Cora gazed at the old man aghast.

“Oh, grandfather, you never wrote that!” she exclaimed.

“I never wrote that?  What do you mean, mistress?  Am I in the habit of saying what is not true?”

“Oh, no; but I am so grieved that you should have written such a letter.”

“Why, pray?”

“Because I cannot bear that any one should think for a moment that I could ever marry again.”

“Rubbish!”

“Well, it does not matter after all.  If the duke should come on this fool’s errand, I shall be far enough out of his reach,” thought Cora; but she said no more.

The breakfast bell rang out with much clamor, and the old man arose growling.

“And now you have cheated me out of my hour with the newspapers by your foolish talk.  Come, come to breakfast and let us hear no more nonsense about going on that wild goose chase to the Indian frontier.”

At the end of the morning meal he arose from the table, called his young wife to fetch him his hat, his gloves, his duster, and other belongings, and he got ready for his daily morning drive to the works.

“I shall remain at North End to bid you good-by, Sylvan.  Call at my office there on your way to the depot,” he said, as he left the house to step into his carriage waiting at the door.

As the sound of the wheels rolled off and died in the distance, Rose turned to Cora and inquired: 

“My dear, does he know that you are going out West with Sylvan?”

“He should know it.  I have spoken freely of my plans before you both for months past,” said Cora.

“But, my dear, he never took the slightest notice of anything you said on that subject.  Why, he did not even seem to hear you.”

“He heard me perfectly.  Nothing passes in my grandfather’s presence that he does not see and hear and understand.”

“Well, then, I reckon he thinks you have changed your mind; for he spoke of meeting Sylvan at North End to bid him good-by, but said not a word about you.”

“He will believe that I am going when he sees me with Sylvan,” said Cora.

And then she touched the bell and ordered her carriage to be brought to the door.

“We must go and take leave of Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt,” she said to Rose.

Twenty minutes later Cora and Sylvan entered the pony carriage.  Sylvan took the reins and started for Violet Banks.

They soon reached the lovely villa, where they found Violet seated in a Quaker rocking-chair on the front porch, with a basket workstand beside her, busily and happily engaged in her beloved work—­embroidering an infant’s white cashmere cloak.  She jumped up, dropped her work, and ran to meet her visitors as they alighted from the carriage.  She kissed Cora rapturously, and Sylvan kissed her.

“How lovely of you both to come!  Wait a minute till I call a boy to take your chaise around to the stable.  And, oh, sit down.  You are going to stay all day with me, too, and late into the night—­there is a fine moon to-night.  Or maybe you will stay a week or a month.  Why not?  Oh, do stay,” she rattled on, a little incoherently on account of her happy excitement.