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 Cumbervale 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 Cumbervale 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 CUMBERVALE.

"What in the deuce does the young fellow want of me? Show him into the
parlor, Wi