CHAPTER IV.

A retrospect.

It was near the close of a cold, bright day early in January, that Mrs. Rockharrt and Corona Haught, escorted by Mr. Clarence, stepped from the train at the depot of the capital city of their State—­which must, for obvious reason, be nameless—­and were driven to the Young Ladies’ Institute, where the girl was left, and as the adieus were being said it was explained to Cora that discretion and social conventionality dictated that her correspondence with young Rothsay should cease.  Clarence stated that he would write to the youth and explain that the rules of the school, also, forbade such a correspondence.

“I will also tell him that he can continue to send the Watch to you, with his own paragraphs marked as before,” said Corona’s uncle.  “There can be no law against that.  I will correspond with Rule occasionally, and keep you posted up as to how he is getting on.  There can be no school law against your uncle writing to you.”

Cora Haught graduated when she was eighteen.  In all these years she had not seen Rule Rothsay.  She only heard from him through his letters to her Uncle Clarence, reported second hand to herself.  She knew that in these five years Rule had risen, step by step, in the office where he had begun his apprenticeship; that he had risen to be foreman, then sub-editor, and now he was part proprietor and one of the most powerful political writers on the paper.

The workingmen’s party wished to put him up as a candidate for the State legislature.  What a power he would have been for their cause in that place! but when the subject was proposed to him, he admonished the spokesman that he was, as yet, a little less than of legal age for an office that required its holder to be at least twenty-five years old.

After Cora’s graduation the Rockharrt family spent a week in their town house, preparatory to a summer tour through the Northern States and Canada.

One morning, while the whole family were sitting around the breakfast table, old Aaron Rockharrt suddenly spoke: 

“Fabian!  Now that my granddaughter has left school, she will want a companion near her own age.  Miss Rose Flowers would suit very well.  Have you any idea where she is?”

“Miss Rose Flowers, my dear sir, is now Mrs. Slydell Stillwater, the—­”

“Married!” interrupted all voices except that of the Iron King, who bent his heavy gray brows as he gazed upon his son.

“Stuff and nonsense!  How did you know anything about her marriage?” demanded old Aaron Rockharrt.

“In the simplest and most natural way, sir.  I saw it in the newspapers, about three years ago.  And, in point of fact, I forgot it and should never have thought of it again but for your inquiries about the young woman this morning.  Her husband is Captain Slydell Stillwater, captain and half owner of the East Indiaman Queen of Sheba,” replied Mr. Fabian.