For Woman's Love. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

of Cumbervale, who had lately reached his majority and come into his estates, or what was left of them—an ancient castle and a few barren acres in Northumberland, an old hall and a few acres in Sussex, and a town house in London; but his title was an historical one. His person was handsome, his manners attractive, and his mind highly cultivated.

      Cora met him first at the queen's drawing room, and afterward at every ball and party to which she went.

      It was, perhaps, natural—very natural—that the handsome blonde man should be attracted by the beautiful brunette woman, without thought of the supposed fortune that might have redeemed his mortgaged estates and supported his distinguished title. But why should the betrothed of Regulas Rothsay have been fascinated by this elegant English aristocrat?

      Surely no two men were ever more diametrically opposite than the American printer and the English duke.

      Regulas Rothsay was tall, muscular, and robust, with large feet and hands, inherited from many generations of hard-working forefathers. His movements were clumsy; his manners were awkward, except when he was inspired by some grand thought or tender sympathy, when his whole person and appearance became transfigured. His sole enduring charms were his beautiful eyes and melodious voice.

      The Duke of Cumbervale was slight and elegant in form, with small, perfectly shaped hands and feet—derived from a long line of idle and useless ancestors—finely cut Grecian profile, pure, clear, white skin, fine, silken, pale yellow hair and mustache, calm blue eyes, graceful movements, and refined manners.

      Regulas Rothsay was a man of the people, who did not know any ancestry behind his laboring father, who could not have told the names of his grandparents.

      The Duke of Cumbervale was descended from eight generations of noblemen.

      Cora Haught saw and felt this contrast between the two men, so opposite in birth, rank, person, manner, character, and cultivation.

      Not all at once could she become an apostate to her faith, pledged to Rule. But, in truth, she had always loved him more as a sister loves a dear brother than as a maiden loves her betrothed husband. She had not seen him for three years. And she had seen so much since they had parted! In truth, his image had grown dim in her imagination.

      She wrote to him briefly from London that her engagements were so numerous as to preclude the possibility of her writing much, but that at the end of the London season they expected to return home. This was before she had—