walk back to the hotel. See that the porters send off our
luggage by express to the Cataract House, Niagara Falls. They have their
orders from me, but do you see that these orders are promptly obeyed.
Now, good-by."

He shook hands with Sylvan and Cora, and entered the carriage, which
immediately rolled off in the direction of the railway station.

The brother and sister walked back to the hotel together.

"It will be a curious study, Cora, to see who will rule in this new
firm. I believe it is universally conceded that when an old man marries
a pretty young wife, he becomes her slave. But our honored grandfather
has been absolute monarch so long that I doubt if he can be reduced to
servitude."

"I have no doubts on the subject," replied his sister.

"I have been watching them. He is not subjugated by Rose. He is not
foolishly in love with her, at his age. He likes her as he likes other
agreeable accessories for his own sake. I have neither respect nor
affection for Rose, yet I feel some compassion for her now. Whatever the
drudgery of her life as governess may have been since she left us, long
ago, it has been nothing, nothing to the penal servitude of the life
upon which she has now entered. The hardest-worked governess,
seamstress, or servant has some hours in the twenty-four, and some nook
in the house that she can call her own where she can rest and be quiet.
But Rose Rockharrt will have no such relief! Do I not remember my dear
grandmother's life? And my grandfather really did love her, if he ever
loved any one on earth. This misguided young woman fondly hopes to be
the ideal old man's darling. She deceives herself. She will be his
slave, by day and night seldom out of his sight, never out of his
service and surveillance. Possibly--for she is not a woman of
principle--she may end by running away from her master, and that before
long."

Cora's last words brought them to the "Ladies' Entrance" of their hotel.

"Go up stairs, Cora, and I will step into the office and see if there
are any letters," said Sylvan.

Mrs. Rothsay went up into their private sitting room, dropped into a
chair, took off her bonnet and began to fan herself, for her midday walk
had been a very warm one.

Presently Sylvan came up with a letter in his hand.

"For you, Cora, from Uncle Fabian! There is a foreign mail just in."

"Give it to me."

Sylvan handed her the letter, Cora opened it, glanced over it, and
exclaimed:

"Uncle