For Woman's Love. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

looking after the missing governor-elect, nor had he been leaving it to his sons and partners, whom he refused to trust. He had been corresponding with his chief manager, Ryland. This correspondence had not been entirely satisfactory, so at length he wrote to Ryland to come to the city for a business talk. It was about the middle of August that the manager arrived and was closeted with his chief. After two hours' discussion of business matters, which ended satisfactorily, the manager, rising to leave the study, observed:

      "This is a bad job about the governor, sir!"

      "I do not wish to talk of this matter," said Mr. Rockharrt.

      "Very well, sir, I am dumb," replied the manager, taking up his hat to leave the house.

      "Do you go back to North End by the night train?" inquired Mr. Rockharrt.

      "Yes, sir! I must be at my post to-morrow morning, in order to carry out your instructions."

      "Quite right," said the head of the great firm. Then with strange inconsistency, since he had declared that he wished to talk no more on the subject of the lost governor, he suddenly inquired:

      "What do the people of North End say about the disappearance of Governor Rothsay?"

      "Some say he was beguiled away by that man who called on him late at night, and that he was murdered and his body made away with. But I beg your pardon, sir, for repeating such dreadful things."

      "Go on! What else do they say?"

      "Well, sir, one says one thing, and one another; but they all agree that Old Scythia could tell something if she chose."

      "Old Scythia? And what has she to do with the loss of the governor?"

      "Nothing that I know of, sir. But the people at North End say that she has."

      "Why do they say it?"

      "Because, sir, on the day of the wedding, and the eve of the inauguration, she did foretell, in the hearing of a score, that Mr. Rothsay would never take his seat as governor."

      "What! Absurd! Preposterous!"

      "Of course it was, sir! Yet she did say that, sir, in the hearing of twenty or more of us, and it was a strange coincidence, to say the least, that her words came true. She said it in the presence of many witnesses on the day before the intended inauguration, and when there seemed no possibility of her words coming true. And strange to say, they have come true."

      Old Aaron Rockharrt mused for a few minutes and then replied:

      "There is no such thing as divination, or soothsaying, or prophesy, or fortune telling in this world. It is all coarse imposture, that can deceive only the weakest mortals. You know that, of course, Ryland. It follows, then, that this old woman could have had no knowledge of what was going to happen unless she was in league with conspirators who had planned to kidnap or murder the governor-elect."

      "But, sir, if Old Scythia had been in league with any conspirators, would she have betrayed them—beforehand?"

      "No; unless she was too crazy to keep their secret. But—she may have got wind of their plots in some way without their knowledge."

      "Yes, sir," said Manager Ryland, who agreed to every opinion advanced by his chief.

      "Well, then, I shall go down to Rockhold to-morrow, and investigate this matter for myself. In my capacity of justice of the peace I shall issue a warrant to have that woman brought before me on a charge of vagrancy, and then I shall examine her on this point. But, Ryland, you are to be careful not to drop even a hint of my intention."

      "Of course I will not, sir," replied the manager, and then, as there seemed no more to do or say, he took his leave.

      Old Aaron Rockharrt strode into the drawing room where his wife and granddaughter sat, and astonished them by saying:

      "Pack up your things this afternoon. We leave for Rockland by the first train to-morrow morning."

      He deigned no explanation, but turned and stalked off.

      The three reached North End at noon. As their arrival was to be a surprise, no carriage had been ordered to meet them. But the large, comfortable hack from the North End Hotel was engaged, and in it they rode on to Rockhold, where they pulled up two hours later, to the astonishment and consternation of the household, who, be it whispered, had almost as lief been confronted with his satanic majesty as to be surprised by their despotic master.

      Leaving his womenkind to get domestic affairs into order, the Iron King went to the little den at the end of the hall, which he called his study, and there made out a warrant for the arrest of Hyacinth Woods on the charge of vagrancy. This he directed to William Hook, county constable, and sent it off to the county seat by one of his servants. He waited all the rest of the day for the return of the warrant with the prisoner, but in vain.

      The next day, in the afternoon, Constable Hook made his appearance before the magistrate without the prisoner, and reported:

      "She cannot be found. I went first to her hut on the mountain, but it was in ruins. It had fallen in. I searched for the woman everywhere, and only found out that she had not been seen by anybody since the day of the grand wedding here," replied the officer.

      "The old crone is lost on the same day that the young governor was missing, eh? Very significant. I want you to take a paper for me to the Peakeville Gazette. I will advertise a thousand dollars reward for the discovery of that woman. She knows the fate of Rothsay."

CHAPTER III.

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A MOUNTAIN IDYL—THE GIRL AND THE BOY.

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      On a fine day near the end of October, several years before the opening of this story, the express train from the southwest was speeding on toward North End. In one of the middle cars, which was not crowded, nor, indeed, quite full, sat a girl and a boy—both dressed in deep mourning, and both in charge of a tall, stout gentleman, also in deep mourning. These children were Corona, aged seven, and Sylvanus, aged four, orphans and co-heirs of John Haught, a millionaire merchant of San Francisco, and of his wife, Felicia, only daughter of Aaron and Deborah Rockharrt, of Rockhold. They had lost their parents during the prevalence of an epidemic fever, and had been left to the guardianship of Aaron Rockharrt. They were now coming, in charge of their Uncle Fabian—who had been sent to fetch them—to their grandparents' house, which was to be their home during their minority.

      In front of these children sat a man of middle age and a boy of about twelve years. They seemed to belong to the honorable order of working men. Their clothing was old, worn and travel-stained. They had been picked up only at the last past station, and looked as if they had tramped a long way—weary and dejected. Each wore on his battered hat a little wisp of a dusty black crape band. This was a circumstance which much interested the little girl, Corona, who had a longer memory than her baby brother, and had not yet done grieving after her father and her mother, and she wanted to speak to the poor boy, and to tell him how very sorry she was for him, but was much too timid for such a venture. Neither the boy nor the man looked behind them, and so the children never saw their faces during the ride to North End. Both parties got out at the station. The Rockhold carriage was waiting for Fabian and his charges. Nothing was waiting for the tramp and his son. Mr. Fabian looked at them, and took in the whole situation. He put his nephew and niece into the carriage, told the coachman to wait for him, and then went up to the tramps.

      "Looking for work?" he said, addressing the elder.

      "Yes, sir," replied the latter, touching his old hat. "I have come a long way to look for it, and I am bound now for Rockharrt & Sons' Locomotive Works. Could you be so kind as to direct me where to find them?"

      "About