“Have you breakfasted?” he inquired in a modified tone.

“No, sir; and I am as hungry as a wolf—­I mean I took the first train down this morning without waiting for breakfast.”

The Iron King, whose glare had cut short the first half of the young man’s reply, now rang, and when the waiter appeared, gave the necessary orders.

And soon Sylvanus was seated at the table, sharing the morning meal of his family.

“Now that my brother has joined us shall we leave for North End to-day, grandfather?” inquired Cora, as they all arose from breakfast.

“No; nor need you make any suggestions of the sort.  When I am ready to go home, I will tell you.  I have business to transact before I leave New York,” gruffly replied the family bear.

Rose Stillwater took up one of the morning papers and ran her eyes down column after column, over page after page.  Presently she came to the item she was so anxiously looking for: 

“The Very Reverend the Dean of Olivet left the city last evening by the steamer Nighthawk for Boston.”

With a sigh of relief she laid the paper down.

Mr. Rockharrt came and sat down beside her on the sofa, and began to speak to her in a low voice.

Sylvan, sitting by Cora at the other end of the apartment, began to tell all about the exercises at West Point which she had missed.  His voice, though not loud, was clear and lively, and quite drowned the sound of Mr. Rockharrt and Mrs. Stillwater’s words, which Cora could see were earnest and important.  At last Rose got up in some agitation and hurried out of the room.  Then old Aaron Rockharrt came up to the young people and stood before them.  There was something so ominous in his attitude and expression that his two grandchildren looked dismayed even before he spoke.

“Sir and madam,” he said, addressing the young creatures as if they were dignitaries of the church or state, “I have to inform you that I am about to marry Mrs. Stillwater.  The ceremony will be performed at the church to-morrow noon.  I shall expect you both to attend us there as witnesses.”

Saying which the Iron King arose and strode out of the room.

The sister and brother lifted their eyes, and might have stared each other out of countenance in their silent, unutterable consternation.

Sylvan was the first to find his voice.

“Cora!  It is an outrage!  It is worse!  It is an infamy!” he exclaimed, as the blood rushed to his face and crimsoned it.

Cora said never a word, but burst into tears and sobbed aloud.

“Cora! don’t cry!  You have me now!  Oh! the old man is certainly mad, and ought to be looked after.  Cora, darling, don’t take it so to heart!  At his age, too; seventy-seven!  He’ll make himself the laughing stock of the world!  Oh, Cora, don’t grieve so!  It does not matter after all!  Such a disgrace to the family!  Oh, come now, you know, Cora! this is not the way to welcome a fellow home!  For any old man to make such a—­Oh, I say, Cora! come out of that now!  If you don’t, I swear I will take my hat and go out to get a drink!”