"Foregathered with the de'il," in the shape of the handsome, eloquent, and fascinating Duke of Cumbervale. Afterward a strange madness had seized her; a sudden revulsion of feeling, amounting almost to repugnance, against the rugged man of the people who had hewn out his own fortune, and who looked, she thought, more like a backwoodsman than a gentleman. Yes; it was madness--such madness as is sometimes the wreck of families. The duke grew daily more impressive in his attentions, and Cora more delighted to receive them. So the season went on. People began to connect the names of the Duke of Cumbervale and the beautiful American heiress. Just about this time old Aaron Rockharrt walked into the breakfast room of their apartments at Langham's with an American newspaper, which had just come by the morning's mail, in his hands. "Here is news!" he said. "Rothsay has been nominated as governor of ----! But perhaps this is no news to you, Cora. You may have received a letter?" he added, turning to his granddaughter. "I had a letter from Mr. Rothsay yesterday, but he said nothing on the subject," replied the girl somewhat coldly. "Well, if he should be elected--and I really believe he will be, for he is the most popular man in the State--I shall throw no obstacles in the way of your immediate marriage with him. You have been engaged long enough--long enough! We shall set out for home on the first of next month, and so be in full time for the election." Cora did not reply. She grew pale and cold. The Iron King looked at his granddaughter, bending his gray brows over keenly penetrating eyes. "See here, mistress!" he said. "You don't seem to rejoice in this news. What is the matter with you? Have any of these English foplings and lordlings, with more peers in their pedigrees than pennies in their pockets, turned your head? If so, it is time for me to take you home." Cora did not reply. Only the night before, at the ball given by the Marchioness of Netherby, the Duke of Cumbervale had proposed to her, and had been referred to her grandfather. He was coming that very morning to ask the hand of the supposed heiress of the Iron King. Cora was that very day intending to write to Rule and tell him the whole truth, and ask him to release her from her engagement; and she knew full well that he would have no alternative but to grant her request. "Why do you not answer me, Corona? What is the matter with you?" again demanded old Aaron Rockharrt. But at that moment a waiter entered, and laid a card on the table before the old gentleman. He took it up and read: THE DUKE OF CUMBERVALE. "What in the deuce does the young fellow want of me? Show him into the parlor, William, and say that I will be with him in a few minutes." The waiter left the room to do his errand, and was soon followed by Mr. Rockharrt, who found the young duke pacing rather restlessly up and down the room. "Good morning, sir," said old Aaron, with stiff politeness.