“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.