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diff --git a/77775-0.txt b/77775-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a08bfff --- /dev/null +++ b/77775-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10971 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77775 *** + + + + + PRICE 25 CENTS + + + SWORN TO SILENCE + + or, ALINE RODNEY’S SECRET. + + By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER. + + [Illustration: THE SWEETHEART SERIES + + GEORGE + MUNRO’S + SONS, + PUBLISHERS. + + 17 to 27 + VANDEWATER + STREET, + NEW YORK. + + Copyright, 1898, by George Munro’s Sons. + + By Subscription, $10.00 per Annum.] + + + + +THE NEW YORK FASHION BAZAR + +Model Letter-Writer and Lovers’ Oracle. + +WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. + +PRICE 10 CENTS. + +This book is a complete guide for both ladies and gentlemen in elegant +and fashionable letter-writing: containing perfect examples of every +form of correspondence, business letters, love letters, letters to +relatives and friends, wedding and reception cards, invitations to +entertainments, letters accepting and declining invitations, letters +of introduction and recommendation, letters of condolence and duty, +widows’ and widowers’ letters, love letters for all occasions, +proposals of marriage, letters between betrothed lovers, letters of +a young girl to her sweetheart, correspondence relating to household +management, letters accompanying gifts, etc. Every form of letter used +in affairs of the heart will be found in this little book. It contains +simple and full directions for writing a good letter on all occasions. +The latest forms used in the best society have been carefully followed. +It is an excellent manual of reference for all forms of engraved cards +and invitations. + + +The New York Fashion Bazar Book of the Toilet. + +WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. + +PRICE 10 CENTS. + +This is a little book which we can recommend to every lady for the +Preservation and Increase of Health and Beauty. It contains full +directions for all the arts and mysteries of personal decoration, and +for increasing the natural graces of form and expression. All the +little affections of the skin, hair, eyes, and body, that detract +from appearance and happiness, are made the subjects of precise and +excellent recipes. Ladies are instructed how to reduce their weight +without injury to health and without producing pallor and weakness. +Nothing necessary to a complete toilet book of recipes and valuable +advice and information has been overlooked in the compilation of this +volume. + + +The New York Fashion Bazar Book of Etiquette. + +WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. + +PRICE 10 CENTS. + +This book is a guide to good manners and the ways of fashionable +society, a complete hand-book of behavior, containing all the polite +observances of modern life: the etiquette of engagements and marriages; +the manners and training of children; the arts of conversation and +polite letter-writing; invitations to dinners, evening parties +and entertainments of all descriptions; table manners; etiquette +of visits and public places; how to serve breakfasts, luncheons, +dinners and teas; how to dress, travel, shop, and behave at hotels +and watering-places. This book contains all that a lady or gentleman +requires for correct behavior on all social occasions. + + +The foregoing works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to +any address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publishers. + + Address GEORGE MUNRO’S SONS, + MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, + 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. + + + + +A Skin of Beauty is a Joy Forever + +DR. T. FELIX GOURAUD’S + +Oriental Cream + +OR MAGICAL BEAUTIFIER + +_For the Skin and Complexion_ + +[Illustration] + +The only toilet preparation in America that has stood the actual test +of public approval for over half a century. + +It will purify and beautify the skin and remove Pimples, Blackheads, +Moth Patches, Rash, Freckles and Vulgar Redness, Yellow and Muddy +Skin, giving a delicately clear and refined complexion. It is highly +recommended by leading society and professional ladies, and cannot be +surpassed when preparing for evening attire. + +Price $1.50 per bottle. + +For sale at druggists’ and fancy goods dealers’, or will be sent direct +on receipt of price. + + +Gouraud’s Oriental Velvet Sponge + +The most satisfactory article for applying =Gouraud’s Oriental Cream=. +50 cents each, by mail on receipt of price. + +Gouraud’s Oriental Toilet Powder + +An ideal antiseptic toilet powder for infants and adults. Exquisitely +perfumed. 25 cents a box by mail. + +FERD. T. HOPKINS, Proprietor, 37 Great Jones Street, New York + + + + + Sworn to Silence; + + or, + + ALINE RODNEY’S SECRET. + + By MRS. ALEX McVEIGH MILLER. + + [Illustration] + + Copyright 1883, by George Munro. + + [Illustration] + + (SWEETHEART) + + NEW YORK: + GEORGE MUNRO’S SONS, PUBLISHERS, + 17 to 27 Vanderwater Street. + + + + +[Illustration: + + FOR THE WOMAN OF FASHION + À LA SPIRITE + =C/B= CORSETS + STRAIGHT FRONT MODELS +] + + + + +THE MOTHER’S MISSION. + + +[Illustration: 1840 + + MRS. WINSLOW’S + + For + Children + While + Teething + + SOOTHING SYRUP + 1907 +] + +A great Emperor once asked one of his noble subjects what would secure +his country the first place among the nations of the earth. The +nobleman’s grand reply was “Good mothers.” Now, what constitutes a +good mother? The answer is conclusive. She who, regarding the future +welfare of her child, seeks every available means that may offer to +promote a sound physical development, to the end that her offspring may +not be deficient in any single faculty with which nature has endowed +it. In infancy there is no period which is more likely to affect the +future disposition of the child than that of teething, producing as it +does fretfulness, moroseness of mind, etc., which if not checked will +manifest itself in after days. + + +USE MRS. WINSLOW’S SOOTHING SYRUP. + + Guaranteed under the Food and Drugs Act, June 30th, 1906. Serial + Number 1098. + + +FOR OVER SIXTY YEARS + +An Old and Well-Tried Remedy + +=MRS. WINSLOW’S SOOTHING SYRUP= has been used for over =SIXTY= YEARS +by MILLIONS of MOTHERS for their CHILDREN WHILE TEETHING, WITH PERFECT +SUCCESS. IT SOOTHES the CHILD, SOFTENS the GUMS, ALLAYS all PAIN; CURES +WIND COLIC, and is the best remedy for DIARRHOEA. Sold by Druggists in +every part of the world. Be sure and ask for =MRS. WINSLOW’S SOOTHING +SYRUP=, and take no other kind. + + +Twenty-Five Cents a Bottle. + + + + +SWORN TO SILENCE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I. + CHAPTER II. + CHAPTER III. + CHAPTER IV. + CHAPTER V. + CHAPTER VI. + CHAPTER VII. + CHAPTER VIII. + CHAPTER IX. + CHAPTER X. + CHAPTER XI. + CHAPTER XII. + CHAPTER XIII. + CHAPTER XIV. + CHAPTER XV. + CHAPTER XVI. + CHAPTER XVII. + CHAPTER XVIII. + CHAPTER XIX. + CHAPTER XX. + CHAPTER XXI. + CHAPTER XXII. + CHAPTER XXIII. + CHAPTER XXIV. + CHAPTER XXV. + CHAPTER XXVI. + CHAPTER XXVII. + CHAPTER XXVIII. + CHAPTER XXIX. + CHAPTER XXX. + CHAPTER XXXI. + CHAPTER XXXII. + CHAPTER XXXIII. + CHAPTER XXXIV. + CHAPTER XXXV. + CHAPTER XXXVI. + CHAPTER XXXVII. + CHAPTER XXXVIII. + CHAPTER XXXIX. + CHAPTER XL. + CHAPTER XLI. + CHAPTER XLII. + CHAPTER XLIII. + CHAPTER XLIV. + CHAPTER XLV. + CHAPTER XLVI. + CHAPTER XLVII. + CHAPTER XLVIII. + CHAPTER XLIX. + CHAPTER L. + CHAPTER LI. + CHAPTER LII. + CHAPTER LIII. + CHAPTER LIV. + CHAPTER LV. + CHAPTER LVI. + CHAPTER LVII. + CHAPTER LVIII. + CHAPTER LIX. + CHAPTER LX. + CHAPTER LXI. + CHAPTER LXII. + CHAPTER LXIII. + CHAPTER LXIV. + CHAPTER LXV. + CHAPTER LXVI. + CHAPTER LXVII. + CHAPTER LXVIII. + CHAPTER LXIX. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + “Fair roses from far countries + Around my portals twine; + Bright on their radiant faces + Caressing sunbeams shine, + But my neighbor over yonder + Has a fairer rose than mine. + + “I see his dainty cottage + Beyond my garden bowers, + High o’er it, tall and stately, + My shadowing mansion towers; + But my neighbor’s Rose of roses + Is sweeter than my flowers.” + + +The family carriage of the Rodneys stood before the gate, and Mouse and +Kitty, the two sleek gray ponies, champed their bits impatiently while +the Rodneys, great and small, issued forth in gala attire. + +They were going to the picnic in Walnut Grove--mamma, papa, Effie, and +little Max--all but Aline, and _she_ was in disgrace and forbidden to +go. (Not that the command itself would have been sufficient to detain +her, but she was locked into her room, “in durance vile,” and left in +charge of the cook for safe-keeping.) + +Aline was usually in disgrace with the family. She had the sweetest +face and the warmest heart in the world, but with her high spirits +and willful ways she had a most lamentable faculty for getting into +mischief of some sort daily, and it was for some more flagrant offense +than usual that mamma had sternly vetoed the picnic to-day and locked +her into her room to meditate on her many and grievous faults. + +The culprit, from her upper window, flattened her pretty piquant little +nose against the window-pane and gazed after the departing quartet with +great sparkling tears in the lovely eyes whose rare and peculiar shade +of deep purple-blue had been caught from the far-off strain of Irish +blood that flowed in her veins. They were “sweetest eyes were ever +seen,” at once arch and tender and shaded by long, black-fringed lashes +overarched by-- + + “Slender brows of shining jet, + Limned against the forehead’s snow, + Like triumphal arches set + O’er the conquering eyes below.” + +The Rodneys entered the carriage, and Aline flung them one last +despairing kiss from the tips of her slim white fingers, but no one +saw except, perhaps, her little brother, who looked up regretfully +and saw the lovely, girlish face smiling at him through its sparkling +tears. Then the carriage door was closed, Mouse and Kitty broke into a +sedate trot, and the sweet face retired from the window and hid itself +in a small square of snowy linen. Aline’s heart was for the moment +completely broken. + +It was no small trial to be shut up in that hot, stifling little +chamber all that lovely, sunny July day. She thought of the beautiful +green grove close by the shining river, with the light winds ruffling +its cool breast, of the happy gathering of young people, the games, +the dancing, the hamper baskets of cold chicken and sweetmeats, +indigestible pickles and pies and cakes, prepared for the gay, +unceremonious dinner, and her heart sunk heavily. She would not +willingly have foregone the delights of that day for anything she +possessed. Any other punishment she could have borne with equanimity, +but it did seem as if mamma had been actuated by malice prepense in +forbidding the picnic to which Aline had looked forward eagerly for two +long weeks. + +She wept some bitter tears, distinctly tinctured with anger, into her +snowy handkerchief, then she wiped her eyes and looked about her for +some means of passing the tedious time away. Her mother had brought her +up a volume of sermons, by way of profitable reading. Aline vented her +spite and disappointment most unjustifiably on the unoffending volume, +by tossing it out of the little end window into her neighbor’s garden, +and the innocent missile, in its rapid descent, hit her neighbor +sharply upon the head. + +When she saw what she had done, a little cry of dismay broke from +her lips. The great gray stone mansion standing in the beautiful +garden next door to Mr. Rodney’s cottage was known throughout the +little village of Chester as a haunted house; and its owner, the +dark, moody-looking man who had just returned from a protracted +sojourn abroad, was generally considered a very mysterious man. He was +immensely rich, a bachelor, and handsome in a dark, corsair-like style +that the girls of Chester considered very fascinating although it was +so inaccessible. + +As for the gentleman himself he neither knew nor cared what the good +villagers thought of him. He was among them, but not of them. He sought +no society and received no guests. He dwelt alone and lonely in the +grand old mansion where several generations of his ancestors had lived +and died, and which popular imagination peopled with ghosts. Indeed, it +was positively asserted that at the dread midnight hour shrieks of woe +had been heard to issue from the deserted house, and lights had been +seen flashing from window to window as if waved in phantom hands. The +Delaneys had been a hard, proud, cruel race, so said Mme. Rumor, that +knowing dame, and it was no wonder if some of them returned to earth in +spirit to bewail the deeds done in the flesh. + +The humbler home of the Rodneys, a simple two-storied cottage, stood +next the gloomy gray stone mansion, and the small end window of Aline’s +little room overlooked the beautiful garden where the taciturn, +grave-browed master strolled at will, and smoked his choice Havanas +and switched off the heads of his splendid roses and lilies with his +slender ebony cane as if hating all things beautiful and sweet. + +Many a time and oft Aline had watched this strange, mysterious unknown +neighbor of theirs through a crevice in the white curtain, and +speculated curiously over his history, while she inwardly deprecated +the fact that those splendid flowers belonged to such a monster. + +“The cruel wretch! To snap off their heads with his ugly stick! I +should like to knock _his_ head off!” Aline often muttered indignantly +to herself, and lo! now in her eagerness to place the obnoxious book +forever beyond her mother’s reach, she had almost compassed her wish. +She saw the tall, straight figure reel a moment under the suddenness +of the blow, saw him put his white hand quickly to his head, where a +sharp corner of the book had inadvertently struck it. In her terror +and dismay she uttered a little cry of alarm and regret. He looked up +quickly at the sound--so quickly that she could not retreat. + +As he looked up he saw the sweetest girl face he had ever beheld in +his life--beautiful even through its frightened pallor--with startled, +wide-open blue eyes, the long black lashes curled upward, giving them +an expression of almost infantine innocence and purity. The delicate +oval of the lovely face was daintily broken by a deep dimple in the +rounded chin, the parted red lips disclosed teeth like pearls, and the +dark, silken hair, worn in short, babyish rings on the round, white +forehead, fell over her shoulders in long, loose, natural ringlets to +the slender, rounded waist. Framed in the small, white-draped window, +with a vine of his own rare clematis clambering up from his garden and +twining luxuriantly about the casement, she looked like some beautiful +picture--a picture that Oran Delaney carried in his heart to his dying +day, “unforgotten in every charm.” + +For her, she looked down into the dark, wondering eyes of her +mysterious neighbor, and set her little teeth and held her ground +bravely, determined not to fly from his wrath. Some confused, +remorseful dread of mamma’s and Effie’s anger at this new scrape +flashed into her mind momentarily; poor mamma, who thought that for +this one day, at least, she had secured her willful, thoughtless +darling from the commission of the smallest bit of mischief--and she +determined to make a treaty of peace with this _bête noir_ of hers, in +order to secure his silence, little dreaming that with this culminating +act of folly the story of her life would begin. + +Aline was ordinarily a brave girl, but she was honestly frightened now +at what she had done. Oran Delaney was an ogre in her eyes, and her +youthful imagination, fired by the descriptions she had heard of him, +recoiled in dismay at the thought of his wrath. Of course he would +suppose that she had hurled the book at his head on purpose. His anger +would be something fearful, she did not doubt. Would he report her +conduct to her parents? She resolved frantically that, at all odds, he +should not do that. She could not endure it. