Old Aaron Rockharrt was reading a New York morning paper. Cora went up and bade him good morning.
He merely nodded and went on reading. Presently he burst out with:
"By ——! This must be Mrs. Stillwater!"
"Who? What?" eagerly inquired Cora, going to his side.
"Here! Read!" exclaimed the Iron King, handing her the sheet and pointing out the paragraph.
Cora took the paper with trembling hands and read as follows:
"A Mystery.—Yesterday morning at six o'clock an unknown young woman of about twenty-five or thirty years of age, of medium height, plump form, fair complexion and yellow hair, clothed in a rich suit of widow's mourning, was found in a state of coma in the ladies' dressing room of the Hudson River Railway station. She was taken to St. L——'s Hospital. There was nothing on her person to reveal her name or address."
"That must have been Mrs. Stillwater," said old Aaron Rockharrt.
"I think there is no question of it," replied Cora.
"No doubt the poor child was suddenly seized with one of her terrible neuralgic headaches, caused by the pressure of that infernal crowd at the gate, and she stole away, as before, lest she should disturb us and prevent our journey; the most self-sacrificing creature I ever met. No doubt she meant to telegraph to us, but was prevented by the sudden reaction from agony to stupor. Ah! I hope it is not a fatal stupor."