e--"

"Yes; I will, I will, dear Rose," said Cora, gazing down through
blinding tears, as she stooped and pressed her warm lips on the
death-cold lips beneath them.

Rose lifted her failing eyes to Cora's sympathetic face and never moved
them more; there they became fixed.

The sound of approaching wheels was heard.

"It is my grandfather. Go and tell him," whispered Cora to old Martha
without turning her head.

The woman left the room, and in a few moments Mr. Rockharrt entered it,
leaning on the arm of his valet.

When he approached the bed, he saw how it was and asked no questions. He
went to the side opposite to that occupied by Cora, and bent over the
dying woman.

"Rose," he said in a low voice--"Rose, my child."

She was past answering, past hearing. He took her thin, chill hand in
his, but it was without life.

He bent still lower over her, and whispered:

"Rose."

But she never moved or murmured.

Her eyes were fixed in death on those of Cora.

Then suddenly a smile came to the dying face, light dawned in the dying
eyes, as she lifted them and gazed away beyond Cora's form, and
murmuring contented;

"Father, father--" and

"With a sigh of a great deliverance,"

she fell asleep.

They stood in silence over the dead for a few moments, and then Mr.
Rockharrt drew the white coverlet up over the ashen face, and then
leaning on the arm of his servant went out of the room.

Three days later the mortal remains of Rose Rockharrt were laid in the
cemetery at North End.

It was on the first of November, a week after the funeral, that Mr.
Rockharrt, for the first time in three months, went to the works.

On that day, while Cora sat alone in the parlor, a card was brought to
her--

"The Duke of Cumbervale."

The Duke of Cumbervale entered the parlor.

Cora rose to receive him; the blood rushing to her head and suffusing
her face with blushes, merely from the vivid memory of the painful past
called up by the sudden sight of the man who had been the unconscious
cause of all her unhappiness. Most likely the old lover mistook the
meaning of the lady's agitation in his presence, and ascribed it to a
self-flattering origin.

However that might have been, he advanced with easy grace, and bowing
slightly, said:

"My dear Mrs. Rothsay, I am very happy to see you again! I hope I find
you quite well?"

"Quite well, thank you," she replied, recovering her self-control.

In the ensuing conversa