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +She tried to summon a smile to her lips, but they only quivered +instead. Spite of her innocent propensity for getting into trouble, +Aline was very sensitive. The ludicrous side of her position did not +strike her in her awe of Oran Delaney. She summoned all her fortitude +to her aid, and looked down into the dark, handsome face, waiting to +hear him speak. + +But he did not do so. His upraised eyes stared straight into her own +with a gaze full of wonder and perplexity; his dark mustached lips even +smiled slightly. He would not speak. He was evidently waiting for her +to take the initiative. + +Seeing this, Aline made a great effort. She leaned out of the window, +and gasped, rather indistinctly: + +“I--I beg your pardon, Mr. Delaney. I didn’t mean to throw the book +out--that is, I meant to throw it out, but I didn’t mean to hit you! I +didn’t know you were there!” + +Having mumbled out this comprehensive apology, Aline waited anxiously +for his answer. + +She saw a smile creeping around his lips, as the ludicrous state of +the case dawned on him. The face that looked so cold and stern, as she +watched it daily under the shadow of his broad-leaved hat, did not +appear so terrible now, as he stood with uncovered head gazing up at +her. It even had a beauty of its own, if one fancied straight, even +features, an olive skin, dark, magnetic eyes, dark, clustering locks, +tossed carelessly back from a broad, intellectual brow, and a smile +that, when it curved the mustached lips, lent the charm of fascination +to his whole face. That smile, as it shone on Aline now, inspired her +with unconscious courage. She continued, pleadingly: + +“I hope you will excuse me, sir, and--and--if you please, I hope you +will not tell mamma.” + +He picked up the book, and, turning the leaves, asked, in a deep, +musical, slightly amused voice: + +“If you did not intend the missile for me, may I ask why you threw the +book out at all?” + +“I was mad,” said Aline, flushing a little at the admission. + +“Mad--with such a good book as this? Sermons, aren’t they?” inquired +Oran Delaney, lightly, as if talking to a child, which, in fact, she +appeared to be, as seen at the window. Her face looked very young. +He could not judge of the tall, rounded figure as she rested on her +elbows, and looked down at him. + +“Yes--sermons--but awfully dry, you know,” she returned apologetically; +“but, after all, you know, I oughtn’t to have thrown them away; mamma +wouldn’t like it. Will you please throw the book back to me, Mr. +Delaney?” + +He made several attempts to do so, but Aline was not clever at +catching. It eluded the white, outstretched hands every time, and fell +back into her neighbor’s garden. They both laughed. Aline began to +think that her neighbor might not be such an ogre, after all. + +“Twice you have let it fall back upon my head,” he said. “You are too +clumsy to catch it at all. Come down to the window in the first story, +and I will hand it up to you.” + +“I--can’t,” replied Aline, flushing very red indeed. + +“Why not?” wonderingly. + +“I am locked into my room,” flushing deeper with shame. + +“Impossible! Who is your jailer?” inquired the gentleman. + +“Mamma; she has locked the door and gone off, leaving me here to read +those dreary sermons that I threw away.” + +There is a moment’s silence. Aline reads palpable surprise on her +neighbor’s face. The shame-flush deepens on her own. + +Presently, with a laugh, he says: + +“You must have been a very naughty girl, weren’t you?” + +“I didn’t mean to be, but mamma and Effie said I was. So they went off +to the picnic, and locked me in here to punish me,” Aline said, growing +confidential as her dread of Mr. Delaney grew less. “And oh, if they +ever find out that I threw a book and knocked your hat off, I shall +never hear the last of it. You won’t tell--will you?” pleadingly. + +“What would they do to you?--lock you into your room again?” + +“Worse than that, perhaps. I dare say they would devise some new +punishment worse than any I have suffered yet,” sighing. + +“Are they cruel to you?” + +“Oh, no, only when I get into scrapes, as they say I am always doing. +I am mischievous, they say, but I never mean to be. The way I get into +trouble is like I did just now, you see, without knowing it,” she +explains, plaintively. + +“A spoiled, willful child,” Oran Delaney says to himself, smiling; +then, aloud: “Well, about this book--how am I to return it to you?” + +“I don’t know--and mamma will be so vexed with me,” plaintively. +“Cannot you think of a plan?” + +The sweet entreaty in the blue eyes moved him strangely. He looks +around. + +“Let me see. There is a step-ladder hereabouts used by the gardener in +training vines against the wall. I might climb that.” + +“Oh, pray do,” she clasps her hands entreatingly, and he goes away in +search of the article. + +Returning with a light, convenient step-ladder, he places it against +the side of the house beneath the window. Her voice arrests him as he +is about to ascend it. + +“Oh, if you please, Mr. Delaney, I should like a bunch of your nice +roses,” this rather timidly. + +“Should you?” he says, surprised; then he looks around him at his +beautiful garden glowing with all the lavish wealth of July--roses and +lilies, and all the sweet sisterhood of flowers. From the green bowers +and blooming beds of the garden, he lifts a keen glance to the upper +windows of his stately house. The blinds are tightly closed at every +window, an air of gloom and desertion pervades the scene. His glance +goes back to that girlish face that is sweeter than all his flowers. + +“You love flowers?” he says. + +“Oh, so much!” she breathes, clasping her hands in pretty unconscious +earnestness. “I wish that your garden were mine!” + +“Are you aware that you are transgressing the tenth commandment?” he +inquires, dryly. + +“Am I? I don’t care. I can’t help envying you that splendid garden. You +may have your house, and its ghosts, and welcome, but I do want your +flowers.” + +“Ghosts,” he says, and a slight frown darkens on his brow. + +“Yes, there _are_ ghosts in that big, gloomy house, aren’t there? +People say so, at least,” she answers. + +He makes no answer. The half smile he has worn until now fades from +his face. He remains lost in thought a moment, then abruptly turns the +subject. + +“Since you like flowers so well, you may come down and take all you +want.” + +“How?” she asks, bewildered. + +“Down the ladder,” he replies, carelessly, and Aline catches her breath. + +To be permitted to set foot in that lovely spot, than which it seems to +her the garden of Eden had not been lovelier--to fill her hands with +those exquisite flowers, and her heart and soul with their fragrance. +It seems too good to be true. But, down the ladder? Would that be +right? A premonitory vision of mamma’s horror darted into her mind. She +set the temptation side by side with the scolding and the punishment, +and weighed them, and, a true daughter of Mother Eve, she let her own +willful desires triumph. + +It was so pleasant to think of escaping from that stifling chamber, and +reveling in green grass and tender flowers and springing fountains. She +asked herself if it could be very wrong to escape from her prison for a +very little while? As for descending the ladder, she did not mind that +very much. I am ashamed to state that my heroine had been reproachfully +accused of tomboyish propensities by her relations. + +She looked down a little wistfully into Oran Delaney’s dark, proud face. + +“Do you think it would be very wrong if I came down?” she said. + +“I cannot see where the harm would be,” he replied, lightly. + +“Then, if you will go away down that path there, I will come down the +ladder and get some roses,” said Aline; and he laughed and walked away. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +When she had set foot in the garden and he came back to her, he was +honestly surprised. He had thought her a precocious child of thirteen. +Here was a tall girl up to his shoulder, with a figure that was +rounding into the gracious curves of womanhood--eighteen at the very +least, he decided, in spite of her childish manner and the simple blue +gingham dress whose ruffled skirt was still short enough to betray half +an inch of _écru_ stocking above the top of her trim little buttoned +boots. + +She looked back a little apprehensively at the step-ladder at the +window. + +“You may move the ladder until I get my flowers,” she said. “I am +afraid that if cook came up to see after me she would find me out.” + +He was rather amused at her pretty air of command as contrasted with +her frightened, appealing tones of a little while ago. He obeyed her +command, then sat down carelessly on a rustic seat, and watched her +as she flitted about among his flowers. First she adorned herself, +after the manner of a vain woman, with a bunch of rosebuds in the soft +little fichu of white lace at her neck, and another at the belt of her +white apron. Then she roved about from flower to flower, daintily and +capriciously as a butterfly, but culling sweets as industriously as +a bee, her white apron soon being filled with the scented beauties. +Absorbed in her delightful occupation, time flew unheeded. She seemed +to forget her neighbor, and the grim, gray house, whose shadow reached +out long and dark and forbidding across the garden and compassed her in +its gloom like a fateful prophecy. + +He watched the child, as he called her to himself, idly, and yet with +that something of interest that even the cold and world-hardened +cannot deny to youth and happiness. Something of pity mingled with his +careless thoughts. She seemed so young, and gay, and light-hearted, and +he knew that it could not last, that the years would overtake her, and +teach her that + + “Youth’s life is but a brief one, + Foam from an ebbing sea.” + +She passed out of sight under the shady arches of the trees, and for a +little while Oran Delaney forgot her. He smoked a cigar with his hat +drawn over his eyes, and his moody brows drawn together. The sudden +silvery tinkle of a bell from the house aroused him to a remembrance of +luncheon and his guest. + +He glanced around him, and caught the glimmer of a blue dress among +the trees. Following it, he found her hovering over a bed of exquisite +pansies, murmuring softly to herself little exclamations of girlish +pleasure and delight. + +“I hope you will forgive me for rousing you to the prosaic realities +of life,” he said, “but my luncheon is ready, and I came to ask you to +share it.” + +“Luncheon!” She glanced up with a startled face. “Is it so late as +that?” + +“‘How softly falls the foot of Time, that only treads on flowers!’” he +quoted. “Yes, it is two o’clock”--glancing at his watch--“has not your +physical entity already reminded you of that fact?” + +“If you mean that I ought to be hungry by this time, I believe it is +true,” said she, smiling. “Although I had not thought of it before, +I believe I should like a biscuit. But I must go home now; I cannot +stay to lunch with you. Do not look at this great load of flowers, Mr. +Delaney; I am afraid you will scold.” + +“You have tried to carry off every one in the garden, I see,” he +returned, uncaring. “But my peaches and grapes are as sweet and lovely +as my flowers. Come and try them.” + +Another temptation! Nothing ever tasted so delicious to Aline as the +sunny side of a peach. She was curious over Mr. Delaney’s lunch, too, +and wondered who prepared it, and what the inside of that great house +looked like. Ever since they had come to the cottage to live, she had +been curious over it. Should she let the opportunity to enter it and +see go unimproved? + +Aline was a true descendant of our common mother Eve--she preferred +knowledge at any risk. Her curiosity and her liking for peaches carried +her beyond the bounds of prudence. She went boldly into the “lion’s +den.” + +Dear reader, do not think my heroine altogether bold and frivolous. +She was only simple, innocent, and ignorant. She had never been to +Wisdom’s school. She was at heart a child still, with a child’s free, +willful impulses. + +It did not occur to her that it was very improper to accept Mr. +Delaney’s careless invitation to go into his house and take lunch with +him. She wished very much to do so, and, being used to having her own +way--very often with only occasional condign punishment, such as she +had received to-day--she went. + +She went, and she was almost startled at the gloomy magnificence of +the long and stately dining-hall, with its costly carpet, thick and +soft as moss, its dark, rich, walnut furniture, glittering side-boards, +paneled walls, and splendid pictures. On one end of the long, imposing +table was spread a delicate, luxurious luncheon of cold chicken, flaky +biscuit, sweetmeats, and cake, with grapes, peaches, and wine. The +service was of gold, and silver, and crystal, and glittered in the +subdued light that stole into the room through the closed curtains. +There was no attendant in the room, and the whole house appeared +as silent as the tomb. Nevertheless, Aline enjoyed her lunch very +much; its mysterious origin seeming as if served by magic, and the +costly plate on which it was laid did not detract from its charm. In +her enjoyment of the delicate repast she quite forgot her original +intention of eating only just one peach and hurrying home. She +discussed the whole bill of fare with the keen appetite of a healthy +girl used to out door exercise and fresh air; and then she was quite +frightened to find that it was three o’clock. + +“Cook will have taken luncheon up to my room and found out that I have +gone. What shall I do?” she said, growing suddenly frightened and +lifting her large, anxious eyes to her entertainer’s face. + +“Cook will not tell of you, I hope. Will she?” asked Mr. Delaney, +coolly peeling a peach with his white, aristocratic hand, on which a +magnificent diamond glowed with iridescent fire. “Have this peach, +Miss--Miss--do you know I haven’t found out your name yet?” + +“It is Aline--Aline Rodney. I thought you would know that much, as we +are neighbors,” she said; then returning to her grievance, she added: +“Cook will certainty betray me. You should have sent me home sooner. +Why didn’t you?” + +“That would have been discourteous,” said Oran Delaney, with his +winning smile; “and, besides, Miss Rodney, I forgot you. Will you +pardon me for it? I was smoking and dreaming, you see, and you escaped +my mind for the moment.” + +“‘Out of sight, out of mind,’” said Aline, quoting the old adage with +perfect good humor. “Well, it was just the same with me. I thought +of nothing but the flowers until you came up suddenly behind me. But +I must go home now and see if I am found out. Ah, dear me, I am into +another scrape, and, indeed, indeed, I never dreamed of it when I came +down into the garden. I shall have to go down on my knees to cook, and +beg her to keep it silent about the ladder and the book.” + +“Since you feel so sure that you are found out, there can surely be no +need to haste to return to your prison,” said Oran Delaney, toying with +a purple, bloomy bunch of grapes. “An hour more or less cannot matter +materially, I suppose, in the extent of cook’s wrath?” + +“N--no, I suppose not,” said Aline, paltering with temptation weakly. +“And I do hate to go back to that lonely room just yet. But, perhaps,” +gazing at him, anxiously, “perhaps you would like for me to go. Perhaps +you are weary of me.” + +A sudden sigh, deep, subtle, profound, breathed over his lips. He +looked at her strangely. + +“I am weary of everything,” he said, abruptly. “But if it pleases you +to stay, child, pray do so. It will be no annoyance to me.” + +From being terribly afraid of him at first, Aline had become quite +trusting and confidential. She looked at him with a smile. + +“Thank you for your kind permission,” she said. “I will not go just +yet. There are some things I should like to find out before I go home.” + +“You are very frank.” + +“Do you think so?” asked his unconventional guest. “And will you answer +truly what I am about to ask you?” + +“_Cela depends_,” he replied, with a slight frown. + +“That means that you anticipate impertinent questions from me!” she +laughed, easily. “But do you know, Mr. Delaney, that you have long been +an object of curiosity to me?” + +“You flatter me,” said Oran Delaney, lightly. + +“I don’t know whether the curiosity is flattering or not,” said +frank Aline. “The greater part of my curiosity is over this great, +gloomy-looking house of yours. Is it really haunted, as they say?” + +“It is haunted by my presence--nothing more ghostly than that,” he +replied, laconically. + +Aline looked as if she did not quite believe him, but she went on, +perseveringly: + +“Do you really live in this house all alone, sir?” + +“Yes,” he replied. + +Her large eyes wandered over the delicately prepared luncheon, then +returned to his quiet face. + +“But, really now, Mr. Delaney, there must be a housekeeper here. Else +by whom could your meals be served?” she said. + +“By the fairies,” he replied, with perfect gravity. + +“You don’t expect me to believe that?” said Aline, pouting her rosy +lips. + +“I hope you will. At least it is the only answer I can give you,” he +retorted. + +Aline looked curiously at him. There was a slight smile on his face, +but he spoke in grave earnest. She understood then that the secrets of +the haunted house would remain secret still. He had no mind to reveal +them to her. + +The rich color rose to her face as it suddenly flashed over her that he +must think she made him a poor return for his courtesy by her pointed +questions. + +“I beg your pardon for my impertinent questions,” she said. “I did not +really mean to be rude. I was merely thoughtless.” + +“You are freely forgiven,” he answered, courteously. + +“And now I will thank you for your kindness, and go,” Aline continued, +moving from the table and turning toward the door. + +Mr. Delaney walked by her side and opened the door for her with his +quiet, courteous air. + +“You have done me the honor to be curious over my old house, Miss +Rodney,” he said. “Perhaps this glimpse of its interior has not +satisfied you. Do you care to examine any of the other rooms?” + +They were walking slowly along, side by side on the echoing floor of +the wide, marble-paved hall, and Aline had just opened her lips to +speak, but her answer, whether negative or affirmative, will never be +recorded. It was frozen on her lips by a terrible interruption. + +The strange, brooding stillness that reigned throughout the great, gray +stone mansion, was broken startlingly by a loud, prolonged shriek--a +shriek of such terrible, diabolic, blood-curdling rage and hate, that +it seemed to freeze the blood in Aline’s veins, and to cause every +individual hair to stand erect upon her head with horror. + +Instinctively she threw out her hand, and clutching Mr. Delaney’s arm, +stared up into his face with wide, terrified blue eyes, like a child’s +appealing for protection. + +The shriek was repeated, followed by another, and another, each more +terrible than the last. Those fearful cries struck terror to Aline’s +heart. She could not determine whether they issued from male or female +lips. It seemed to her frenzied fancy as if they did not belong to a +human being, but rather to some vicious and diabolic spirit of the +nether world. It + + “Was neither man nor woman, + It was neither brute nor human, + ’Twas a ghoul.