"Fainting?" said the old man, in a tone of annoyance, as he took his seat beside his new wife--"fainting? The first Mrs. Rockharrt never fainted in her life; nor ever gave any sort of trouble. What's the matter with you, Rose? Don't be a consummate fool and turn nervous. I won't stand any nonsense," he said roughly, as he peered into the pale face of his new slave.
"Oh, it is nothing," she faltered--"nothing. I was overcome by heat. It is a very hot day."
"Why, it is a very cool afternoon. What do you mean?" he demanded.
"It has been a very hot day, and the heat and fatigue--"
"Rubbish!" he interrupted. "If I were to give any attention to your faints, you would be fainting every day just to have a fuss made over you. Now this fainting business has got to be stopped. Do you hear? If you are out of order, I will send for my family physician and have you examined. If you are really ill, you shall be put under medical treatment; if you are not, I will have no fine lady airs and affectations. The first Mrs. Rockharrt was perfectly free from them."
"I would not have given way to the weakness if I could have helped it--indeed I would not!" said the poor woman, very sincerely.
"We'll see to that!" retorted the Iron King.
Ah, poor Rose! She was not the old man's darling and sovereign, as she had hoped and planned to be. She was the tyrant's slave and victim.
A man of Aaron Rockharrt's temperament seldom, at the age of seventy-seven, becomes a lover; and never, at any age, a woman's slave.
Mr. Fabian now got into the carriage, and sat down on the front cushion opposite his father and step-mother. Mr. Clarence was following him in, when Mr. Rockharrt roughly interfered.
"What are you about here, Clarence? What are you going to do?"
"Take my seat in the carriage, of course, sir," answered the young man, with a surprised look.
"You are going to do nothing of the sort! I don't choose to have the horses overtasked in this manner. I myself, with Fabian and my coachman, to say nothing of Mrs. Rockharrt, are weight enough for one pair of horses, and you can't come in here. Where's Sylvan?"
"Really?" demanded the Iron King, in a sarcastic tone, "How many more of you desire to be drawn by one pair of horses? Tell Sylvan to come down off that."