“Cora is of age!  She has a very sufficient provision.  And now if she does not return to her duty and render herself amenable to my authority and obedient to my commands, I shall order her to find another home; for I mean to be master of my own house and of everybody in it!” he said, savagely, to his timid wife, one evening when she was doing valet’s duty by dressing his hair for a dinner party.

“Oh, Aaron!  Aaron! have pity on the poor, heartbroken girl!” pleaded the old lady, falling into a fit of trembling that interfered with her task.

“Hold your tongue and heed my words, for I shall do as I say.  And mind what you are about now!  You have scratched my ear with the bristles of the brush.”

“I beg your pardon, Aaron, but my hand shakes so.”

“If that young woman don’t submit herself to my will, and obey my orders, I will pack her out of this house.  And then, perhaps, your nerves will be quieter!  I’ll do it, for I am not particularly fond of having grass widows about me,” he growled.

She made no reply.  She could not trust herself to speak.  It required all her self-control to steady her hands so as to complete her master’s toilet.

Then she had to dress herself in haste and agitation to be ready in time to accompany her husband to the dinner party at the executive mansion, which was now occupied by Lieutenant-Governor Kenelm Kennedy—­and from which the Iron King would not allow his wife to absent herself.

Old Aaron Rockharrt was the lion of the evening, as he was the lion of every party in the State capital, probably because he owned the lion’s share of the State’s wealth, and had more money, perhaps, than the State’s treasury.  He enjoyed this beast worship, and came to his town house every season and went into general society to receive it.

Mrs. Rockharrt was very anxious to have a talk with her granddaughter, to warn her of impending danger and to implore her to obey the wishes of her grandfather, but the poor old lady had no opportunity.

Cora sat up for her grandparents, in case they should need any of her services on their return.

They came in very late, and then the exactions of the domestic tyrant kept his wife in attendance on him until they were all in bed.

CHAPTER VII.

NEWS OF THE MISSING MAN.

The next morning, while Aaron Rockharrt slept the sleep of the dead-in-selfishness, his wife arose and crept into the bedroom of her granddaughter.

Cora was awake, but not yet up.

“Oh, grandma, you will get your death of cold! walking about the house in your night gown.  What is it?  What do you want?  Can I do anything for you?” cried the girl, springing out of bed to turn on the heat of the register, and then wrapping a large shawl around the old lady, and putting her into the cushioned easy chair.

“Now what is it, dear grandma?  What can I do for you?” she inquired, as she drew on her own wadded dressing gown and sat on the side of the bed near the old lady.