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +As those wild, unearthly cries rang through the house, Oran Delaney +stood for a moment like one rooted to the floor. His face had whitened +to the ghastliness of death, a smoldering fire flashed from his +splendid dark eyes, he ground a fierce, smothered imprecation between +his strong, white teeth. + +“What is it? Oh! Mr. Delaney, what is it?” shuddered Aline, clinging +convulsively to his arm. + +He started, and looked down at the sweet, white face, with its +frightened blue eyes and chattering teeth. He did not answer, for again +that dreadful, diabolic shriek of anger, frightening all the sleeping +echoes into hideous sound, rang through the house: + +“Ah--h--h! Ah--h--h!” + +This time it sounded nearer, as if the ghostly utterer were coming +rapidly upon the scene. Horror flashed from Oran Delaney’s eyes. + +With a sudden, swift, abrupt movement he shook the little, clinging +hands from his sleeve, and moved toward the grand stairway that led to +the upper regions of the house. + +With his foot upon the stair, he turned and looked back, pierced by the +low, reproachful wail of fear and pain that burst from Aline’s lips. + +He saw the beautiful, graceful figure of the girl standing in the +dark, gloomy hall, lighting its gloom with her beauty, like a flower +or a star. + +Like one distraught, he waved his hand to her. + +“Fly, fly!” he shouted, hoarsely. “Lose not a moment! To linger in +this terrible place means death!” Then he flew up the wide and winding +stairway as if his feet were winged, and the girl, whose own willful +folly and curiosity had brought her to this pass, stood like one rooted +to the spot, filled with trembling and horror. + +She knew not where to fly. She was in the center of a long, dark +hall, with doors opening into rooms on either hand and at either end. +Through one of these latter doors she had come with Oran Delaney to +the dining-room, but to save her life she could not have told which +one. Oh, how horrible it was standing there, with those strange shrieks +ringing in her ears, and feeling, with a strange despair at her heart, +that Oran Delaney had fled from her like a coward, and left her to +perish of this mysterious, unknown danger, rushing nearer and nearer! + +“Ah--h--h! Ah--h--h!” again rang shrilly in her frightened hearing, +and, impelled by maddening fear, Aline sprung wildly forward and rushed +to one of those wide hall doors, which she hoped would give her egress +from this horror-haunted house, into sunshine and security again. + +She reached out her white hand gropingly for the door-knob, opened +and fled through it as if pursued by a legion of fiends. It swung +to heavily behind her, and her feet sunk deep into the velvet pile +of a fine, rich carpet like softest moss. She was in the long and +lofty parlors, where the dust lay thick upon the linen covers of the +costly furniture, and the gleaming mirrors and splendid paintings were +curtained from the sight. A cry of despair escaped her lips as she +realized the truth. + +“It was the wrong door. I must retrace my steps,” she thought; but even +as she laid her hand upon the knob she was startled by those hideous +screams again--this time they seemed to come from the hall itself, and +with a stifled exclamation Aline darted into the curtained alcove of +a bay-window and let the heavy draperies of velvet and brocade fall +heavily around her. She had scarcely done so before a hand turned the +door-knob softly, something swished through the door, it closed again +and she was conscious of an alien presence in the room. She could +hear distinctly a heavy, muffled breathing, and the rustle of drapery +trailed over the floor. + +Aline’s heart seemed beating in her throat almost to suffocation. +She crouched upon the floor, her young face pale as death, her sweet +eyes wild with horror of she knew not what invisible evil that was +approaching her with swift, cat-like movements across the echoless +floor. Was it ghost or human? she asked herself, fearfully. + +Crouching there, a little crumpled blue heap in the darkness, fearing +to breathe lest her presence might be betrayed by even that stifled +sound, Aline summoned courage to draw aside the lightest fold of the +curtain to form a tiny aperture through which, herself unseen, she +might see what or who had entered the darkened, dreary, deserted +parlor. Curiosity, our little heroine’s besetting sin, had not deserted +her yet, despite her fear and terror. + +She gazed fearfully through the tiny crevice in the curtain, and it +was only by the exercise of a strong will power that she prevented +herself from crying out aloud. + +A little dwarf-like, misshapen _something_, clothed in trailing +garments like a woman, was approaching the alcove steadily and swiftly, +as if guided by the unerring instinct of hate and murder to the +hiding-place of its prey. The crooked hideous form was clothed with +rich white satin and lace, all soiled and frayed as if from a terrible +struggle, for there were wet and gory blood drops all spattered down +the deep flounces of white lace that adorned the front breadth of the +robe. + +Over a monstrous head, covered with rough matted locks of coarse black +hair was thrown a long and splendid bridal veil of costly Brussels +lace, and this, too, was soiled and tattered like the bridal robe. +There was no face visible, for a mask was worn above it--a horrible +mask of thick black crape; and Aline shuddered as she thought of the +distorted features it hid, for the narrow slits for the eyes were not +cut in a level line below the brows, but by some dreadful freak of +nature the eyes of the creature were placed one below the brow, the +other far down upon the cheek, and in this distorted form they glared +through the holes of the mask like the yellow orbs of a tigress filled +with the spirit of destruction. + +But these monstrous, baleful eyes were not all that struck terror to +Aline’s heart as she knelt there, shuddering in the semi-darkness of +the death-trap into which she had blindly rushed. + +The long, skinny, claw-like hand of the creature presented a yet more +terrible aspect to her straining gaze, for the long white kid gloves +that covered them were stained with crimson gore, and one hand grasped +a slender, jewel-hilted dagger, from whose shining blade dripped human +blood! + +The wild instinct of self-preservation blazed up in Aline’s heart. She +thought of the beautiful, sunny world outside this horrible haunted +house, and the fierce desire for life flamed up within her. Should she +die here like some wild thing caught in a trap, without one effort for +escape? + +She sprung to her feet and made a desperate rush past that horrible +creature toward the door, but the footsteps of hate were swifter even +than those of fear. Even as she tore open the door she felt the sharp +clutch of cruel fingers on her arm, she was whirled violently backward, +and the murderous dagger, already red with human gore, flashed in +the creature’s hand, and the next instant sheathed itself in Aline’s +breast. She fell across the door-sill, and lay motionless in a pool of +her own spurting life blood. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +The town-clock of Chester clanged the midnight hour out heavily from +its hoarse, brazen throat--twelve! + +Aline opened her blue eyes languidly--they were heavy, as if weighed +down with lead--and looked about her. + +They fell upon a scene utterly new and strange to her. + +She was lying on a downy, rosewood couch, with draperies of pale blue +silk and snowy lace, in the center of a large and high-ceiled room +hung with azure silk, the elegant rosewood furniture being upholstered +in the same lovely material. Everything about her breathed of unlimited +wealth and taste, and the sweet aroma of flowers floated delightfully +through the beautiful apartment from the delicate vases on the mantel, +which had been filled with the choicest wealth of the garden by a +lavish and unsparing hand. + +“She revives, doctor,” said a woman’s voice. + +Aline lifted her eyes quickly. An elderly grave-faced woman had come +forward to the bedside, and was bending curiously over her. She was +dressed in a nurse’s cap and apron, and had a kind, though homely +looking face. + +“Who are you, and where am I?” asked Aline, gazing at this strange face +in bewilderment. + +“Hush, my dear! You are sick, and must not talk,” answered the nurse +with a slight frown. + +She moved aside, and Aline saw two men behind her. A cry of fear broke +from her lips. Both wore masks upon their faces; but, in the tall, +well-knit figure of the foremost one, she recognized Oran Delaney. + +He came forward and bent over Aline, whispering, hurriedly: + +“Miss Rodney, I beg you, as a special favor, to keep silence a little +while. Say nothing to this stranger of how you came by your wound.” + +Her wound! She gave a start and memory rushed over her. She was +conscious too of a sharp, stinging pain in her breast, and the clothing +upon it, she perceived, was stiffened and red with clotted blood. So +that horrible creature had not quite killed her! + +She made no answer, for Oran Delaney moved quickly away, giving +place to the masked physician. The nurse brought a basin of water, +sponges, and linen, and he deftly bathed and dressed the wound, gazing +curiously, now and then, at the beautiful, frightened face of his +patient, who lay still as death with only a smothered moan, now and +then, instantly stifled on her pale, almost icy, lips. + +“I will be as gentle as I can,” he said to her, kindly, but Aline did +not speak. She had closed her eyes and relapsed into unconsciousness. + +When she unclosed them again, the masked physician was gone. She was +alone with the quiet, grave-looking nurse in the dimly lighted room. A +sensation of fear came over her. Why was she kept in this mysterious +house with this strange woman? Where was her mother? + +She looked at the stranger, and asked, anxiously. + +“Am I in Mr. Delaney’s house?” + +The woman gave her a quiet, affirmative nod in reply. + +“And mamma--have you sent for her?” inquired Aline. + +“You must not talk, my dear,” answered the woman, soothingly. + +“You have not answered my question, and I want mamma, I must have +her!” Aline cried out, in her imperious young voice, for she had +forgotten her fear of her mother’s anger in her terror at the mysteries +surrounding her. Oh, to be back under the safe little roof of the +cottage that nestled under the shadow of this frowning mansion, to +fling her arms around her mother’s neck, confessing her folly and +pleading for forgiveness. + +“You do not answer me,” she said, after waiting vainly for an answer +from the quiet nurse. “Tell me, why am I detained in this house?” + +“You ought to know how you came to be here, miss,” the woman answered, +almost sullenly. “As for the rest, you are seriously wounded, and not +able to be moved.” + +“Then you should have sent for my mother,” said Aline, with pretty, +peremptory dignity. “She will be dreadfully frightened at my absence. +Let some one bring her at once.” + +“Let us wait until to-morrow, dear,” said the nurse, persuasively. + +“I cannot wait,” said the girl, uneasily, and with an unutterable +yearning at her heart for the mother whom she had so often grieved by +her follies and willfulness. “Where is Mr. Delaney? Go, and send him +here. Surely he will let me have mamma.” + +The woman glided softly out, and Aline, left alone in the strange room +with its shadowy corners and dimly burning lamp, shuddered with fear. +What if that dreadful, murderous creature should return and finish her +work! + +“I shall die here miserably, and never see mamma and home again. Oh, +how terribly I am punished for my thoughtlessness and folly!” wept +Aline, filled with bitter repentance. + +The door unclosed, and Oran Delaney walked slowly into the room, +followed by the nurse, who sat down discreetly at a distance from the +bedside of her troublesome patient. + +He turned up the dim, flaring night-lamp so that its full light fell +on Aline’s beautiful, pale, distressed face. He had removed the +disfiguring mask that hid his features from the masked physician, and +his dark face looked stern and pallid and troubled. + +“You sent for me?” he asked, in his grave, quiet voice. + +“I want mamma,” she answered, like a child. + +His slender, straight, dark brows met in a slight frown. + +“Miss Rodney, you must not excite yourself. I cannot answer for the +consequences if you do,” he said. + +“I am not excited, I am quite calm; but I want mamma. Will you not +bring her to me?” she pleaded. + +He laid his warm, strong hand gently for a moment on the dimpled little +white ones that lay outside the silken counterpane. + +“My child, I am very sorry, but--I cannot,” he answered, slowly. + +She tore her small hand violently from his clasp, and looked at him +with the dignity of a suddenly awakened womanhood flashing into her +fair young face. + +“Mr. Delaney, surely I have misunderstood you,” she said. “You do not +mean that you will let me lie here suffering, dying, and refuse to +bring my friends to me?” + +“Dying? Oh, no, it is not so bad as that,” he said, almost +shudderingly. “You have only a flesh wound, Miss Rodney. With patience +on your part, and good nursing from Mrs. Griffin, here, you will be +quite sure to recover.” + +“And in the meantime?” she asked, with a wistful meaning in her voice +that he could not affect to misunderstand. + +He turned his head aside, disconcerted, perhaps, by the steady gaze of +the blue eyes. + +“In the meantime, Mr. Delaney?” she repeated, in a slightly raised +voice. + +He turned toward her again, and answered, abruptly, almost sternly: + +“I hope they will not be seriously alarmed about you, Miss Rodney, +for it is quite impossible for me to make any communication to them +regarding your whereabouts.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +A cry of reproach, astonishment, and dismay came from Aline’s lips. + +“You will not be so cruel,” she cried. “What have I done to you that +you should punish me so?” + +“I do not mean to punish you, Miss Rodney. On the contrary, I am +exceedingly sorry that I cannot grant your wish,” he said. “But there +are reasons--” he paused abruptly, and did not finish the sentence. + +“Strange reasons they must be that can keep a mother from the side of +her suffering child,” cried Aline, with all the harshness of a young +girl’s judgment. + +A heavy sigh breathed over Oran Delaney’s lips. His dark eyes turned to +hers with more sadness than sternness in their gloomy depths. + +“They _are_ strange reasons,” he said, bitterly. “Ah, Miss Rodney, I +was wrong, I was culpably thoughtless when I brought you into this +house! You should not have come! No one ever crosses the threshold +of my home. Do not ask that your friends should be brought here. I +can never consent. I can only beg your pardon for my folly in leading +you into this death-trap. It is a horror-haunted house. The legend of +Hades should be written over its portals: ‘Who enters here, leaves Hope +behind.’” + +His voice had an indescribable cadence of bitterness and regret in it. +The dark, handsome face was profoundly grave and stern, the gesture of +the hand as it brushed back the waving locks of dark hair that fell +over his broad brow, was full of a hopeless woe. But Aline was too +young and thoughtless to comprehend the tokens of despair in a man +whose age almost doubled her own. Yet she was strangely impressed by +his concluding words. She repeated them over thoughtfully: + +“‘Who enters here, leaves Hope behind.’ Ah, Mr. Delaney, I hope the +legend will not come home to me!” + +But the day came when she knew that it had done so--that the shadow of +the old gray stone house had stretched itself out long and dark, and +fatally, across the budding hopes of her lifetime. + +He did not answer, and she went on impatiently; + +“If my friends may not come to me at least let me go to them. I am +not too ill. Surely, I may be moved. It is such a little distance,” +pleadingly. + +“It is quite impossible that you should leave this house until your +wound is healed,” he answered, decisively, and Aline, completely +crushed by his answer, began to weep heart-brokenly. + +He waited in painful silence for her to grow calmer. Like many another +man, he was unable to reason with a woman’s tears. + +But Mrs. Griffin came forward, feeling her presence needed now. She +said grimly to her master who stood gazing blankly before him: + +“If she is allowed to go on like this she will fall into a fever. I +shall administer the composing draught the doctor left with me.” + +“Yes, that will be best,” he said, relieved. “I do not wish her to be +excited, certainly. Miss Rodney,” he just touched one of the hands +that hid Aline’s face, “pray do not take it so hard. You shall soon be +restored to your home and friends, I pledge you my sacred promise! Only +be patient a few days.” + +But the girl only wept more bitterly, and when Mrs. Griffin brought the +composing draught she angrily waved it away. She would have none of it. + +“I never saw such a great, willful baby,” declared Mrs. Griffin, +vexedly. “She needs the medicine. I’m afraid she’ll not get on without +it.” + +“I hope you will not drive us to use force with you. It is quite +imperative that you should obey the physician’s orders,” remonstrated +Oran Delaney. + +“I do not wish to be put to sleep like a child. I wish to talk to +you about your cruelty in keeping me here!” Aline sobbed out angrily +through the white hands that hid her tear-stained face. + +“We will talk about that to-morrow,” he replied, and suddenly Aline +felt a strong arm passed around her shoulders, her hands were drawn +away from her face, the point of a teaspoon was pressed against her +lips, and held there firmly in spite of her struggles, until she had +swallowed every drop of the odious draught. + +“How dared you?” she cried, her face flaming with anger and resentment; +and Mrs. Griffin remarked dryly: + +“If you act like a baby, you must expect folks to treat you like one.” + +Aline turned from her to the rash offender, who did not look very +frightened or sorry, but only amused at her ebullition of wrath. