For Woman's Love Part 13

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.

The Duke of c.u.mbervale was slight and elegant in form, with small, perfectly shaped hands and feet--derived from a long line of idle and useless ancestors--finely cut Grecian profile, pure, clear, white skin, fine, silken, pale yellow hair and mustache, calm blue eyes, graceful movements, and refined manners.

Regulas Rothsay was a man of the people, who did not know any ancestry behind his laboring father, who could not have told the names of his grandparents.

The Duke of c.u.mbervale was descended from eight generations of n.o.blemen.

Cora Haught saw and felt this contrast between the two men, so opposite in birth, rank, person, manner, character, and cultivation.

Not all at once could she become an apostate to her faith, pledged to Rule. But, in truth, she had always loved him more as a sister loves a dear brother than as a maiden loves her betrothed husband. She had not seen him for three years. And she had seen so much since they had parted! In truth, his image had grown dim in her imagination.

She wrote to him briefly from London that her engagements were so numerous as to preclude the possibility of her writing much, but that at the end of the London season they expected to return home. This was before she had--

"Foregathered with the de'il,"

in the shape of the handsome, eloquent, and fascinating Duke of c.u.mbervale.

Afterward a strange madness had seized her; a sudden revulsion of feeling, amounting almost to repugnance, against the rugged man of the people who had hewn out his own fortune, and who looked, she thought, more like a backwoodsman than a gentleman. Yes; it was madness--such madness as is sometimes the wreck of families.

The duke grew daily more impressive in his attentions, and Cora more delighted to receive them. So the season went on. People began to connect the names of the Duke of c.u.mbervale and the beautiful American heiress.

Just about this time old Aaron Rockharrt walked into the breakfast room of their apartments at Langham's with an American newspaper, which had just come by the morning's mail, in his hands.

"Here is news!" he said. "Rothsay has been nominated as governor of ----! But perhaps this is no news to you, Cora. You may have received a letter?" he added, turning to his granddaughter.

"I had a letter from Mr. Rothsay yesterday, but he said nothing on the subject," replied the girl somewhat coldly.

"Well, if he should be elected--and I really believe he will be, for he is the most popular man in the State--I shall throw no obstacles in the way of your immediate marriage with him. You have been engaged long enough--long enough! We shall set out for home on the first of next month, and so be in full time for the election."

Cora did not reply. She grew pale and cold.

The Iron King looked at his granddaughter, bending his gray brows over keenly penetrating eyes.

"See here, mistress!" he said. "You don't seem to rejoice in this news.

What is the matter with you? Have any of these English foplings and lordlings, with more peers in their pedigrees than pennies in their pockets, turned your head? If so, it is time for me to take you home."

Cora did not reply. Only the night before, at the ball given by the Marchioness of Netherby, the Duke of c.u.mbervale had proposed to her, and had been referred to her grandfather. He was coming that very morning to ask the hand of the supposed heiress of the Iron King. Cora was that very day intending to write to Rule and tell him the whole truth, and ask him to release her from her engagement; and she knew full well that he would have no alternative but to grant her request.

"Why do you not answer me, Corona? What is the matter with you?" again demanded old Aaron Rockharrt.

But at that moment a waiter entered, and laid a card on the table before the old gentleman. He took it up and read:

THE DUKE OF c.u.mBERVALE.

"What in the deuce does the young fellow want of me? Show him into the parlor, William, and say that I will be with him in a few minutes."

The waiter left the room to do his errand, and was soon followed by Mr.

Rockharrt, who found the young duke pacing rather restlessly up and down the room.

"Good morning, sir," said old Aaron, with stiff politeness.

The visitor turned and saluted his host.

"Will you not be seated?" said Mr. Rockharrt, waving his hand toward sofa and chairs.

The visitor bowed and sat down. The host took another chair and waited.

There was silence for a short time. The old man seemed expectant, the young man embarra.s.sed. At length, when the latter opened his mouth and spoke, no pearls and diamonds of wisdom and goodness dropped from his lips; he said:

"It is a fine day."

"Yes, yes," admitted the Iron King, taking his hands from his knees, and drawing himself up with the sigh of a man badly bored--"for London. We wouldn't call this a fine day in America. But I have heard it said that it is always a fine day in England when it don't pour."

"Yes," admitted the visitor; and then he driveled into the most inane talk about climates, for you see this was the first time the poor young fellow had ever ventured to

"Beard the lion in his den,"

so to speak, by asking: a stern old gentleman for a daughter's hand, and this Iron King was a very formidable-looking beast indeed.

At length, Mr. Rockharrt, feeling sure that his visitor had come upon business--though he did not know of what sort--said:

"I think, sir, that you are here upon some affairs. If it is about railway shares--"

The old man was stopped short by the surprised and insolent stare of the young duke.

"I know nothing of railway shares, sir," he answered.

"Oh, you don't! Well, I did not think you did. In what other way can I oblige you?"

Indignation generally deprives a man of self-possession, but on this occasion it restored that of the embarra.s.sed lover. Feeling that he--the descendant of a dozen dukes, whose ancestors had "come over with William the Conqueror," had served in Palestine under King Richard, had compelled King John to sign the Magna Charta, had gained glory in every generation--was about to do this rude, purse-proud old tradesman the greatest honor in asking of him his granddaughter in marriage, he said, somewhat coldly:

"Miss Haught has made me happy in the hope of her acceptance of my hand, pending your approval, and has referred me to you."

The Iron King stared at the speaker for a moment, and then said, quite calmly:

"Please to repeat that all over again, slowly and distinctly."

The duke flushed to the edges of his hair, but he repeated his proposal in plain words.

"You have asked Cora Haught to marry you?" demanded the Iron King.

"Yes, sir."

"What did she say?"

"She did me the honor to give me some hope, and she referred me to you, as I have already explained."

"I don't believe it!" blurted the old man.