"And how long is this seclusion to last?"
"Until after a certain event to take place at the end of three months."
"Ah! and then another month for convalescence! So it will be late in the autumn before we can hope to see Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt at Rockhold!"
"I fear so, indeed, sir!"
"I do not approve of this petting, coddling, and indulging women. It makes the weak creatures weaker. If you choose to seclude your wife or allow her to seclude herself on account of a purely physiological condition, I will not allow Mrs. Rockharrt to go near her until she goes to return her call."
When Cora reached her chamber that evening, she sat down to reflect on all that her Uncle Fabian had told her of the past history of her grandfather's young wife, and to anticipate the possible movements of her brother. Her own life, since the loss of her husband—now loved so deeply, though loved too late—she felt was over. The future had nothing for herself. What, therefore, could she do with the dull years in which she might long vegetate through life but to give them in useful service to those who needed help? She would go with her brother to the frontier, and find some field of labor among the Indians. She would found a school with her fortune, and devote her life to the education of Indian children. And she would call the school by her lost husband's name, and so make of it a monument to his memory.
Revolving these plans in her mind, Cora Rothsay retired to rest. The next morning she arose at her usual hour, dressed, and went down stairs.
Old Aaron Rockharrt and his young wife were already in the parlor, waiting for the breakfast bell to ring.
She had but just greeted them when the call came, and all moved toward the breakfast room.