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said, gently, but coolly. “I did not wish to +offend you, Miss Rodney, but it was quite necessary you should take +the doctor’s prescription. Do not think too hardly of me for doing my +duty,” and then he walked quietly out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Aline was so indignant at the gentle force Mr. Delaney had used in +compelling her to swallow the physician’s prescription that she angrily +resolved not to submit to its influence, but to lie awake in spite of +it, and bemoan her hard fate, in being thus cruelly separated from +home and friends. She indulged herself for a little while in the most +vehement sobs and tears, reckless of the injury she was doing herself +in her feverish condition, and willfully intent on making herself as +disagreeable as possible to her hard-hearted jailers. + +But the potent drug she had unwillingly taken was stronger than her +will. The lids fell lower and lower over the heavy, tearful eyes, her +moans grew fainter and fainter, until at last they ceased altogether, +the dark lashes drooped upon the warm, flushed cheeks, and she fell +asleep like a grieved child, sighing now and then in her slumber, and +tossing restlessly, as if her sorrow had followed her even into the +land of dreams. + +Mrs. Griffin remained on guard by her side a patient, untiring watcher, +like one accustomed to such nightly vigils, until the brief summer +night passed away and the “gray-eyed morn” peered in through the close +drawn shutters upon the beautiful girl who still remained wrapped in +deep, unbroken slumber. + +The grim, careful nurse looked at the fair, sleeping face from time to +time with irrepressible admiration. She contrasted it, in fancy, with +a monstrous face on which she was compelled to gaze daily, and she +shuddered at the difference. + +“She is as beautiful as an angel. How terrible it would have been if +that devil had murdered her!” she thought. + +She left the room after awhile, and locked the door after her, +remaining absent nearly two hours. When she returned with a light, +appetizing breakfast arranged upon a tray, Aline was awake and gazing +dreamily around her at the unaccustomed room. + +“You feel better after your sleep, I hope, Miss Rodney, do you not?” +she inquired, and Aline was obliged to admit that she did, feeling half +ashamed at the petulance she had displayed before falling asleep. + +She found that, in spite of her painful wound and her anxiety, she had +a very fair appetite for breakfast. She determined that she would get +well, as fast as she could, in order to leave this dreadful house and +return to her home. She wondered anxiously what poor mamma would say to +this last new adventure of hers, more terrible than all the rest. She +would not punish her by anger and blame and coldness, surely. Had she +not already suffered enough? + +Poor Aline thought that she was well cured now of her mischievous +propensities. After this she would never indulge her willful, +thoughtless desires again. She would be as prim and perfect as her +sister Effie, whom now she heartily reproached herself for having +called a “starched-up old maid.” + +When she went home again she would beg Effie’s pardon, she was resolved +upon that. They would be so frightened, so glad to have her back, they +would forgive her for all her wildness and carelessness in the past if +she promised never, never to do so again. + +She lay musing in this wise, remorsefully, when she was suddenly +startled from her castle building by a repetition of the terrible +shrieks of the day before. The awful sounds woke all the sleeping +echoes of the place into dreadful concert. Aline screamed aloud in +nervous terror and hid her face in the bed-clothes. + +Mrs. Griffin bent hurriedly over her. + +“Do not be frightened, my child,” she said. “I am compelled to leave +you for a little while. But I shall lock your door securely. No harm +shall come to you again.” + +She went away, and even though Aline heard the bolt turned carefully +in the lock and the key drawn out, she felt terribly afraid that that +hideous creature who had assailed her on yesterday, would gain access +to her again and complete its murderous work. The cold dews of anguish +beaded her white brow as she lay there alone in the beautiful azure +room, listening to those wild, unearthly screams. She was afraid to +look out from behind the shelter of the silken cover where she had +hidden her eyes, fearful that they might be blasted by the sight of the +_thing_ that had appeared to her in the parlor yesterday. + +She thought of the simple cottage home where papa and mamma and Effie +and Max were even now bewailing her loss, perhaps, and her heart +swelled with passionate longing and regret. Ah, only to be with them +again in the safe shelter of home and love! + +The key clicked softly in the lock again. This time Mr. Delaney +entered. He looked very pale and grave, but he carried a delicate +basket of fresh flowers in his hand that filled the room with sweetness +and beauty. He drew the silken cover gently away from Aline’s face. + +“Poor child, are you so frightened?” he said, compassionately. “Look +up. The cries are hushed now. There is nothing for you to fear.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The terrible, blood curdling cries that had so startled Aline had, +indeed, suddenly ceased. The mysterious mansion had returned to its +strange, brooding silence. + +Forgetful of her anger against Mr. Delaney in her fear and terror, +Aline clung nervously to his arm with one trembling little hand. + +“Oh! Mr. Delaney, what is it--that terrible creature I saw yesterday?” +she cried out fearfully. + +His dark face was strangely agitated as he turned it upon her wistful +face. + +“Then you really _saw_ it?” he said, almost as if speaking to himself. + +“Yes, I saw it. Did you suppose it struck me that murderous blow +_invisibly?_” she questioned, with something like awe. + +“I had hoped--” he began, then paused, after his abrupt fashion of +leaving sentences unfinished. + +“Answer me,” exclaimed Aline, in her sharp, imperious young voice. +“What was it that struck me with that blood-stained dagger yesterday? +What was it I heard shrieking like a lost soul to-day? Tell me!” + +“It was a ghost,” he answered, turning his head away. + +“I do not believe you,” cried Aline. “It was not a ghost. It was +something warmed by the breath of life. It clutched me with warm, +living fingers. It was strong and swift. Oh, Heaven, how terrible it +was!” she shuddered. “Was it really a human being?” + +“It was a ghost--a mystery! I can tell you no more,” repeated Oran +Delaney. + +And then, with that strong will, which Aline already began to subtly +recognize, he changed the subject of the conversation. + +“Have you forgiven me for my rudeness of last night?” he inquired, with +a touch of gentleness in his voice. + +“No,” Aline answered, tartly. + +“I have brought you these beautiful flowers as a peace offering,” he +continued, unruffled by her childish resentment. “You cannot refuse +them, for I know that you love flowers very dearly.” + +“I shall never love them again,” she replied, obstinately. “I shall +always remember that my fondness for flowers brought down all this +trouble upon my head.” + +“I beg your pardon; it was your fondness for peaches,” he retorted, +with a slight gleam of mirth. “If you had not come into my house to +take luncheon with me, nothing would have happened.” + +“I should never have come into your garden even but for the flowers,” +she replied, offended that he should remind her of her appetite for +peaches. + +He smiled, and then a subtle sigh drove the evanescent gleam away. + +“Well, we will not quarrel over the cause,” he said. “The result is the +same. I am sorry you will not have my poor flowers. I hoped they would +beguile some of the tedium of your illness.” + +He put the basket on a stand near her and sat down. + +“Mrs. Griffin has sent me to take care of you during her absence,” he +said. “But if my presence is disagreeable, Miss Rodney, you can send me +away at any moment.” + +Aline inwardly wished that she was brave enough to do so, but she was +too nervous and frightened to take him at his word. There was a sense +of protection in his presence that she could not forego even to gratify +her spite at him. + +So she lay silently gazing at his dark, stern profile under her long +lashes until he turned suddenly and caught the curious gaze of the +large liquid blue eyes. He smiled slightly as they fell before his. + +“You have not said whether I am to stay or go,” he said. + +Aline hesitated a moment, then answered in a low, half-angry voice: + +“Stay.” + +“Thanks. I was afraid you would send me away,” he said. + +“I would, but--but I am afraid to stay here alone,” she replied with +spirit. + +Something like anger flashed into his dark face a moment, but was +quickly dispelled by the thought, “Why be angry with a willful child +whom I have unavoidably offended?” + +“You are very frank. I quite understand that I am retained in your +presence merely in the character of a watch-dog,” he replied, with some +_hauteur_. “But while I _am_ here, pray make me of service if possible. +Can I do anything for you--talk to you--read to you?” + +She caught eagerly at the last suggestion. + +“Yes, you may read to me. I do not like to talk to you. You make me +angry when I talk to you,” she said. + +“You are very flattering, Miss Rodney. However, I do not forget that +you are sick. We pardon the discourtesies of invalids,” he said, +calmly, going over to a little stand littered with volumes bound +prettily in blue and gold. + +“What is your preference--prose or poetry?” he inquired, carelessly +turning them over. + +“Poetry,” she replied. + +“Naturally--being young,” he muttered, half to himself. + +“Do you mean to say that I shall not love poetry when I grow old--like +you?” she asked, purposely adding the sting of the last words. + +But he faced around toward her with an expression of the most palpable +amusement. + +“Do I appear very old in your eyes, Miss Rodney?” he inquired. + +“‘As old as the hills’--you are, aren’t you, sir?” she replied, with +malice prepense. + +“I was three-and-thirty yesterday, my frank lady,” he answered, coolly. +“As for you, judging from your words and manner, I should guess that +you are about ten years old.” + +The delicate shaft of sarcasm went home. Aline knew that she deserved +it, and that she had been behaving rudely to the courteous gentleman +under whose roof she was. But she was by no means prepared to +acknowledge her fault. She was bitterly angry with him, because he had +refused to communicate with her friends. + +“Please go on with the poetry,” she said, assuming an air of dignity, +and taking no notice of his last words. + +He opened the book he was holding, and commenced to read a poem quite +at random: + + “How many years will it be, I wonder. + And how will their slow length pass, + Till I shall find rest in silence, under + The trees and the waving grass? + + “Many there be in the world who love it, + Who cling to its trifles and toys; + But I could never find aught to covet + Among its vanishing joys. + + “But once, indeed, was my heart elated, + And pleased with a dream of its own-- + A beautiful dream it was, but fated + Soon to be overthrown. + + “Death, like a shadow, fell and darkened + The light that had shone so clear-- + How oft since then have I vainly hearkened, + And prayed for his coming near. + + “But he cometh not, and I vainly wonder, + How will the long years pass, + Till I shall find rest in silence, under + The trees and waving grass.” + +He paused and Aline, impressed against her will, but determined not to +show it, cried out, almost peevishly: + +“Why did you read such a doleful thing? I do not like sad poetry.” + +“That is the fault of your youth again,” he quietly answered. “Now I, +on the contrary, rather admire the pathetic style. The time may come, +perhaps, when that very poem will please your fancy. Nay, you may even +subscribe to the sad sentiment it embodies.” + +“I should never do that if I lived to be as old as Methuselah!” cried +Aline, with the rash confidence of youth, and Oran Delaney smiled--that +slow, pensive smile whose latent sarcasm she already began to +understand with the swift intuition of woman. + +“Why do you despise youth, Mr. Delaney?” she cried out, hotly. + +“I do not despise it, I only pity it,” he answered. + +“I can fancy age deserving pity, but not youth,” she answered, +resentfully. “Why do you pity it?” + +“For its illusions,” he answered, and this time the sarcasm had faded +from his voice and face. Both were genuinely sad. + +“Its illusions--what are they?” queried the girl, and again he smiled, +sadly. + +“Do not ask me. They will come home to you soon enough, as they have +done to me. Youth is the happiest period of life. I pity it because +it comes to an end. I do not despise it, and I fully subscribe to the +poet’s plaint: + + “‘The loss of youth is sadness + To all who think or feel-- + A wound no after-gladness + Can ever wholly heal.’” + +Aline lay very still for a moment, gazing silently at him with a +feeling of vexation that she had permitted herself to listen to him +with interest and even with an unconscious latent sympathy. She was +about to make some careless answer to show her utter indifference, and +to provoke him again, when she suddenly observed that he had turned +deathly pale, and that a stream of blood was pouring from inside his +coat sleeve down upon his hand. + +“You are wounded, too!” she cried out in dismay, and feeling a deathly +faintness stealing over her at sight of the trickling blood. + +“It is nothing--a mere flesh wound--a scratch,” he muttered, tearing +off his coat, hastily, and then Aline saw that his shirt-sleeve had +been torn open and his arm bandaged above the elbow, but the linen +had become loosened in some way, and the gaping wound was bleeding +profusely. + +He tried clumsily to draw the crimson bandage tighter about the wound, +but he was very awkward with his left hand, and he did not succeed. +Aline could not help being sorry for him. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +She had a very tender heart, this little willful heroine of ours, +and although she thought that she hated Oran Delaney she would not +willingly have seen him suffer. She saw that he was growing pale and +faint from loss of blood, and she could not keep from pitying him. + +She cried out, hastily: + +“Come here, Mr. Delaney. I will fasten the bandage for you.” + +He looked surprised, but he came to the bed and held down his arm +within the reach of her little white hands. She drew the band tighter +and bound her handkerchief tightly around it. The blood ceased to flow, +but her own hands were stained with blood when she had finished. + +“Does it frighten you much?” he asked. “You look very pale.” + +“No, I am not frightened,” bravely. “Tell me--how did you come by your +wounds?” + +“In much the same manner as you came by yours,” he replied, reservedly. + +“Through that horrible--_something_?” she inquired, with a shudder. + +“Yes.” + +A gleam of intelligence flashed from Aline’s eyes. + +“Ah, now I begin to understand,” she said. “You met it first. It was +your blood I saw upon the knife and the hands and the dress?” + +“Yes.” + +“And you did not run away from me to--to save yourself? I +thought--thought--” She paused and looked at him, half inquiringly. + +“Well, what was it you thought?” he inquired. + +“When you left me in the hall, you know,” she said, with some +embarrassment, “I believed that you had deserted me and fled like a +coward, leaving me to the mercies of that terrible creature. I was +mistaken, perhaps.” + +He looked at her with a slow flush rising through the pallor of his +face. + +“Every moment I am with you, Miss Rodney, I learn more and more how +contemptible I am in your eyes,” he said, with irrepressible chagrin. + +“But I told you I was mistaken,” said the girl, with unconscious +repentance in her voice. “Was I right?” + +“I met the danger first,” he answered, simply. + +“Yes, I understand, and I am sorry I thought you a coward. I beg your +pardon,” she said, gently. + +“You are freely forgiven,” Mr. Delaney replied, quietly, as he brought +a damp sponge and carefully removed the blood-stains from her delicate, +dimpled white hands. + +She submitted quietly to the operation, though he had half expected +that she would snatch her hands away in petulant anger. + +“I am a great deal better to-day, am I not, Mr. Delaney?” she inquired, +as he resumed his seat. + +“I think so,” he replied. “Your wound was not serious. It was struck +too hastily. I hope you will soon recover now. You are bearing it very +bravely.” + +“Thank you! And when are you going to let me go home?” + +The wistful tone of the young voice struck him like a reproach. He +turned away his head as he answered: + +“As soon as your wound is healed. That will be in a few weeks, I hope.” + +“Can I say or do nothing that will induce you to let me go now?” she +entreated. + +“That would be impossible. You are not able to be moved yet. The result +of such an imprudence might be most serious.” + +“And you will not communicate with my friends?” she went on. + +“I am sorry to be compelled to deny you that gratification,” he +replied, with decision. + +“And in the meantime they must suffer all the pangs of doubt and +suspense. Oh, Mr. Delaney, is that right, is it just?” cried the +wounded captive. + +“There are many things in this world, Miss Rodney, that are +neither right nor just,” he replied. “This may be one of them; but +circumstances will not admit of my acting otherwise. I am compelled to +keep you hidden here, unknown to any one, until you are well enough to +be returned to your home.” + +“You have no pity for them, nor for me!” she cried, almost wildly. + +“I cannot follow the bent of my feelings. I am compelled to pursue this +course,” replied the mysterious recluse. + +“Do you not know,” she said, “that my friends will be very angry with +you for keeping me hidden away from them? What if I should die here in +this dreadful house?” + +“They would never know what fate had overtaken their darling,” he +answered, gloomily. + +Aline stared at him with wide, terrified blue eyes. Indignation was +rising within her again--indignation added to something like fear. