“I think you must be crazy.”

“Dear grandpa, this is no impulsive purpose of mine.  I have thought of it ever since—­ever since—­the death of my dear husband,” said Cora, in a broken voice.

“Oh! the death of your dear husband!” he exclaimed, rudely interrupting her.  “Much you cared for the death of your dear husband!  If you had, you would never have driven him forth to his death!—­for that is what you did!  You cannot deceive me now.  As long as the fate of Rule Rothsay was a mystery, I was myself at somewhat of a loss to account for his disappearance—­though I suspected you even then—­but when the news came that he had been killed by the Comanches near the boundaries of Mexico, and I had time to reflect on it all, I knew that he had been driven away by you—­you!  And all for the sake of a titled English dandy!  You need not deny it, Cora Rothsay!”

“It would be quite useless to deny anything that you choose to assert, sir,” replied the young lady, coldly but respectfully.  “Yet I must say this, that I loved and honored my husband more than I ever did or ever can love and honor any other human being.  His departure broke my spirit, and his death has nearly broken my heart—­certainly it has blasted my future.  My life is worth nothing, nothing to me, except as I make it useful to those who need my help.”

“Rubbish!” exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, turning over the leaves of his paper and looking for the financial column.

“Grandfather, please hear me patiently for a few minutes, for after to-day I do not know that we may ever meet again,” pleaded Cora.

The old man laid his open paper on his knees, set his spectacles up on his head, and looked at her.

“What the devil do you mean?” he slowly inquired.

“Sir, I am to leave Rockhold with my brother this afternoon, to go with him, first to Governor’s Island, and within a few days start with him for the distant frontier fort which may be his post of duty for many years to come.  We may not be able to return within your lifetime, grandfather,” said Cora, gravely and tenderly.

“And what in Satan’s name, unless you are stark mad, should take you out to the Indian frontier?” he demanded.

“I might answer, to be with my only brother, I being his only sister.”

“Bosh!  Men’s wives very seldom accompany them to these savage posts, much less their sisters!  What does a young officer want his sister tagging after him for?”

“It is not that Sylvan especially wants me, nor for his sake alone that I go.”

“Well, then, what in the name of lunacy do you go for?”

“That I may devote my time and fortune to a good cause—­to the education of Indian girls and boys.  I mean to build—­”

“That, or something like that, was what Rothsay tried to do when you drove him away, as if he had been a leper, to the desert.  Well, go on!  What next?  Let us hear the whole of the mad scheme!”