reater
consternation.

The shock was more effective because both his hearers knew full well
that old Aaron Rockharrt never used vain threats, and that he would do
exactly what he said he would do. Having said that he meant to marry the
unwelcome guest, he would marry her.

But what unutterable amazement fell upon the two people! Both had felt a
vague dread of evil from the presence of this siren in the house; but
their darkest, wildest fears had never shadowed forth this unspeakable
folly. The Iron King, a man of seventy-seven, strong, firm, upright,
honored, to fall into the idiocy of marrying a beautiful adventuress
merely because she waited on him, ran his errands, warmed his slippers,
put on his dressing gown or his overcoat, as he would come in or go out,
and generally made him comfortable; but above all perhaps, because she
flattered his egotism without measure. And yet the Iron King was
considered sane, and was sane on all other subjects.

So thought Clarence and Cora as they gasped, glanced at the old man,
gazed at each other, and then dropped their eyes in a sort of shame.

Neither spoke or could speak.

The dreadful silence was broken at last by Rose Stillwater, who burst
into the room like a sunbeam into a cloud, and said with her childish
eagerness:

"I have got such a lovely piece of music. I ran out just now to look for
it. I was not sure I could find it; but here it is. It may be called
sacred music and suitable to the day, I hope. Here is the title.

"'Glad life lives on forever.'

"Shall I play and sing for you, Mr. Rockharrt? Would you like me to do
so, dear Cora? And you, Mr. Clarence?"

"Certainly, my dear," promptly responded the Iron King.

"As you please," coldly replied Cora.

"I--yes--thank you; I think it would be very nice," foolishly observed
Mr. Clarence, who was just now reduced to a state of imbecility by the
stunning announcement of his father's intended marriage.

But all three had spoken at the same time, so that Rose Stillwater heard
but one voice clearly, and that was the Iron King's.

Mr. Clarence, however, went and opened the piano for her. Then old Mr.
Rockharrt arose, went to the instrument slowly and deliberately, put his
youngest son aside, wheeled up the music stool, seated her and then--

"The monarch o'er the siren hung
And beat the measure as she sung,
And pressing closer and more near,
He whispered praises in her ear."

"It is 'The Li