“Rothsay, we shall leave here for New York on Tuesday, to sail by the Saturday’s steamer for Liverpool.  If your engagements admit of it, and if you would like to spend the intervening time near Cora, we should be pleased to have you stay here.”

Rule spent three happy days at Rockhold, and in the evening of the third day, the evening before they were to leave for Europe, he asked Mr. Rockharrt if he might have the privilege of attending the travelers to the seaport, and seeing them off by the steamer.

The Iron King found no objection to this plan.  Mrs. Rockharrt was pleased, and Cora was delighted with it.

Accordingly, on the next morning, they left Rockhold for New York, where they arrived on the evening of the next day.

And on Saturday morning they went on board the steamer Persia, bound for Liverpool.

They bade good-by to Regulas Rothsay, on the deck, at the last moment.

The signal gun was fired, and our party sailed away to a new life, in which the faith of a woman was to be tempted and lost, and the career of a man was to be wrecked.

It was in the third year of their absence that they returned from the Continent to England.  They reached London in February, in time to see the grand pageant of the queen opening parliament.  After which they attended the first royal drawing room of the season, on which occasion Mrs. Rockharrt and Miss Haught were presented to her Majesty by the wife of the American minister.

Cora Haught was a new beauty and a new social sensation.  She was, indeed, more beautiful than she had been when she left America.  A richly colored Southern brunette was unique among British blondes.  It was for this, perhaps, she was so much admired.

Moreover, she was reported to be the only descendant of her grandfather and the sole heiress of his fabulous wealth.

There was at this time another debutant in society, a young man, the Duke of Cumbervale, who had lately reached his majority and come into his estates, or what was left of them—­an ancient castle and a few barren acres in Northumberland, an old hall and a few acres in Sussex, and a town house in London; but his title was an historical one.  His person was handsome, his manners attractive, and his mind highly cultivated.

Cora met him first at the queen’s drawing room, and afterward at every ball and party to which she went.

It was, perhaps, natural—­very natural—­that the handsome blonde man should be attracted by the beautiful brunette woman, without thought of the supposed fortune that might have redeemed his mortgaged estates and supported his distinguished title.  But why should the betrothed of Regulas Rothsay have been fascinated by this elegant English aristocrat?

Surely no two men were ever more diametrically opposite than the American printer and the English duke.

Regulas Rothsay was tall, muscular, and robust, with large feet and hands, inherited from many generations of hard-working forefathers.  His movements were clumsy; his manners were awkward, except when he was inspired by some grand thought or tender sympathy, when his whole person and appearance became transfigured.  His sole enduring charms were his beautiful eyes and melodious voice.