ined from referring to her secret, lest she should suffer
reproach from her family.

Cora read this letter with deep emotion over and over again, until she
found herself staring at the lines without gathering their meaning, and
then she felt herself growing giddy and faint, for she was still very
weak from recent illness, and she hastily dropped the letter into the
desk and shut down the lid, only just before a film came over her eyes,
a muffled sound in her ears, and oblivion over her senses. This is the
swoon in which she was found by Mrs. Rockharrt, and for which she could
give no satisfactory reason.

When Cora recovered from that swoon her first care, on the first
opportunity, was to go to her writing desk to look for her precious
letter--Rothsay's last letter to her. No one had opened her desk or
disturbed its contents.

She found her letter; pressed it to her heart and lips many times; then
made a little silken bag, into which she put it; then tied it around her
neck with a narrow ribbon.

And from that day it rested on her heart. It was her priceless treasure
to be cherished above all others, "the first to be saved in fire or
flood." It was the only relic of her lost love with his last good-by,
and prayers and blessings. It was her magic talisman, still connecting
her in some occult way with the vanished one. It was her anchor of hope,
still promising in some mysterious manner the final return of her lost
husband.

While Cora mourned and dreamed away these first days of the family's
return to their town house, old Aaron Rockharrt was sifting the evidence
of the story told by Captain Ross; he proved the truth of the skipper's
account; and he failed to connect the young man's late visit on that
fatal night with the almost simultaneous disappearance of Rothsay.

The season passed on. Mr. and Mrs. Rockharrt gave dinner parties and
supper parties; and received and accepted invitations to similar
entertainments in return; but no persuasions nor arguments could prevail
on Cora to go into any society. Not even the iron will of the Iron King
could conquer in this matter. His granddaughter was his own personal
property, and one of the attractions of his house; it was in her place
to wear her best clothes and costliest jewels, and to show herself to
his guests; and her persistent refusal to do this put him in a gloomy,
teeth-grinding, impotent rage.

"Cora is of age! She has a very sufficient provision. And now if