"Good Heaven, girl!" Those 'commands' were issued by a well and angry man. You are returning to minister to an ill and perhaps a dying one." "Still, Uncle Fabian, would it not seem to be taking advantage of my grandfather's helpless state to return now, after he had forbidden me to enter his house? I think it would. And the more I reflect upon the subject, the surer I feel that I ought not to enter Rockhold unbidden. And--I will not." "You will not! What! Can you show resentment to your stricken--it may be dying--grandfather?" "Heaven forbid! But I must not disobey his injunction, now that he is too helpless to prevent me. No, Uncle Fabian, I must not enter the house. But neither will I be far from it. I will remain within call." "Where?" "At the ferryman's cottage. Will you, Uncle Fabian, as soon as you have an opportunity, say that I am deeply grieved for all that has estranged us. Will you ask him to forgive me and let me come to him?" "Yes; I will do so, my dear, if there is an opportunity. But, Cora, I think you are morbidly scrupulous. I think that you should come to the house. He may wish to see you if he should have a lucid interval, and there may not be time to send for you." "I must risk that rather than disobey him in his extremity." "As you will," replied Mr. Fabian. And no more was said on the subject. When they reached the foot of the mountain and the level of the river road, the horses were put upon their speed, and they soon arrived at Rockhold. "I will wait in the carriage until you go in and inquire how he is," said Corona, as the vehicle drew up before the front door. Mr. Fabian got out and hurried up the steps. The door stood open, cold as the day was, and all things wore the neglected aspect of a dwelling wherein the master lay stricken unto death. The housekeeper, Martha, was coming down the stairs and crying. "How is your master?" breathlessly inquired Mr. Fabian. "Oh, Marse Fabe, sir, jes' livin', an' dat's all!" sobbed the woman. "Dunno nuffin. Layin' dere jes' like a dead corpe, 'cept for breavin' hard," wept the woman. "Who is with him?" "Me mos' times an' young Mark. I jes' come down to speak 'long o' you, Marse Fabe, w'en I see de carriage dribe up." "Well, go back to your master. I will speak to my niece, and then come in," said Mr. Fabian, as he hurried out to the carriage. All his interview with the housekeeper had not occupied two minutes, but Cora was pale with suspense and anxiety. "How is he?" she panted. "Unconscious, my poor girl. Oh, Cora! come in!" "No, no; I must not. Not until he permits me. I will stop at the ferryman's cottage. Oh, if he should recover consciousness--oh, Uncle Fabian, ask him to let me come to him, and send me word." "Yes, yes; I will do it. I must go to him now. Charles," he said, turning to the coachman, "drive Mrs. Rothsay down to the ferry house, and then take the carriage to the stables."