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +“Mr. Delaney, I cannot understand you,” she said. “You talk strangely. +I am tempted to believe that you cannot be sane, that you are not in +your right mind.” + +He looked at her steadily with his grave, dark eyes. + +“Do I look like a lunatic, Miss Rodney?” he inquired. + +“No, but you talk like one,” she cried out, petulantly. “Do you really +imagine that you can keep my presence here a secret from my own people? +Do you not know that they will search for me until they find me?” + +“They are already searching for you, but I am quite sure they will +never find you,” he replied. “The last place where Mr. Rodney would +think of looking for you would be here in his neighbor’s house.” + +She knew that it was true. Her heart sunk heavily, but she cried out, +spiritedly: + +“But when I go home and tell him--what then? Are you not afraid of his +anger when he knows the truth?” + +“He will never know,” Oran Delaney replied, strangely. + +The pale face on the snowy, lace-fringed pillow grew paler still, the +blue eyes darkened with agitation. + +“Not know?” she cried out, passionately. “Why, what can you mean?” + +“You will not tell him,” he replied. + +“Now I am quite, quite sure that you are mad,” said Aline. “Do you +think I shall not tell them all when I go home?” + +“I am quite sure you will not!” + +Aline could not speak for a moment. She was mystified by Mr. Delaney’s +words and manner. She almost began to believe him mad indeed. To what +did his strange talk tend? + +While she puzzled within herself he drew his chair nearer to the +bedside--near enough indeed to touch her pulse with his cool fingers. + +“Pray do not excite yourself unduly,” he said. “There is really +no necessity for it. Cannot we discuss this matter coolly and +dispassionately, and come to an understanding?” + +She drew her hand away with a heavy sigh. + +“I do not believe I can discuss it coolly,” she said. “I am frightened +at the mysteries of this house, and the mysteries with which you choose +to surround me. I am here within a stone’s throw of my own home, +wounded, helpless, a prey to grief and anxiety, while my friends are +seeking me everywhere in sorrow and distress. I cannot be calm and +cool. I am perfectly wretched. How can you explain away these things?” + +“Will you listen to me while I try to do so?” asked Oran Delaney. + +“Yes,” she answered, impatiently. + +“It will not take long,” he said. “In the first place, Miss Rodney, I +take some blame upon myself for this. I should not have brought you +into my house--I should not even have admitted you into my garden. But +I thought you a lonely child, and was carelessly willing to gratify +your penchant for my beautiful flowers.” + +“Those dearly bought flowers!” sighed Aline. + +“Through your own thoughtlessness and mine,” he continued, “you have +stumbled upon the mystery of Delaney House--a mystery too terrible to +be given to the world--a secret I will guard with my very life, if need +be. Therefore--” He paused, after his odd fashion, and gazed gravely +into her face. + +“Therefore,” she repeated, wonderingly. + +“The Delaneys have been a proud race from the beginning--I am the +proudest one yet,” he said. “That which you know of Delaney House, Miss +Rodney, you shall never be permitted to carry across its portals to +blazon to a curious, mocking world!” + +“Do you mean to kill me?” shuddered the girl, shrinking in terror from +the dark, stern, agitated face. + +He started and looked at her. + +“Poor child! Have I indeed frightened you so much?” he asked. “I must +indeed be an ogre in your eyes! No, Aline--you are such a child, let +me call you so--no; I do not mean to kill you. I am not a murderer. I +shall simply bind you by an oath of silence when you leave this place.” + +“An oath of silence?” she repeated, vaguely. + +“Yes,” he answered, steadily. “I shall swear you to silence regarding +your whereabouts during the time you have been away--silence regarding +the wound you have received--silence regarding me--silence, in short, +as to everything that can throw the least light on your strange +disappearance from your home.” + +“And if I refuse to swear?” Aline exclaimed, gazing at him almost +defiantly. + +“If you refuse, you will never be permitted to leave Delaney House,” he +answered, firmly. + +“Never?” she echoed. + +“Never!” he reiterated. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +The strange and perfectly unaccountable manner of Aline Rodney’s +disappearance from her home had excited a great sensation in the town +of Chester. Such a harrowing mystery had never before agitated the +pretty little country town. Mr. Rodney, Aline’s father, was the only +lawyer the town could boast, and although not wealthy, was a prominent +member of society in Chester. His two pretty daughters had been +educated as carefully as his means would allow, and were the boast of +the town for their beauty. + +Effie Rodney was a hazel-eyed beauty, with soft waving tresses of +chestnut brown and a complexion of the loveliest red and white, +combined with features of the purest Grecian type. She was twenty-three +years old, and so stately, quiet, and dignified, that her more volatile +sister, Aline, audaciously dubbed her an old maid. + +Mrs. Rodney was a pretty woman of the same type of beauty as Effie. +Mother and daughter were remarkably alike, both being tall, extremely +graceful in appearance, and very dignified in manner. To both of them +the wild and willful ways of blue eyed Aline were a perpetual wonder +and annoyance. They loved her, but she was a sore trial to their +patience, and their understanding. She was so gay, so willful, so +thoughtless, that, as Mrs. Rodney expressed it, she kept her family +“in hot water all the while.” They could never tell what mischievous +prank their pretty Aline would be into next. Never were two sisters +more unlike than Aline and Effie, both in mind and looks, although they +were really fond of each other. Both were beautiful, but one was like a +stately, bright-plumaged bird-of-paradise, the other like a brilliant +humming-bird, always on the wing, never at rest in its aerial flight. + +Neither Mrs. Rodney nor Effie could understand Aline’s complex +character. She was wild and willful, but she was also warm-hearted and +loving. She was always getting herself into some kind of mischief, +always being blamed by mamma, and lectured by Effie. If papa had not +petted her and Max adored her she could not have stood it. But the +forces for and against being very equally divided she was enabled +to hold her own with tolerable equanimity. Sometimes, mamma, acting +upon a mistaken sense of duty, allotted to Aline some quite severe +punishments, as in the case of the imprisonment the day of the picnic; +but there was always papa to pet and soothe his injured little girl, +Max to load her with sugar-plums, and even stately Effie to lament that +her darling little sister had to be punished. So Aline, with all the +faults of her head and heart, was dearly beloved and bitterly missed +and mourned in the home from which she had so strangely dropped out +like a link from a golden chain. + +The incredulous horror on returning from Walnut Grove and finding her +gone was something better imagined than described. They examined the +empty room, they peered beneath the bed, behind the curtains, within +the wardrobe, while little Max, in a fit of absent-mindedness, pulled +out the bureau drawers, and even lifted the tray of her Saratoga trunk +in a vain search for the lost one. + +Beautiful Aline had flown from the dreary room like a swift-winged +bird from the prison bars of its cage. They called her name, but she +answered not. They sought her in her dearest haunts, but they found her +not. They were face to face with a mystery. + +Cook had not anticipated such alarm on the part of the family. She had +missed the young lady several hours ago when she had taken up luncheon +to her, but being used to the mischievous pranks of her young mistress, +had believed that she was hiding herself somewhere within the room. +She had set down the tray on a stand and gone away, locking the door +behind her. + +It was locked still when they came home from the picnic rather earlier +than they would have done, but that they were anxious over Aline--poor +Aline who had missed all the delights of the picnic because she had +been a naughty girl yesterday and left undone those things which she +ought to have done, and done those things which she ought not to have +done. + +Aline had deserted the sewing-machine and the ruffles mamma had set +her to hem yesterday and gone a-fishing with ten-year-old Max and +his comrade Harry Jones. She had coaxed away from cook the sponge +cake that was destined to accompany the cream at dinner, and she had +triumphantly packed it into her lunch basket and shared it with the two +boys that day on the river bank where they cast their lines into the +waves. And she had come home with the end of her nose and the back of +her neck blistered red, her dress-skirt soiled and “brier-torn,” like +Maud Muller’s, and her pretty bare hands turned brown, while Max came +trailing behind her with his pantaloons rolled up to his knees, his +feet and limbs all yellowed with river mud, and a string of ridiculous +little shining minnows in his hands. It was bad for Max--it was utterly +disgraceful for that great girl, Aline, decided mamma and Effie. It +was a case that called for punishment, more especially as Aline could +not even be induced to repentance for her fault. She insisted that she +had not meant any harm and that she had done nothing wrong. She could +not be brought to see her error in the light that her mamma wished her +to see it in. So Mrs. Rodney, deeming this an extreme case, resorted +to extreme measures. She knew that Aline had set her heart on the +picnic in Walnut Grove--therefore she kept her away to meditate on her +misdeeds, and, if possible, to win her to repentance. She even dared +hope that under the stress of such punishment Aline might be brought to +promise “never to do so any more.” + +But, after all, she had been sorry to punish her bright Aline so +hardly. She thought about it at the picnic. It rather damped her +pleasure in the gay and festive scene. She told herself that if Aline +was brought to a proper state of submission she would make it up to +her. She had kept the girl back somewhat, deeming her childish and +unformed. She would lengthen her dresses now, put up her careless, +girlish ringlets, and let her take her place in Chester society as a +grown-up young lady. Perhaps the importance of the change might thrust +dignity, as it were, upon the willful girl. + +She confided her plans to Effie when she could get her away for a +moment from the knot of admirers who always surrounded the pretty Miss +Rodney. Effie coincided with her mother. She was too secure in the +consciousness of her own beauty to be jealous of her younger sister’s +charms, and she thought that it was quite time for Aline to give over +childish ways. + +So they went home sorry for Aline’s long day of confinement, and full +of kindly intentions toward her, eager to hear of her repentance, +and to give her the kiss of pardon; and they found her place vacant, +her chair empty. They were full of incredulous dismay at first. They +thought it must be one of her practical jokes, and that she would +return to them presently full of glee over the fright she had given +them, and eager to hear how they had passed the day from whose +pleasures she had been ruthlessly debarred. + +In the meantime, they were full of wonder over the way in which the +runaway had escaped from her room. The little chamber formed a small +wing of itself on the left side of the cottage. It had three windows, +one of which looked down upon the front of the street, another into +the small, brick-paved back yard, and the third into the beautiful, +neglected garden of Delaney House. It was quite impossible, they +thought, that Aline could have escaped through either of these +second-story windows unless she had made a rope from the sheets of her +bed. But the downy little nest where Aline rested her fair form nightly +was undisturbed in its snowy order. She had certainly not escaped that +way, but had gone through the door, and the Rodneys were fain at first +to accuse the woman whom they had left in charge of connivance at her +freedom. + +Cook denied the accusation sturdily, and, having a good reputation for +veracity, no one presumed to doubt her vehement asseverations. + +The mystery thickened. They discussed the possibility of Aline having a +skeleton-key to the door, and inclined to that belief. In no other way +could they account for her absence. + +Night fell; and now, indeed, they began to grow alarmed. Aline was +known to be an arrant little coward in the dark. Her little feet would +have carried her flying homeward long before night overtook her. + +“She has gone to some of the neighbors,” Mrs. Rodney suggested, and her +husband and little Max set out to see. + +She was not found at any of the neighbors. She did not come home that +night, nor for many another succeeding night. It grew into a most +absorbing mystery, the strange disappearance of a young girl from her +home. It was not a matter of local interest merely, but of general. +From the local papers the item was copied into the papers all the +country over. It excited a great interest and sympathy. It became one +of the sensations of the day. Search was made far and near. Personals +appeared in the newspapers; the largest rewards Mr. Rodney could afford +were offered for his daughter’s return. He was half mad with cruel +anxiety; he hurried hither and thither in search of the lost one. +But, in all his grief and anxiety, in all his suspicions, no warning +instinct ever prompted him to look into his neighbor’s house. + +It was the strangest thing that had ever happened in Chester. In the +pretty quiet town no such sensation had ever been heard of before. +A young girl locked into her room in the safe sanctuary of home had +disappeared in the strangest manner, and not the slightest clew could +be found to the mystery. Add to this that the missing girl had been +a general favorite, loved for her winning ways, and admired for her +beauty, and you may form some idea of how Aline Rodney was missed and +mourned. + +The panic only became greater as days went by, and there came no +tidings of her fate. People were frightened. Young girls shivered in +their rooms by day and by night. What if a like fate should befall them? + +Mrs. Rodney’s grief and remorse were extreme. The thin crust of pride +and dignity melted around her heart, and she realized that she had been +hard and stern to the lost one. She blamed herself as the cause of +Aline’s flitting, and her self-reproach was most bitter. When proud, +hard natures melt, no one can calculate the effect. Mrs. Rodney’s +sorrow and remorse completely prostrated her. She became seriously +ill, and her physician declared that there was no telling how her low, +nervous fever would end, unless her terrible suspense could be broken +by news of her lost daughter. + +Those were weary days for the Rodneys. Effie was wretched, her mother +ill, Mr. Rodney worn to a shadow, and little Max’s grief unceasing. +They began to realize what a sunbeam in the house had been the +bright-eyed girl whom they had blamed so often. Now, when she was worse +than dead to them, mamma and Effie began to realize her worth. Papa and +Max had known it all the while. + +Two weeks had elapsed, and Effie was sitting by the bedside of her sick +mother one evening, when a stranger’s card was brought to her. She +looked at it in some surprise. “Dr. Anthony,” she read, slowly. “Why, +mamma, have you called a new physician?” + +“No, I have not,” said Mrs. Rodney. “It is a stranger, dear. Go to him +quickly, please. Perhaps he brings us news.” + +Her eyes grew bright with hope and excitement, and Effie’s heart beat +a trifle quicker, too. What if her mother’s surmise were true, and +they were about to hear news of Aline? She did not even stop for the +customary womanly peep into the mirror, but hastened down to the parlor +to meet the stranger. