e any one to visit us."

The next morning the Rockharrt family left town for North End, where
they arrived early in the afternoon.

A monotonous season followed, at least for the two ladies, who led a
very secluded life at the dreary old stone house on the mountain side.

Winter, spring, summer and autumn crept slowly away in, the lonely
dwelling. In the last days of November he announced to his family, with
the usual suddenness of his peremptory will, that he should go to
Washington City for the winter, taking with him his wife and
granddaughter, and leaving his two sons in charge of the works, and that
they would be joined in Washington at Christmas by his grandson, for
whom he was about to apply for admission into the military academy at
West Point.

Regulas called frequently, and his attentions to Cora were marked.

The Rockharrt party went to Washington on the first of December, and
took possession of the suite of rooms previously engaged for them at one
of the large West End hotels.

One morning, when Rule was out of the way, being on a canvassing round
with Mr. Rockharrt among such members of Congress as had remained in the
city, Sylvan suddenly asked his sister:

"Cora, what's to make the pot boil?"

"What do you mean?" inquired the young lady, looking up from "Bleak
House," which she was reading.

"Who's to get the grub?"

"I--don't understand you."

"Oh, yes, you do. What are you and Rothsay to live on after you are
married? He is poor as a church mouse, and you are not much richer. You
are reported to be an heiress and all that, but you know very well that
you cannot touch a cent of your money until you are twenty-five years
old, and not even then if you have married in the interim without our
great Mogul's consent. Such are the wise provisions of our father's
will. Now then, when you and Rule are married, what is to make the pot
boil?"

"There is no question of marriage between Mr. Rothsay and myself,"
replied Cora, with a fine assumption of dignity, which was, however,
quite, lost on Sylvan, who favored her with a broad stare and then
exclaimed:

"No question of marriage between you? My stars and garters! then there
ought to be, for you are both carrying on at a--at a--at a most
tremendous rate!"

Cora took up her book and walked out of the room in stately displeasure.

No; there had been no question of marriage between them; no spoken
question, at least, up to this day.

This was true