devil! but she has gained nothing but a prison and a jailer and penal servitude. I repeat, there is no great harm in her; and yet, Cora, my dear, I do not permit my wife to visit her, and I do not wish you to remain in the same house with her."
"Why, Uncle Fabian! you were the very first to introduce her to us! It was you who were charged with the duty of finding a nursery governess for me, and you selected Rose Flowers from a host of applicants."
"I know I did, my dear. She seemed to me a lovely, amiable, attractive girl of seventeen, not very well educated, yet quite old enough and learned enough to be nursery governess to a little lady of seven summers. And she did her duty and made herself beloved by you all, did she not?"
"Yes, indeed."
"And so she always has done and always will do. And yet, my dear, you must not live in the same house with her now, even if you did live years together when she was your governess."
"Are you not even more prejudiced against Mrs. Rockharrt than I am?"
"Bah! no, my dear; I have no ill will against the woman, though I will not let my niece live with her or my wife visit her.
"I wish, Uncle Fabian, that you would be more explicit and tell me all you know of Rose Flowers—or Mrs. Stillwater—before she became Mrs. Rockharrt."
"Have you told me all you know of her, Cora, my dear?"
"I have said several times that I know nothing, and yet—stop—"
"What?"
"In addition to that strange interview that I overheard, yet did not understand, there was something else that I saw, but equally did not understand."
"What was that?"
"Something that happened while we were in New York city in May last."
"Will you tell me what it was?"
"Yes, certainly. We were staying at the Star Hotel. We stayed over Sunday, and we went to the Episcopal church near our hotel, to hear an English divine preach."
"Well?"
"He was the celebrated pulpit orator, the Dean of Olivet—"
"Good Heav—" exclaimed Mr. Fabian, involuntarily, but stopping himself suddenly.
"What is the matter?" demanded Cora, suspiciously.
"I was too near the edge of the precipice. We might have been in the river in another moment," said Mr. Fabian.
Cora did not believe him, but she refrained from saying so.
"The danger is past. Go on, my dear."
"We were shown into the strangers' pew. The voluntary was playing. We all bowed our heads for the short private prayer. The voluntary stopped. Then we heard the voice of the dean and we lifted our heads. I turned to offer Mrs. Stillwater a prayer book. Then I saw her face. It was ghastly, and her eyes were fixed in a wild stare upon the face of the dean, whose eyes were upon the open book from which he was reading. Quick as lightning she covered her face with her veil and so remained until we all knelt down for the opening prayer. When we arose from our knees, Rose was gone."
Cora paused for a few moments.
"Go on, go on," said Mr. Fabian.
"We did not leave the church. Grandfather evidently took for granted that Rose had left on account of some trifling indisposition, and he is not easily moved by women's ailments, you know. So we stayed out the services and the sermon. When we returned to the hotel we found that Rose had retired to her room suffering from a severe attack of neuralgic headache, as she said."
"What did you think?"
"I thought she might have been suddenly attacked by maddening pain, which had given the wild look to her eyes; but the next day I had good reason to change my opinion as to the cause of her strange demeanor."
"What was that?"
"We all left the hotel at an early hour to take the train for West Point. Mrs. Stillwater seemed to have quite recovered from her illness. We had arrived at the depot and received our tickets, and were waiting at the rear of a great crowd at the railway gate, till it should be opened to let us pass to our train. I was standing on the right of my grandfather, and Rose on my right. Suddenly a man looked around. He was a great Wall Street broker who had dealings with your firm. Seeing grandfather, he spoke to him heartily, and then begged to introduce the gentleman who was with him. And then and there he presented the Dean of Olivet to Mr. Rockharrt, who, after a few words of polite greeting, presented the dean to me, and turned to find Rose Stillwater."
"Well! Well!"
"She was gone. She had vanished from the crowd at the railway gate as swiftly, as suddenly, and as incomprehensibly as she had vanished from the church. After looking about him a little, my grandfather said that she had got pressed away from us by the crowd, but that she knew her way and would take care of herself and follow us to the train all right. But when the gates were opened we did not see her, nor did we find her on the train, though Mr. Rockharrt walked up and down through the twenty cars looking for her, and feeling sure that we should find her. The train had started, so we had to go on without her. My grandfather concluded that she had accidentally missed it and would follow by the next one."
"And what did you think, Cora?"
"I thought that, for some antecedent and mysterious reason, she had fled from before the face of the Dean of Olivet at the railway station, even as she had done at the church."
"When and where did you find her?"
"Not until our return to New York city. My grandfather was in a fine state; kept the telegraph wires at work between West Point and New York, until he got some clew to her, and then, without waiting for the closing exercises at the military academy, he hurried me back to the city. We found the missing woman at St. L——'s hospital, where she had been conveyed after having been found in an unconscious condition in the ladies' room of the railway depot. She was better, and we brought her away to the hotel. The Dean of Olivet went to Newport, and Mrs. Stillwater recovered her spirits. A few days later she married Mr. Rockharrt at the church where the dean had preached. You know everything else about the matter. And now, Uncle Fabian, tell me that woman's story, or at least all that is proper for me to know of it."
"Cora, you read Rose Stillwater aright. She did on both these occasions fly from before the face of the Dean of Olivet. I will tell you all about her, for it is now right that you should know; but you must promise never to reveal it."
"I promise."