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +A tall, decidedly handsome man rose to meet Effie as she glided into +the pretty little parlor with that stately grace that her admirers +called so queenly. He waited with a courteously bowed head for her to +address him. + +She did so in a silvery-sweet voice, and with a slight blush. + +“I am Miss Rodney, Dr. Anthony,” she said, glancing at the card which +she still held in her hand. “Papa is away from home, and mamma is quite +sick. Can I serve you in any way?” + +His dark eyes rested on the beautiful, gentle face in uncontrollable +admiration a moment, then he said, in a clear manly voice: + +“I have called in the vague hope of serving this afflicted family, Miss +Rodney.” + +“In what way, sir?” inquired Effie, as she waved him back to his seat, +and sunk into one herself. + +“In that calamity which has excited the sympathy and sorrow of the +whole country,” he answered, respectfully. + +Effie’s heart gave a muffled throb of joy at the suggestive words. + +“God bless you, sir, if you bring us any tidings of our dear Aline!” +she exclaimed. He saw that he had excited extravagant hope within her, +and said, hastily: + +“Do not build too much upon my words, Miss Rodney. I do not wish to +deceive you. It may be but a vain quest upon which I am come, but some +facts in my possession I have thought best to lay before your father +in the vague hope that they might somehow lead to news of your lost +one.” + +Seeing how much he had damped the springing hopes in her breast, he +said, anxiously: + +“Miss Rodney, is there in your possession a photograph of your missing +sister?” + +She could not understand why such a deep shadow fell over his frank, +manly face, as she answered: + +“No, Dr. Anthony, my sister’s picture was never taken in her life.” + +“That is most unfortunate,” he said. “I had counted so much upon her +picture.” + +“I do not believe papa would like to have Aline’s picture published in +the papers. He shrinks from publicity,” said Effie, reservedly. + +“You misunderstand me. I have no such intention,” said the young +physician. “Nothing is further from my thoughts, Miss Rodney. I +quite agree with your father that any unnecessary publicity is most +distressing. In the absence of Mr. Rodney, may I state my reasons to +you?” + +“You may,” Effie answered. + +“Thank you. I will try to do so,” he said. “In the first place, I +will say that I have lately seen a girl, under very distressing +circumstances, who answers to the published descriptions of your +missing sister.” + +“When? Where?” exclaimed Effie, agitatedly. The young physician’s face +grew grave and perplexed. + +“I can readily tell you when,” he answered; “but the strangest part of +the mystery is that I cannot tell you _where_.” + +Miss Rodney’s fair face reflected the perplexity on his. + +“Dr. Anthony, I do not understand you,” she said. “How can such a +thing be? You have seen her; but you cannot tell where. Pray, explain +yourself.” + +“I am about to do so,” he answered. “Then you will readily understand +the seeming discrepancy in my statements.” + +Effie bowed silently, and settled herself to listen. His frank, +handsome face, and quiet, earnest manner inspired her with confidence +in him, although he was a stranger whom, ten minutes ago, she had never +beheld. She was most anxious to hear what he could tell her of that +girl whose description answered to that of Aline. + +She fixed her bright hazel-brown eyes upon his face with an earnestness +that Dr. Anthony found very fascinating. + +“In order to be quite sure of dates,” he said, “I will ask you to tell +me that of Miss Aline’s disappearance.” + +She named it quickly, and he exclaimed, with a sudden brightening of +his dark eyes: + +“The dates correspond! Oh, how much I would give at this moment for the +counterfeit presentment of Miss Aline Rodney!” + +In a moment he continued: + +“I live at the little town of Maywood, some five miles distant from +this, Miss Rodney. I have practiced medicine there for several years, +and may say, without vanity, that I have built up quite a creditable +practice there and in the surrounding country--at least. I am always +busy.” + +Effie bowed silently, and he went on: + +“Some strange things happen to a physician in the course of his +practice, Miss Rodney. A mysterious thing happened to me on the night +of the date you mentioned just now.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +Miss Rodney’s face was pale with emotion and anxiety. She hung eagerly +upon Dr. Anthony’s words. + +“A mysterious thing,” he repeated. “I was closing my office at eleven +o’clock that night, preparatory to going home, when, in the darkness, a +stranger touched me upon the shoulder and said, in a muffled voice: + +“‘Come with me at once, doctor. A lady needs your professional +services.’ + +“I am so used to being called out at night, Miss Rodney, that at first +I thought nothing of the request. I have ridden miles and miles on the +darkest nights through the peaceful country neighborhood hereabouts +without fear or molestation. So I said, carelessly to the man, whose +face I did not see clearly by reason of the extreme darkness: ‘Is it a +long distance? If not, I will walk, as my horse has been put away for +the night.’ + +“‘A matter of two miles or more,’ he answered, in the same low, muffled +voice in which he had first addressed me. ‘But my buggy is here at the +corner. Come with me and I will send you back. We have no time to lose.’ + +“So careless and fearless had I become in my career as a physician, +that I felt no alarm at his proposition. I carelessly assented, and +accompanied him to the corner, where I found a fine horse and buggy +waiting for us as he had said. He sprung in and he drove rapidly to the +outskirts of the town, when I, being weary of the silence maintained by +my companion, inquired the name of the person I was called to attend. + +“To my surprise, the man replied in a cool, quiet voice, as if there +were nothing strange in what he was saying: + +“‘That is a secret, Dr. Anthony, and must remain so.’ + +“Nothing like this had ever occurred to me in my professional +experience. I was indignant at this answer. I did not choose to bestow +my medical skill upon a patient who thus withheld confidence from me. I +told him so rather hotly. + +“My companion, who was evidently a gentleman, laughed easily. + +“‘Tut, tut,’ he said, ‘all physicians can relate instances of +mysterious cases.’ This was one of them. My services were needed, +and no harm would befall me, while at the same time I should be most +liberally rewarded, but the lady’s name must remain unknown to me, +as also the place of her residence. ‘For which reason, doctor,’ he +continued, in the same cool, quiet, gentlemanly voice, and producing +a large handkerchief, ‘I shall be compelled to blindfold you for the +balance of the distance.’ + +“His cool masterful tone irritated me exceedingly. I answered quickly +that I would not submit to such terms--that he must employ other advice +for the case; I would not attend. + +“‘I will have nothing to do with a mystery,’ I said. ‘All must be fair +and open, or I will not attend.’ + +“He laughed at first, and tried to persuade me; but, finding that I was +resolute, and insisted on being let out of the buggy, he became angry. + +“‘Your unreasonable mood forces me to a rash alternative,’ he said. ‘I +am obliged to compel your obedience.’ + +“I felt the cold muzzle of a pistol pressed against my cheek. I was +myself unarmed and powerless. + +“‘Attempt to get out, and you are a dead man!’ he said. ‘You have no +resource but to obey me. If you are a wise man, you will permit me to +tie this bandage over your eyes, and to go on without further parley.’ + +“I am not a coward, Miss Rodney--I hope you will not form that opinion +of me,” continued the handsome young physician, “but I flatter myself +that I possess a modicum of common-sense. I found myself in the power +of a desperate man, and I considered that my best plan would be to +yield to his will; besides, there was a spice of romance in the affair +that appealed to the imaginative part of me. I made a virtue of +necessity, and accompanied my stern companion, though I must confess +that my anger rose when he bound the handkerchief about my unwilling +eyes. The darkness of the night was so dense that he might have spared +me that inconvenience.” + +Effie listened, with her heart upon her lips, for him to come to the +story of the mysterious patient. It was Aline, of course--Aline, ill or +dying! How terrible it seemed! It cast a strange, new light upon the +mystery of her disappearance. + +“I went with him; but I am quite sure that he deceived me regarding the +distance,” said Dr. Anthony. “Instead of being two miles, I am certain +that we drove five, at least, before his fleet-footed horse came to a +stop. Then I was helped from the buggy, and led up a flight of what +seemed, from the sound of my feet upon them, to be wide, marble steps.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +The speaker paused to take breath a minute, and then resumed: + +“A heavy door opened to admit us into the wide, dimly lighted hallway +of what must have been a large, aristocratic mansion. Here the +eccentric stranger removed the handkerchief from my eyes and coolly +clapped a mask upon my face instead, with the odd remark: + +“‘You will have need for your eyes here, but none for your features, +Dr. Anthony, as I do not wish my patient ever to recognize you abroad. +Therefore, I request that you wear this mask.’ + +“I acceded to this polite request of course, you know, Miss Rodney, +not being in a condition to refuse,” said the young man, with a sly +sense of the humorous, “and then I saw beside us a neat-looking elderly +woman with a lamp in her hand, evidently a nurse. She led up a wide, +beautiful stairway of polished walnut, along another hall, and so into +a lady’s room--the most beautiful room I ever saw!” said Dr. Anthony, +with enthusiasm. + +“It was large and airy, and hung with rich blue silk and white lace. +The furniture was rosewood, upholstered in blue silk, and on the marble +mantel and the ivory brackets against the wall were vases of flowers, +statuettes, and expensive _bric-à-brac_. You see, I made good use of my +eyes when I was given leave, Miss Rodney,” said the physician, with a +smile. + +“Yes, doctor, but now about your mysterious patient?” breathed Effie, +anxiously. + +“Yes, now I am coming to that, for I am afraid the preliminaries have +sadly wearied your patience,” he said. “There was a rosewood bed in the +center of the room, Miss Rodney, draped in rich blue silk and canopied +with snowy lace in the richest pattern, and among the lace-trimmed +pillows lay a girl--a corpse, I thought at first, for she was deathly +white and still, her eyes were closed, and the white garments about her +breast were all dabbled with blood.” + +Miss Rodney shuddered and grew very pale. + +“Oh, poor little Aline!” she sighed. “Tell me how she looked, Dr. +Anthony.” + +“She was very young. She looked almost child-like,” said Dr. Anthony. +“She had a fair round face with a dimpled chin and beautiful features. +Her hair was dark and curling, her brows and lashes were jetty black +and of wonderful beauty. Her eyes, much to my surprise when she +recovered from her swoon, were dark, rich blue, like wet violets. I had +thought they would be black, before she opened them.” + +“It was my sister!” cried Effie, in tones of conviction. “You have +described her very accurately.” + +“I went up to her side, and looked down at the beautiful, silent face,” +he went on; “and the stranger, who, I have forgotten to say before, +wore a thick, heavy mask upon his face, followed me. In a moment he +turned to the nurse, angrily: + +“‘How is this?’ he said. ‘I told you to put a mask upon her face!’ + +“‘And so I did, sir, but her protracted swoon so frightened me, that I +removed it to give her air, and forgot to replace it. I hope there is +no harm done, sir.’ + +“He muttered something angrily, then stepped quickly back, for at +that moment the wounded girl opened her eyes and flashed them around +the room. They fell on the face of the nurse, and she cried out, in a +startled tone: + +“‘Who are you, and where am I?’ + +“She spoke no more, for my strange guide bent over her and whispered +something in her ear, and she relapsed into silence. He then directed +me to examine her wound, and I obeyed him.” + +“Was--was it fatal?” asked poor Effie. + +“No, although it had been meant for that,” he replied. “It was a +knife-wound, and had been meant for the heart, but glanced aside and +inflicted a flesh wound instead. I bathed and dressed the wound, but +before I finished, she had again relapsed into unconsciousness.” + +“And you learned nothing?” sighed Effie. + +“Nothing,” he answered. “Before I came away, the unknown stranger +drew off his coat and showed me a deep, jagged cut on his own arm. I +bathed and dressed his wound also, was rewarded for my services by a +twenty-dollar gold piece, and after submitting to the blindfold again, +was driven to my home by my mysterious employer. That is the end of +my story, Miss Rodney. Does it throw any light on the mystery of your +sister’s disappearance?” + +“None, Dr. Anthony. It only deepens the mystery,” she answered, +mournfully. + +“And yet it is in some sort a clew,” he said, thoughtfully. “If +the young girl I saw is your sister it proves that she is confined +somewhere within a radius of five miles from Maywood. Have you thought +of that, Miss Rodney?” + +“If the girl you saw is really my sister, it proves also that she is a +prisoner somewhere,” Effie said, musingly. “It places the mystery in +a new aspect altogether. We had thought that Aline, offended by her +punishment that day, had run away merely to annoy us, and that, when a +sufficient time had elapsed, she would return to us again. Can it be +that she was abducted and imprisoned?” + +“It looks that way,” said Dr. Anthony. “At any rate, I have thought it +best to come here and tell my story. You understand now why I wished +to see a picture of the missing girl. I could then have told most +certainly whether the girl whose strange wound I dressed was your +sister.” + +“It is most unfortunate that we have never had a picture of Aline; but +your description corresponds exactly with her appearance,” declared +Effie. + +“She was very beautiful. Even if I never see her again, I shall never +forget her charming face,” said Dr. Anthony. + +He rose to go as he spoke, and the look of respectful admiration he +bent on Effie’s sweet, sad face seemed to mutely declare that he would +never forget her, either. Her long lashes drooped, and a delicate blush +rose to her cheek, reminding him that his thoughts were too plainly +expressed in his eyes. She thanked him in sweet, courteous phrases for +his information, and half timidly requested him to call again, and +recount his strange story to her father. + +Dr. Anthony very willingly promised to do so. He was very sorry for the +afflicted family, and very much interested in the hazel-eyed Effie. +She, on her part, was vaguely interested in him. + +“The most interesting young man I ever met,” she mentally decided, +recalling the handsome face and clear, frank voice, after he had gone +away. + +She went back to her mother’s bedside, and related Dr. Anthony’s story. +Mrs. Rodney was greatly excited. Aline’s mysterious absence assumed a +new phase. She was full of wonder and dismay and grief. + +“My dear little Aline! She may be dead ere this!” was the burden of her +grief, and it became so hysterical and violent during the long hours +of the night that Effie regretted she had told her the strange story. +She was relieved when her father came home next morning from another +fruitless quest. She felt that the charge of her grief-stricken mother +was becoming too heavy for her. No one could soothe Mrs. Rodney’s +bitter grief but her patient, though almost distracted husband. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +Mr. Rodney did not wait for Dr. Anthony to return to Chester. His +anxiety was too great. He drove over to Maywood in the early morning to +see the young physician. + +He heard the whole story over again. It impressed him strangely. He +believed with the doctor that the mysterious wounded girl was Aline +herself. + +“I have been haunted by that belief ever since I heard the story of +your daughter’s disappearance,” he said. “I feared you might think me +foolish or presuming, but I could not rest until I had gone over to +Chester and told you my story.” + +“For which kindness I am most grateful to you,” said Mr. Rodney, +grasping his hand cordially. “Who knows but that this information will +lead to my daughter’s recovery?” + +He found the young doctor most intelligent and agreeable. He consulted +with him as to the best method of following up this strange discovery. +Both agreed that it would be well to confide the matter to a skillful +detective. Mr. Rodney sent to New York at once for the most noted one +in the service. + +They agreed that they would keep the strange story of the doctor’s +experience a profound secret from the public. If once it became +publicly known, it might put the villain on his guard. He might hustle +Aline off to another place. + +When Mr. Rodney went home, he gave Dr. Anthony a most cordial +invitation to come over to Chester and visit him. The doctor was not +slow to avail himself of the courtesy. It was the beginning of a most +pleasant friendship. + +Perhaps hazel-eyed Effie had something to do with it. It is certain +that she enjoyed the non-professional visits of the Maywood physician +as much as was consistent with the trouble and anxiety she was +enduring. And Dr. Anthony certainly found the fair, dignified young +lady very fascinating. He came often to the dainty little cottage +home that nestled in the shadow of the tall trees and pretentious +towers of Delaney House. He was so gay and cheerful, so determinately +hopeful, that he sometimes wiled Effie to a momentary forgetfulness +of their loss and sorrow. He made little Max fond of him. He pleased +the nervous, fretful, invalid mother still prostrated by her grief and +remorse. His even, sunny temper and handsome face always brightened the +cottage parlor when they shone in it. All claimed him as a friend and +comforter. + +The New York detective came down promptly to Chester. He was quite +willing to undertake the case. He flattered himself that he should +unravel the mystery. + +They showed him the little end room from whence Aline had been so +strangely spirited away. He examined it with a great interest. He +stood at each of the three windows in turn, and gazed curiously out. +The front one gave him a perspective of a quiet little village street. +The back one looked out on a brick-paved yard, and a tiny kitchen. The +end one presented a more inviting prospect. It showed him the green +and flowery garden of Delaney House. The quiet, rustic seats, the cool +spray of the fountains, the deep shade of the trees, the delicate +fragrance of the flowers, all inspired one with a sense of peace and +rest; and the master of all this wealth of summer sweetness, as he +walked among the quiet graveled paths, did not inspire one with any +suspicion. One envied him, rather, he looked so calm and peaceful, as +though the cares and sorrows of the weary world touched him not, hidden +as it were, behind his high stone walls and grim, forbidding towers, +with their close-shut windows. + +Yes, here he still walked daily, as on that day when