“You should not have tampered with such a dangerous drug,” said Mrs. Rothsay.

“Oh, I took it to stop the maddening pain that seemed to be killing me,” exclaimed Rose Stillwater, as she let herself drop into an easy chair; not speaking frankly this time, for she had taken the morphia to quiet her nerves, and enable her to decide upon some course by which she might avoid meeting with the Dean of Olivet again, and some excuse for withdrawing herself so suddenly from her traveling party.

“So you will remain here?” inquired Cora.

“Oh, yes.  I would remain anywhere sooner than move another step.”

“Then I will help to get you to bed.  Where is your bag?”

“Bag?  Bag?  I—­I don’t know!  I have not seen it since I fell into that stupor!  It must be at the depot or at the hospital.”

“Then I will get you a night dress,” said Cora.

And then she ran off to her own room, and soon returned with a white cambric gown, richly trimmed with lace.

When she had prepared her guest for bed, and put her into it, she lowered the gas and left her to repose.  Then she went to her own room, satisfied to be alone with her memories once more.  Soon after she heard the slow and heavy steps of her grandfather as he passed into his room.

CHAPTER XVII.

“A MAD MARRIAGE, MY MASTERS.”

When the party met at a late breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Stillwater seemed to have quite recovered her health, and what was still better, in her opinion, her complexion.  She was once again a delicately blooming rose.  They were still at breakfast when Sylvanus Haught burst in upon them, bowed to his grandfather, bowed to Rose Stillwater, and seized Cora Rothsay around the neck and covered her with kisses, all in a minute and before he spoke a word.  Old Aaron Rockharrt glared at him.  Rose Stillwater smiled on him.  But Cora Rothsay put her arms around his neck and kissed him with tears of pleased affection.

“Well, sir!  You have got through,” said the Iron King with dignified gravity.

“Yes, sir, got through, ‘by the skin of my teeth,’ as I might say!  And got leave of absence, waiting my commission.  Hurrah, Cora!  Hurrah, the Rose that all admire!  I shall be your cavalier for the next three months at least, and until they send me out to Fort Devil’s Icy Peak, to be killed and scalped by the redskins!” exclaimed the new fledged soldier, throwing up his cap.

“Will you have the goodness to remember where you are, sir, and endeavor to conduct yourself with some manner approximating toward propriety?” demanded Mr. Rockharrt, with solemn dignity.

“I beg your pardon, grandfather!  I beg your pardon, ladies,” said Sylvanus, assuming so sudden and profound a gravity as to inspire a suspicion of irony in the minds of the two women.

But old Aaron Rockharrt understood only an humble and suitable apology.