“Uncle Fabian,” said Corona, gravely, “I have been trying to think what is right for me to do.  This sorrowful news took me so completely by surprise, and your directions were so prompt and peremptory, that I had not a moment for reflection; so that I followed your lead automatically.  But now, Uncle Fabian, I have considered, and I ask you as I have asked myself—­am I right in going back to Rockhold, after my grandfather has sent me away, and forbidden me ever to return?  Tell me, Uncle Fabian.”

“My dear, what do you yourself wish to do?” he inquired.

“To return to Rockhold and nurse my grandfather, if he will allow me to do so.”

“Then by all means do so.”

“But, Uncle Fabian—­against my grandfather’s express command?”

“Good Heaven, girl!” Those ‘commands’ were issued by a well and angry man.  You are returning to minister to an ill and perhaps a dying one.”

“Still, Uncle Fabian, would it not seem to be taking advantage of my grandfather’s helpless state to return now, after he had forbidden me to enter his house?  I think it would.  And the more I reflect upon the subject, the surer I feel that I ought not to enter Rockhold unbidden.  And—­I will not.”

“You will not!  What!  Can you show resentment to your stricken—­it may be dying—­grandfather?”

“Heaven forbid!  But I must not disobey his injunction, now that he is too helpless to prevent me.  No, Uncle Fabian, I must not enter the house.  But neither will I be far from it.  I will remain within call.”

“Where?”

“At the ferryman’s cottage.  Will you, Uncle Fabian, as soon as you have an opportunity, say that I am deeply grieved for all that has estranged us.  Will you ask him to forgive me and let me come to him?”

“Yes; I will do so, my dear, if there is an opportunity.  But, Cora, I think you are morbidly scrupulous.  I think that you should come to the house.  He may wish to see you if he should have a lucid interval, and there may not be time to send for you.”

“I must risk that rather than disobey him in his extremity.”

“As you will,” replied Mr. Fabian.  And no more was said on the subject.

When they reached the foot of the mountain and the level of the river road, the horses were put upon their speed, and they soon arrived at Rockhold.

“I will wait in the carriage until you go in and inquire how he is,” said Corona, as the vehicle drew up before the front door.

Mr. Fabian got out and hurried up the steps.  The door stood open, cold as the day was, and all things wore the neglected aspect of a dwelling wherein the master lay stricken unto death.  The housekeeper, Martha, was coming down the stairs and crying.

“How is your master?” breathlessly inquired Mr. Fabian.

“Oh, Marse Fabe, sir, jes’ livin’, an’ dat’s all!” sobbed the woman.  “Dunno nuffin.  Layin’ dere jes’ like a dead corpe, ‘cept for breavin’ hard,” wept the woman.