"And will you live those years in loneliness? Cora will be sure to marry. A young woman like Cora will not wear the willow long, believe me. And when Cora leaves you, what then will you do? You have no other daughter or granddaughter. As for my promised wife, you yourself made it a condition of our marriage that we should have an establishment of our own." "For the dignity of the house of Rockharrt. Yes, Fabian." "And when Cora shall have left you, you will be alone--you who require the gentle ministrations of woman more than any man I ever knew." "Fabian!" exclaimed old Aaron Rockharrt, suddenly and suspiciously, bringing his strong black eyes to bear pointedly upon the face of his son. "What is your motive in wishing me to marry?" "Heaven bear me witness, sir, that my motive, my only motive, is your own comfort and happiness," said Fabian, and this time he spoke the truth. "I believe you, Fabian. But this lady with whom the world associates my name is too young for me. She cannot be more than twenty-five," said Old Aaron Rockharrt reflectively. "Well, sir! What did the sages and prophets recommend to David? A young woman to comfort the king. I am not very well posted in Bible history, but I think that is the story," said Mr. Fabian. CHAPTER X. ANOTHER FINE WEDDING. The marriage of Mr. Fabian Rockharrt and Miss Violet Wood was to be the great event of the winter. When the approaching wedding was announced in the newspapers of the day, it caused a sensation, I assure you. Mr. Fabian Rockharrt, the eldest son of the renowned millionaire, the confirmed bachelor, for whom "caps" had been "set" for the last twenty-five years; who had flirted with maidens who were now wives of elderly men and mothers of grown-up daughters, and in some cases even grandmothers of growing boys and girls--Mr. Fabian Rockharrt to be won at last by a little wood violet! Preposterous! The fourteenth of February, Saint Valentine's Day, the Birds' Wedding Day, dawned in that Southern climate like a May day. The snow had vanished weeks before; the ground was warm and moist; the grass was springing; the trees were budding; the wood violets were opening their sweet eyes in sheltered nooks of the forest. I do not know in what mood Violet Wood arose on that momentous morning of her life--probably in a very pleasant one. Her chaperon confided to an intimate friend that the child was not in love; that she had never been in love in her life, and did not even know what being in love meant; but that she was rather fond of the fine fellow who adored her, flattered her, petted her, promised her everything she wanted, and whose enormous wealth constituted him a sort of magician who could command the riches, the splendors, the luxuries, and all the delights of life! She was full of rapturous anticipations of extravagant enjoyments.