id="Page_31"/>and then I shall examine her on this point. But, Ryland, you are to be careful not to drop even a hint of my intention."

"Of course I will not, sir," replied the manager, and then, as there seemed no more to do or say, he took his leave.

Old Aaron Rockharrt strode into the drawing room where his wife and granddaughter sat, and astonished them by saying:

"Pack up your things this afternoon. We leave for Rockland by the first train to-morrow morning."

He deigned no explanation, but turned and stalked off.

The three reached North End at noon. As their arrival was to be a surprise, no carriage had been ordered to meet them. But the large, comfortable hack from the North End Hotel was engaged, and in it they rode on to Rockhold, where they pulled up two hours later, to the astonishment and consternation of the household, who, be it whispered, had almost as lief been confronted with his satanic majesty as to be surprised by their despotic master.

Leaving his womenkind to get domestic affairs into order, the Iron King went to the little den at the end of the hall, which he called his study, and there made out a warrant for the arrest of Hyacinth Woods on the charge of vagrancy. This he directed to William Hook, county constable, and sent it off to the county seat by one of his servants. He waited all the rest of the day for the return of the warrant with the prisoner, but in vain.

The next day, in the afternoon, Constable Hook made his appearance before the magistrate without the prisoner, and reported:

"She cannot be found. I went first to her hut on the mountain, but it was in ruins. It had fallen in. I searched for the woman everywhere, and only found out that she had not been seen by anybody since the day of the grand wedding here," replied the officer.

"The old crone is lost on the same day that the young governor was missing, eh? Very significant. I want you to take a paper for me to the Peakeville Gazette. I will advertise a thousand dollars reward for the discovery of that woman. She knows the fate of Rothsay."

CHAPTER III.

A MOUNTAIN IDYL—THE GIRL AND THE BOY.

On a fine day near the end of October, several years before the opening of this story, the express train from the southwest was speeding on toward North End. In one of the middle cars, which was not crowded, nor, indeed, quite full, sat a girl and a boy—both dressed in deep mourning, and both in charge of a tall, stout gentleman, also in deep mourning. These children were Corona, aged seven, and Sylvanus, aged four, orphans and co-heirs of John Haught, a millionaire merchant of San Francisco, and of his wife, Felicia, only daughter of Aaron and Deborah Rockharrt, of Rockhold. They had lost their parents during the prevalence of an epidemic fever, and had been left to the guardianship of Aaron Rockharrt. They were now coming, in charge of their Uncle Fabian—who had been sent to fetch them—to their grandparents' house, which was to be their home during their minority.

In front of these children sat a man of middle age and a boy of about twelve years. They seemed to belong to the honorable order of working men. Their clothing was old, worn and travel-stained. They had been picked up only at the last past station, and looked as if they had tramped a long way—weary and dejected. Each wore on his battered hat a little wisp of a dusty black crape band. This was a circumstance which much interested the little girl, Corona, who had a longer memory than her baby brother, and had not yet done grieving after her father and her mother, and she wanted to speak to the poor boy, and to tell him how very sorry she was for him, but was much too timid for such a venture. Neither the boy nor the man looked behind them, and so the children never saw their faces during the ride to North End. Both parties got out at the station. The Rockhold carriage was waiting for Fabian and his charges. Nothing was waiting for the tramp and his son. Mr. Fabian looked at them, and took in the whole situation. He put his nephew and niece into the carriage, told the coachman to wait for him, and then went up to the tramps.

"Looking for work?" he said, addressing the elder.

"Yes, sir," replied the latter, touching his old hat. "I have come a long way to look for it, and I am bound now for Rockharrt & Sons' Locomotive Works. Could you be so kind as to direct me where to find them?"

"About three miles down this side of the river. You cannot miss them if you follow this road. Stay—I am one of the firm. We have rather more men than we want just now, but I will give you a line to our manager, and he will find a place for you, and the boy, also," said plausible, good-natured, lying, dishonest Fabian Rockharrt, as he drew a card from his pocket and just wrote above his name:

"Take the bearer and his boy on."

Then on the opposite side of the card he wrote the superscription: "Timothy Ryland, Manager North End Foundries."

He gave this to the tramp, who touched his hat again, and led off his boy for their long walk to the works.

Fabian Rockharrt, with his nephew and niece, reached Rockland two hours later.

Aaron Rockharrt and his younger son, Clarence, were absent, at the works; but little Mrs. Rockharrt was at home.

Little Cora became the constant companion of the grandmother, who found her well advanced in learning for a child of seven years. She could read, write a little, and do easy sums in the first four simple rules of arithmetic.

A school room was fitted up on the first floor back of the Rockhold mansion. A nursery governess was found by advertisement.

She was a young and beautiful girl of the wax doll order of beauty, and of not more than sixteen years of age. In person she was tall, slim and fair, with red cheeks, blue eyes and yellow hair. Her very name, as well as her presence, was full of the aromas of Araby the Blest. It was Rose Flowers.

Rose smiled and bloomed and beamed on all, but most of all on Mr. Fabian, who was at that time a very handsome and fascinating man of no more than thirty, and to do her justice, she brought her young pupils well on in elementary education.

No more was seen or heard of the tramp and his boy, who had come to seek work at the foundries. They seemed to have been forgotten even by the little girl whose sympathies had been touched by their appearance on the train with their own party.

But early in February a catastrophe occurred which brought them back most painfully to, her memory. There was an explosion in the foundry, by which the man was instantly killed.

"Uncle Clarence," asked Cora of that person, "where is the boy belonging to the poor man that was killed? You know they came in the cars with us to North End Station. Oh! and they were so poor! Oh, and the boy had a bit of old crape on his old hat! Oh, and I know he had no mother! But I don't know whether the man was his father or his uncle. But, oh, Uncle Clarence, dear, where is the boy?"

"I don't know anything about the boy, little one, but I will inquire and tell you. I think the little chap has two more friends left, dear. You are one. I am the other."

"Oh, Uncle Clarence, you are a dear ducky-ducky-darling! And when I am a grown-up woman, I will marry you."

"Oh! well, all right, if you remain in the same mind, and—"

"I will never, never change my mind. I love you better than I do anybody in the world, except Sylvan and grandma, and Miss Flowers and Tip!"

Clarence kept his word with the child about making inquiries as to the fate of the boy in whom she was interested.

The boy was motherless, and, by the death of his father, had been left utterly destitute. He had found a home with Scythia Woods, an eccentric woman, who lived in a hut on the mountain side, half way between North End and Rockhold, and he