“Old age ne’er cooled the Douglass blood!”

said Mr. Fabian, hurriedly pulling on his overcoat, seizing hat and gloves, and with a hasty—­

“Good-by, Cora, until to-night,” hurried out of the front door.

He need not have been in such haste—­the Iron King was not destined to reach North End in advance of his sons that morning.

Mr. Clarence kissed Corona good-by, and hurried after his elder brother, and then stopped short at what he saw.

Mr. Fabian was standing before the carriage door with one foot on the step.

Beside him was a horseman who had just ridden up—­the horse in a lather of foam, the man breathless and dazed—­telling some news in broken sentences; Mr. Fabian listening pallid and aghast.

“Great Heaven! how sudden! how shocking!” he exclaimed at last, turning back toward the house, and hurrying up the steps.

“What is it?  What is the matter?  What has happened, Fabian?” anxiously demanded Clarence.

“The father has had a stroke!  No time for particulars now!  Take the fastest horse in the stable and go yourself to North End to fetch the doctor.  You can bring him sooner than any servant.  I must go directly on to Rockhold.  Cora must delay her journey again.  Be off, Clarence!” said Mr. Fabian.

And while the elder brother returned to the house, the younger went to get his horse.

“Cora!” called Mr. Fabian.

Corona came out of the parlor.

“You cannot go away to-day.”

“Why?” inquired the young lady.

“Don’t talk!  Listen!  Your grandfather is ill—­very ill.  Old John has just come from Rockhold to tell me.”

“Oh!  I am very sorry.”

“No time for words!  Go put on your bonnet, and come along with me; the carriage that was to have taken me to North End must take us both to Rockhold.  Hurry, Cora.”

“But Violet?”

“I will go and tell Violet that the grandfather is not feeling very well, and has sent for you.  I can do this while you are getting ready to go.  Then come into the nursery and bid Violet good-by.”

Corona hurried up to her room, and quickly put on her bonnet and fur-lined cloak, and then ran into the nursery, where she found Violet nursing her baby, looking serious but composed, and evidently unconscious of old Aaron Rockharrt’s danger.  Mr. Fabian was standing at the back of her chair, so that she might not read the truth in his face.

“So you are going home so suddenly, Cora, dear?  I am so sorry the father is not feeling well that I cannot even ask you to stay here a moment longer.  Give my love to the father, and tell him if he does not get better in a day or two I shall be sure to come and nurse him.”

She could not rise without disturbing her precious baby, but she raised her head and put up her lips, that Cora might kiss her good-by.  Then Cora followed her uncle down stairs, and in five minutes more they were seated in the carriage, slowly winding their way down the dangerous mountain pass to the river road that led to Rockhold.