Sylvan told her.
Rose dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. She was more shocked than grieved by all that she had heard. If her tyrant had been brought home dead, I think she would only have sighed
"With the sigh of a great deliverance!"
"Let us go now, Rose, and prepare his bed. Sylvan will stay hereto receive him," said Cora.
The two women went up to the old man's room and turned down the bedclothes, and laid out a change of linen, and many towels in case they should be needed, and then went to the head of the stairs and waited and listened.
Presently, through the open hall door, they heard the muffled tread and subdued tones of the men, who presently entered, bearing the stretcher on which was laid the huge form of the Iron King, covered, all except his face, with a white bed-spread. Slowly, carefully, and with some difficulty they bore him up the broad staircase head first—preceded by the family physician, Dr. Cummins, and followed by Messrs. Fabian and Clarence.
Rose and Cora stood each side the open chamber door, and when the men bore the stretcher in and set it down on the floor, the two women approached and looked down on the injured man.
His countenance was scarcely affected by his accident. He was no paler than usual. He was frowning—it might be from pain or it might be from anger—and he was glaring around. Rose was afraid to speak to him, prone on the stretcher as he was, lest she should get her head bitten off. Cora bent over him and said tenderly:
"Dear grandfather, I am very sorry for this. I hope you are not hurt much."
And she had her head immediately snapped off.