willful Aline +had gone to her fate along a path as rosy and flower-strewn as ever +delighted the eyes of heedless youth. His dark, grave face gave no +hint of the secret he held, and expressed no sympathy nor sorrow for +the shadow that had fallen on his neighbor’s house. He appeared calm, +grave, indifferent to all things but himself. + +The New York detective studied the house and the man with a good deal +of interest. He asked questions about them, but he stood well back from +the window, and did not permit Mr. Delaney, by any chance, to observe +his curious glances. He was very cautious. + +Mr. Rodney was a man of quite acute perceptions. He quickly saw where +Mr. Lane’s suspicions were insensibly drifting. + +“Your suspicions are tending in quite the wrong direction,” he said: +“Dr. Anthony is quite sure that the house where he saw the wounded girl +is quite five miles distant from here.” + +It was a curious yet so natural mistake that all had drifted insensibly +into it. Dr. Anthony had said that he was carried at least five miles +from Maywood to the mysterious mansion. No one had reflected that +Maywood was five miles distant from Chester, or if they had it did not +connect itself at all with the mystery of Aline’s disappearance. No one +except the keen-witted detective dreamed for an instant of connecting +Delaney House with the mystery, and his suspicions were at once +diverted by his employer’s confident remark. He turned his attention at +once to another subject, and gave up the vague idea. Delaney House was +destined to hold its secret yet. + + “With one black shadow at its feet, + The house thro’ all the level shines, + Close-latticed to the brooding heat, + And silent in its dusty vines; + And ‘Ave, Mary,’ was her moan, + ‘Madonna, sad is night and morn;’ + And ‘Ah,’ she sung, ‘to be all alone, + To live forgotten and love forlorn.’” + +Mr. Lane gave his closest attention and best talents to the solution of +the mystery, and he felt perfectly confident of success. When had he, +the most able detective in the great city of New York, failed in any +undertaking? It was not likely he should be foiled here in this little +country town. + +He settled himself at the pretentious hotel as an invalid gentleman +in search of health. He had his own private buggy sent down from the +city, and he made solitary excursions into the surrounding country in +quest of the Goddess of Health, as he pretended. Sometimes he varied +the monotony of these trips by going afoot. No one suspected his real +reasons for being in the town. He passed everywhere for that which he +represented himself to be. + +Weeks came and went, and he was no nearer the solution of the mystery, +no nearer the finding of Aline than when he first came to Chester. A +baffled feeling began to grow upon him, but still he would not own +himself defeated, would not give up the quest. + +It was quite impossible that he should fail, he told himself, inspired +by the natural self confidence of one who has always succeeded. +Some day he would be sure to find the aristocratic mansion with the +beautiful blue room where the wounded girl was hidden away from the +yearning hearts of those who loved and mourned her. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +Aline Rodney possessed a very quick and passionate temper. She had +been very injudiciously spoiled by her father, and very injudiciously +punished by her mother. The result showed itself in a willful +capricious temper that could not bear contradiction and restraint. + +When Mr. Delaney firmly reiterated his assertion, that she should +never be permitted to leave Delaney House unless she solemnly pledged +herself to silence regarding her sojourn there, Aline’s young heart was +filled with the bitterest anger and rebellion. She was unaccustomed +to absolute control. Her mother’s efforts in that direction were weak +and fitful, her father’s love made him blind to the inherent obstinacy +of her nature. When Oran Delaney, strong and masterful as he was by +nature, undertook to dictate to this spoiled, petted child, he found +that he incurred a serious risk. + +I am ashamed to record this of my heroine--such characters are expected +to realize our ideal of perfection--but she flew into a passion. She +scolded Mr. Delaney in the bitterest terms her sharp little tongue +could devise. She reproached him angrily, laying all the blame of her +presence in the house upon his broad shoulders, and utterly ignoring +her share in it. She was half-maddened by her sense of wrong and +injury, and when she found that all her remonstrances broke against his +strong, firm will, like water against a rock, she relapsed into violent +hysterics. + +She was not your ideal of a heroine, reader, nor mine, nor Oran +Delaney’s! His proud lip curled, half in pity, half in scorn, at her +passionate ravings. He was not at all frightened by her anger. He said +to himself that it was the impotent, unreasonable anger of a child, +and that she had a decidedly shrewish temper; but at the same time he +could not help seeing how beautiful she was in her anger and spite. +Her blue eyes sparkled through the tears that filled them, a crimson +color glowed upon her cheeks. Her voice, even at its sharpest, trembled +with her sense of injury, and had a certain pathos that made it sound +musical. Her whole proud spirit was aroused. She defied him to carry +out his assertion, and then, in unreasoning contradiction of herself, +she declared that she would remain at Delaney House until her bright +eyes were dim, and her dark hair gray, before she would take the oath +of silence he demanded of her. She would never submit to such tyranny +and injustice. + +If Aline had been well and strong, Mr. Delaney would have laughed at +her anger; but he grew apprehensive now. It was not well for her to +excite herself. He regretted his precipitancy in acquainting her with +his intentions. He wished that he had temporized with her. + +“But how was I to know that she would take it so hardly?” he muttered +to himself. + +He was greatly relieved when Mrs. Griffin suddenly put in an +appearance. She was honestly aghast at the state of the patient, and, +while hurriedly mixing a composing draught, she gave loud utterance to +her anxiety. + +“This will be the death of her! A fever will be sure to set in. I +cannot imagine what you have said to excite her so much, Mr. Delaney. +It was very imprudent.” + +“I did not know she would take it so hard,” he muttered, glancing +uneasily at Aline, whose angry reproaches had subsided into low, +smothered sobs and heart-broken wails. + +“You had better leave her to me, now,” she said. “I can coax her to +take this medicine, perhaps, when you are gone.” + +He went up to Aline, and held out his hand. + +“I am sorry you think so hardly of me,” he said. “Try to forgive me, +won’t you, Aline?” + +“I will never forgive you,” Aline, cried out, resentfully, as she +pushed the offered hand away. And Mr. Delaney went away, then, without +another word or look. + +But Mrs. Griffin gave her a glance of lively reproach. + +“For shame, Miss Rodney!” she cried. “You might treat Mr. Delaney +civilly, at least, considering that he saved your life.” + +“When?” demanded Aline, desisting from her sobs in sheer surprise. + +“There, now! I always said I had a long tongue. Mr. Delaney told me not +to tell,” muttered the nurse. + +“When did he save my life?” demanded the girl, in her pretty, +peremptory way. + +“Don’t worry, Miss Rodney, that was a mere slip of the tongue, just +now,” said Mrs. Griffin, as she approached with the wine-glass of +medicine. + +“I shall not take the medicine unless you tell me what you meant by +saying that Mr. Delaney saved my life,” declared Aline, coolly. + +“Won’t you? Then I shall have to call him back to pour it down your +throat, as he did last night,” threatened the nurse, vexed at the +willfulness of her patient. + +“You will do no such thing, for I shall immediately tell him what you +said, and ask him if it is true,” declared the perverse girl; “but, +if you tell me the truth, I shall not tell him that you betrayed his +confidence.” + +Mrs. Griffin looked thoroughly vexed, but seeing what a headstrong +nature she had to deal with, she meekly capitulated. + +“If excitement weren’t so hurtful to you, I’d let you do your worst, my +spoiled young lady,” she said; “but, for your own sake, and to save you +from another fit of temper, I’ll tell you the truth. Mr. Delaney saved +you from that _creature_ that assaulted you yesterday. She had already +wounded him upstairs, but he pursued her, and reached the parlor just +in time to prevent her from giving you a second stab with her dagger; +and if she had succeeded in that second attempt, you would have bidden +good-by to this world, my pretty one!” + +Aline shuddered at the emphatic tone. Mrs. Griffin held out the +medicine to her, and she swallowed it meekly, without a word of +remonstrance. Her pretty face, still flushed from her anger and tears, +looked very grave. + +“I am very glad he saved my life,” she said, after a minute, +thoughtfully. “I should not like to die yet. I am too young, and the +world is too lovely.” + +“As well die young as old,” growled the grim nurse. “One is saved a +deal of pain by it.” + +“You are an old croaker, like Mr. Delaney,” Aline exclaimed, +impatiently. “I dare say I shall be as hopeful and happy and as much in +love with life when I am old as I am now!” + +“Let us hope so,” said the old woman, dryly; then she added, with some +spirit, “As for Mr. Delaney being an old croaker, Miss Rodney, he is +not old, let me tell you. He is only a little past thirty. I nursed him +when he was a baby.” + +“Did you, really, Mrs. Griffin? How strange!” cried Aline, trying to +realize the fact that Mr. Delaney had ever been a baby. She looked +at Mrs. Griffin meditatively a moment, and, as a vision of the tall, +handsome man in bibs and long skirts came before her mind’s eye, she +burst out laughing. + +“Well, I never saw such a child--crying one moment, laughing the next!” +cried Mrs. Griffin, offended at her levity. + +“Don’t be angry, nurse. I was only laughing at the idea of that stern, +dark man ever being a baby. Tell me, did you really nurse him? And was +he a pretty baby? And was his mamma very fond of him?” cried volatile +Aline. + +“His mamma died when he was born, Miss Rodney. She was as young as you +are, I believe, but she had a vast deal more dignity than you have,” +Mrs. Griffin said, reprovingly. + +“I have no dignity at all. I have heard that every day of my life, and +I am eighteen years old,” said Aline, rather soberly; “and this poor +young mother who died so sadly, Mrs. Griffin, was she a pretty girl?” + +“How you do fly from one subject to another, miss!” cried Mrs. Griffin. +“Yes, she was very beautiful. But, my dear, I don’t think that Mr. +Delaney would like for me to discuss his family affairs with a +stranger. Suppose you shut your eyes and go to sleep. You have had too +much excitement already.” + +Aline could be a very sweet, obedient child when it pleased her to be +so. She relapsed into one of those gracious moods now. She nestled her +dark head down upon the pillow and obediently closed her eyes. + +But she was not asleep, although the grim nurse “laid that flattering +unction to her soul.” She was busily thinking. “So Mr. Delaney saved my +life,” she was saying to herself. “Why did he not tell me? I might not +have been quite so abominable to him then. What a little wretch he must +think me! I am sorry his mother died when he was a baby! I don’t think +I should have had a very pleasant life if my mamma had died like that, +even though she scolds me and punishes me sometimes.” + +She was unconsciously penitent for all her rudeness and anger toward +Mr. Delaney. He had saved her life. That was a great boon in Aline’s +eyes. She was young and fair, and life was very sweet. + +“I should not have been quite so bad if only I had known,” she repeated +to herself. “I will be kinder to him after this. I do not want him to +think me a little heathen. But he should not keep me here against my +will. He must know that I want to go home!” + +While she lay thus apparently sleeping, but in reality busily thinking, +the nurse watched her anxiously. She believed that the girl was asleep, +but she did not like to see the bright, warm color that began to burn +fitfully on the fair cheek beneath the long, dark fringe of the lashes. + +“I do not like the look of it,” she muttered, shaking her gray head, +ominously. “’Twill be a mercy if fever doesn’t set in after all that +passion she was in. And if it does, he daren’t bring the physician +again. The risk will be too great.” + +She started when the blue eyes unclosed presently and looked up into +her face. They were unnaturally dark and bright. + +“Send Mr. Delaney to me,” she said, “I am not going to tell him what +you said, nurse, oh, no! Only send him here.” He came, and when he saw +the hot flush on her cheeks, and the brilliant light in her eyes he was +frightened. They were unnatural. + +Aline put out her dainty, dimpled hand to him. + +“I was very rude to you,” she said, simply. “Will you pardon me, Mr. +Delaney?” + +He clasped the small hand gently and assured her that he was not +offended in the least. He knew that he had given her great cause to be +angry with him. + +“Still I need not have been such a little wretch,” she said, +“and--and--I punished myself when I would not take the flowers. I +wanted them very much! Will you give them to me now?” + +He brought the little basket to her, and she buried her hot face among +the cool, dewy leaves of the roses. She began to talk to them in a +childish whisper, that suddenly grew into a loud, meaningless, vacant +babble. Oran Delaney looked anxiously at Mrs. Griffin. + +“Great Heaven!” he said, “what ails her? What does it mean?” + +She shook her gray head gloomily. + +“It is fever! I feared as much,” she said. “The excitement was too +great in her weak, wounded condition. Heaven only knows how it will +end.” + +It was fever indeed. Aline’s reckless indulgence of her wrath had +wrought the worst possible results. Fever and delirium had set in. The +wound which they had thought so lightly of at first now threatened to +terminate fatally. + +“If she dies, it will be I who have killed her. I was a fool; I was mad +surely when I told her all I did,” said Oran Delaney to himself. + +The fever set in high, and strong, and violent. It was pitiful to hear +the sweet, high-pitched voice raving of the dear ones from whom she was +cruelly separated. As she fought the hard battle between the opposing +forces of life and death she called upon them all to help her--mamma, +papa, Max and Effie, all those dearly beloved ones who were so near and +yet so cruelly far. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +The long, sweet summer days glided past into September. Already the +parti-colored leaves of autumn began to be whirled through the air +by the cool sweet breeze. There were hints of autumn coolness in the +breeze as it sighed among the trees in the little country town of +Chester. + +Those summer days from July until September had been full of suspense +and sorrow to the Rodneys. Each day had been full of disappointment +and harrowing suspense. Each day had only added to the impenetrable +mystery that hung around the fate of the lost daughter. The New York +detective, baffled for once in his life, had given up the case and +returned to New York. In all his expeditions, in all his search, he had +failed to find the house with the marble steps, the house that held +the mysterious blue-and-white room where the beautiful wounded girl +was hidden away. Mr. Lane was moody and irritable over his failure. He +had conscientiously tried to succeed in finding Aline, and he could +not understand why he had failed. After the fashion of many other +unsuccessful people he sought some one else to lay the blame upon, +and Dr. Anthony’s broad shoulders were selected for that purpose. Mr. +Lane sarcastically denied the existence of the blue room, the masked +villain, and the wounded girl. He did not hesitate to declare that Dr. +Anthony had dreamed the whole thing. + +Dr. Anthony was not shaken in his convictions by the great detective’s +incredulity. But he was very good-natured. He admitted that he had told +a startling tale. He gave any one who chose full liberty to disbelieve +it. For himself he was puzzled, vexed, chagrined at his own self, for +he had made some private excursions on his own account and he had +failed as ignominiously as Mr. Lane in finding the mysterious house +and the mysterious maiden. It chagrined him to think that he had been +so cleverly blinded, but he never once subscribed to the detective’s +theory that he had been fooled by an hallucination of the brain. + +“My imagination is not so brilliant as you would give me credit +for,” he said, laughing. “A poet’s brain might produce such a vision +of peerless beauty off-hand, but not that of a prosaic physician. +It was not a dream, it was not an hallucination, it was a strange +reality. I shall assert that always, the whole world to the contrary +notwithstanding.” + +But although the great detective had grown incredulous over the story, +the Rodneys had not. They placed the most implicit faith in the doctor. +He remained their valued friend, and Chester saw more of him in those +days than Maywood. All his spare time, which did not really amount to +much, since he had a large and steadily increasing practice, was spent +at the little cottage home that nestled under the towers of Delaney +House--the great house of the town. Through those troublesome days and +nights he and Effie were learning the first tenses of that old, old +lesson ever new--to love. + +Greatly to the surprise and joy of all, Mrs. Rodney had rallied from +her illness and was slowly convalescing. She was strong enough now to +be brought down into the pretty parlor every evening and rest upon +a reclining-chair while the ebb of talk flowed on around her, to +which she listened with languid interest. The town folks were very +sympathetic and social, deeming it a sort of duty to visit and comfort +the afflicted family. Some one or other dropped in every evening, so +that the Rodneys, whatever other sorrow they labored under, could not +complain of loneliness. But with the cool, short autumn evenings, and +as the loss of Aline Rodney grew an old, old story, other interests +began to usurp the place of the great sensation. Visitors grew less +frequent at the cottage. They preferred to linger at their own +firesides. It was only Dr. Anthony now who came every evening, if he +only had time to look in for ten minutes. Every face brightened at his +coming, every heart felt lighter for his words of cheer. + +But once he had quite a whole evening at his disposal. He had been +visiting a patient near Chester, and as soon as he could he went to +the cottage, and putting his horse into the stable announced that he +had several hours to spend with his friends. All were pleased at the +prospect, for a dull drizzling rain had set in, and the evening had +promised to be lonely. More than once, as the wind sighed in the trees +and the rain pattered down upon the roof, had been recalled Bryant’s +appropriate lines: + + “The melancholy days are come, + The saddest of the year.” + +Dr. Anthony’s coming put quite a new face upon the evening. They +indulged in some little cheerfulness. They did not forget Aline, but +they tried to take some little comfort in their lives. It is impossible +to grieve always. + + “We bear the blows that sever, + We cannot weep forever.” + +Papa sat by the shaded reading lamp with a new book. Mamma was resting +in her low, reclining-chair, looking pale but pretty in her soft garnet +cashmere and the little lace cap on her wavy brown hair that began to +show some lines of gray since Aline had gone. Her idle white hands were +folded in her lap. They were mostly idle now. She had no heart to work, +but a gentle, pensive smile illumined her fair face this evening. + +Effie had opened the long-disused piano and was singing softly, while +Dr. Anthony turned the leaves of her music. She wore a blue dress +and a late September rose in her soft braids of hair. Max had fallen +asleep on the sofa. The quiet repose of each figure, the pretty, simple +parlor, the autumn flowers in the vases, the low fire that burned +upon the hearth to dispel the chill of the rain, all made up a pretty +picture of home-comfort that had a very alluring appearance to the +passers-by, who chanced to glance through the unshuttered windows at +the scene. Effie’s song, too, as floated out upon the night air, was +very sweet and sad: + + “Mother, now sing me to rest, + For the long, long day is done; + Fold me to sleep on thy breast + As the night folds up the sun. + + “For my heart is heavy with fears. + And my feet are aweary with play; + Hide me from life’s lengthened years-- + Fold me from weeping away. + + “These flowers, so blessed and sweet, + I’ve gathered from far and from near; + I lay them all down at thy feet-- + They are wet with many a tear. + + “But, mother, now sing me to rest, + Take back the lone child, tired with playing; + Fold me to sleep on thy breast-- + All the day long vainly straying.” + +The soft hush of silence that fell as Effie’s voice died away was +broken by a shrill and piercing scream. Mrs. Rodney had sprung to her +feet with a strength no one had believed her possessed of. She stood +erect in the center of the floor, her slim forefinger pointed at the +window, her eyes wildly dilating, her face pale and agitated, while +shriek after shriek burst from her writhing lips: + +“Aline! Aline! Aline!” + +Every one turned to the spot indicated by that quivering forefinger. +Every eye beheld a wild white face with dark dilated eyes and streaming +hair, pressed for a moment against the window-pane. Then, while they +yet gazed, it was swiftly withdrawn and vanished in the darkness and +the falling rain like a phantom of the night. + +Effie’s voice rang out wild and horror-stricken above her mother’s +piercing wails: + +“A ghost! A ghost! Ah, now I know that our poor Aline is dead!” + +Dr. Anthony stood for a moment like one rooted to the spot. He had +recognized on the instant the beautiful pale face of the mysteriously +wounded girl in the blue room. It was true, then, as he had believed. +She was no other than Aline Rodney. + +He stood still a moment like one stupefied, then, turning suddenly, +rushed to the door, flung it open, and disappeared in the rain and +darkness of the wild autumn night. + +Mr. Rodney, after one moment of dazed indecision, flung down his book +and rushed after him. + +Effie flew to her mother’s arms. + +“Oh, mamma, she is dead, Aline is dead--our dear, dear little Aline!” +she sobbed, in a passion of despair. + +Little Max, awakened by the sound of their anguished voices, ran to +them and added his frightened voice to the tumult of the scene. Mrs. +Rodney continued to wail heart-brokenly. + +“Aline! Aline! Aline! Oh, I am justly punished for my harshness to you! +It was your ghost looking in at the window just as you looked down at +me that day from the window of the room where I had locked you! Oh, my +child, my poor dead darling, forgive, forgive, forgive! Come back to +me, Aline, and tell me you will forgive me!” As if in answer to her +passionate appeals, the door was flung suddenly open again, and Mr. +Rodney and Dr. Anthony re-entered the room. They walked slowly, for +they carried a wet and dripping burden between them, which they laid +upon the floor at Mrs. Rodney’s feet. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +It was the figure of a girl wrapped in a long black water-proof cloak, +whose concealing hood, fallen back from her features, showed them +pale as death, with a pallor more remarkable by contrast with her +night-black brows and lashes, and wet and dripping dark hair. It was +Aline Rodney’s face, but the eyes were closed, and the trance of deep +unconsciousness was upon her. + +They knelt down beside her and loosened the dripping wet cloak from +her lissom, slender form. It was their own Aline, indeed. The slight +pretty figure was clothed in the simple blue gingham dress she had worn +the day they last beheld her. The same neat buttoned boots were on the +small pretty feet. They did not seem to have been worn or damaged in +all the time she had been away from home. + +Mr. Rodney lifted her helpless figure in his arms and carried her to +the fire. He wrung the water from her dripping tresses and bathed her +face with restoratives that Effie hurriedly brought. In a very few +moments she revived. The dark-blue eyes fluttered open, she looked up +into her father’s face, she saw them all kneeling around her--mamma, +Effie, Max, all her dearly beloved ones, and a smile beamed on her face +and a cry of thankfulness broke from her lips. + +“Oh, papa, oh, mamma, am I really home again? I am so glad, so glad! I +can scarcely realize it!” + +They half smothered her with kisses and caresses. They quite forgot Dr. +Anthony standing apart, a happy, sympathizing, though silent spectator. +Mrs. Rodney took her restored daughter in her arms, her tears rained on +the beautiful white face. + +“Oh, Aline, Aline,” she cried, “you must forgive me for punishing you +so! I thought it was for the best. I did not dream that anything would +go wrong. You are not angry now, are you, my dear? I have suffered so +much, my love. I have been ill. I have almost died of grief since you +went away; you must never leave me again.” + +Aline returned the kisses and caresses with interest. She was quite +ready to forgive and forget. + +“I will try to be a good girl hereafter, mamma dear, so that you need +never punish me again,” she said, wistfully and earnestly, and so +differently from the former willful, perverse girl, that Mrs. Rodney +was moved to sudden tears. + +“Oh, my darling, where have you been?” she cried. “We have been looking +for you everywhere. We have even had a great detective down here from +New York trying to find you.” + +Aline gazed silently into her mother’s face as she propounded these +eager questions. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. + +“We heard all about the mysterious blue room, and--and your dreadful +wound, and the man in the mask--and everything!” continued Mrs. Rodney, +frantically, “but look where we would, we could not find you, and we +were afraid you had been cruelly murdered. Oh, my darling, tell me +where you have been?” + +“Where have you been, Aline?” echoed her father, with unconscious +sternness. + +“Where?” cried Effie, with painful anxiety. + +“Where?” asked Max, with boyish curiosity. + +But to all of these anxious questions, and the more anxious look that +accompanied them, Aline Rodney answered not a word. + +Her dark head still rested against her father’s breast, and one arm was +drawn lovingly around his neck. There was a smile of ineffable joy and +peace on her face, but at Mrs. Rodney’s reference to the little room +and her wound a look of wonder came into the dark-blue eyes. + +“Mamma, who has told you all that?” she exclaimed. + +“We have heard it all from Dr. Anthony, who dressed your wound that +night,” cried Mrs. Rodney. “Oh, Aline, who was it that wounded you so +cruelly, my dear? and where were you, and why did you not send for me?” + +A look of sorrow and regret flashed over the sweet white face. + +“Mamma, I cannot tell you,” answered Aline. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +They gazed at her in amazement. What was this? Aline not to tell where +she had been these three months! What could she possibly mean? + +“Aline, darling, you do not perhaps understand your mother. She is +asking you where you have been. You must tell her, my child,” said Mr. +Rodney, gently. + +Aline answered him in the same words: + +“Papa, I cannot tell her.” + +Something very like anger came momently into Mr. Rodney’s kind eyes +as he looked down into the sweet young face that lay nestled lovingly +against his arm. + +“No more willfulness, Aline,” he said, almost sternly. “You have run +away from us and caused us a great deal of anxiety and sorrow. You have +almost broken my heart, and your mother has been near to death’s door. +You do not deserve that we should receive you back with so much love +and forgiveness. But now that we have done so, you must be frank and +explicit with us. You must tell us where you have hidden yourself so +securely from us while we have been seeking you everywhere at so great +an expense and trouble, to say nothing of our sorrow and anxiety.” + +“Papa, it does not matter where I have been so that you have me back +again safe and secure,” cried simple Aline. + +She could not understand the dark frown that clouded his brow. + +“It matters everything,” he declared. “What new whim possesses you, +Aline, that you should deny us thus? Do you not suppose that we should +be anxious over your whereabouts after hearing all that we have done?” + +“I cannot understand who has told you so much, papa,” said the girl in +wonder. + +Mr. Rodney made a sign to Dr. Anthony. He came forward into the range +of Aline’s vision. + +“Doctor,” said Mr. Rodney, “do you recognize my daughter as the wounded +girl whom you attended in the mysterious blue room?” + +Aline gazed in wonder at the strange face as it looked down upon her. +She rather liked its expression, it was so cheery and handsome, with +its brown eyes, brown mustache, regular features, and expression of +good nature. + +He looked steadily and admiringly at the beautiful young face. + +“I could swear to her identity,” he said, firmly. “It is the face of +the wounded girl in the mysterious blue room.” + +“I have never seen you before,” cried Aline. “How do you know these +things which you assert?” + +He smiled. Aline could find no fault with that smile. It was so kind +and reassuring. He answered, pleasantly: + +“You have never seen me, Miss Aline, because I wore a mask when I +dressed your wound that night. But I remember your face distinctly.” +He turned to Mr. Rodney. “May I tell her the story of that night?” he +asked. + +Mr. Rodney answered, “Yes.” + +Aline lay listening silently, with dilated eyes, to his strange story. + +“I was full of sympathy for you,” he said. “I felt quite sure that +there was something wrong. I did not like the strangeness of it all. I +have tried again and again to find your strange prison, that I might +rescue you from your bondage. I have been your friend ever since that +night. If any one has maltreated you, Miss Aline--if you have been +detained in that strange house against your will, tell me where to find +the wretch, and I will punish him for you.” + +“You are very kind, but I have nothing to say,” Aline answered, in a +low voice of unconscious regret. + +He looked at her in surprise. + +“Do you mean to make a secret of it?” he asked her, in his clear, frank +way. + +“Yes,” she answered, calmly, and looking straight into his face with +her blue, resolute eyes. + +“But, my dear young lady, why should you do that?” he said, perplexed. + +“That is my own affair,” she answered, with something of her old +imperious temper ringing in her voice. “My business cannot concern +you--a stranger. I consider that you are talking to me in a very +impertinent fashion.” + +Mr. Rodney put his hand hastily over the willful red lips. + +“Your temper is not improved by your sojourn away from us,” he said, in +a tone of marked displeasure. “Listen, Aline; this gentleman is not to +be treated as a stranger by you. He is a valued friend, and, moreover, +he is engaged to your sister Effie. He will be your brother, but I hope +you will never cause him as much anxiety as you have done the rest of +us.” + +Aline put out her white hand frankly to the doctor. + +“I congratulate you,” she said. “Effie is the dearest girl in the +world!” + +“So I think,” said Dr. Anthony, frankly; adding, gayly, “I think a +great deal of you, too, Miss Aline, since but for you I might never +have seen your sister!” + +They all laughed. Aline made up her mind that he would be a charming +brother-in-law. + +“I should say that my running away has proved quite advantageous to the +family,” said she archly, as she kissed the blushing Effie. + +She thought that every one would agree with her. She could not +understand why they all looked so grave. She had been brought up so +simply and innocently in this quiet country town she had no knowledge +of evil. + +“Why do you all look so grave?” said she, pettishly. “If you aren’t +glad to see me, perhaps I had better go back where I came from.” + +“Where _did_ you come from, Aline?” exclaimed her father. + +“You dear, curious old papa, I shan’t tell you!” replied Aline, with +her merry laugh that sounded like music. + +“You are jesting, Aline, but it is not an appropriate subject for +a joke,” said her father. “Come, dear, I do not like to be kept in +suspense. I am waiting to hear why you ran away from us, and where you +went.” + +She lifted her head from his arm, and looked up into his face with her +bright, wide-open eyes. She saw that he was not jesting, that he was +in intense earnest. She was inclined to resent his curiosity, as she +termed it to herself. + +“Really, papa, I cannot imagine why you make such a fuss over it,” she +cried, with all the freedom of a spoiled child. “I should think you +already knew why I went away. It was because I didn’t wish to stay +in that hot, stuffy little chamber all day while you were enjoying +yourselves at the picnic. So I went out for a little while, I meant to +return directly, but--” she stopped short, and a sudden flush mounted +up to her white forehead. + +“And why did you not return, Aline?” her mother cried out, quickly. +“What reasons did you have for staying?” + +“I had the very strongest of reasons, mamma,” said the girl, and now +they saw that she was half laughing, half crying. “The very strongest +reasons, for I could not return.” + +“But why, dear?” asked Effie, leaning on her lover’s arm, and looking +deeply interested. + +“Ah, ‘why, why’!--how you all do ring the changes on that one word,” +cried Aline, in pretty petulance. “When I say that I do not mean to +tell you, why cannot you leave me alone?” + +She was in the most palpable earnest. They all saw that. They did not +know what to say to her. She was so childlike, so innocent, she could +not understand why it was really so necessary that she should explain +her absence to them. + +“Tell me one thing, Aline, my darling,” said her father, coaxingly. +“How did you get out of your locked room?” + +She locked her white hands around his arm and looked up into his face. +There was a deep, warm color on her face, and her eyes were misty as if +with tears that she bravely held back. + +“Papa, darling,” she said, with a sudden quiver in her fresh young +voice, “do not be angry with me, dear. Indeed, indeed, I do not want to +be naughty or willful or unkind to you. But I cannot tell you how I +left my room that day any more than I can tell you how I came back to +you to-night.” + +There was a dead silence. Aline did not know how strangely her words +sounded to them all. She did not know that there was anything so +strange and reprehensible in her silence. She did not realize that she +was no longer a child, but a woman, every day of whose life should lie +fair and open like a spotless page to every eye. + +Her father put her suddenly out of his arms into a chair by his side. + +“Aline, you are tired to-night. Perhaps you will tell us your story +to-morrow?” he said, half inquiringly. + +“Neither to-night nor to-morrow, papa,” she replied, in a vaguely +troubled tone, for she began to feel alarmed at their persistency. “No, +nor ever!” + +“Do you realize what you are saying, Aline?” Mr. Rodney inquired, in a +strange, measured tone, and gazing deliberately into her grave, sweet, +perfectly frank blue eyes. + +“Yes, papa, I realize it,” she replied, innocently. + +“You will stain the whiteness of your life, of your young womanhood, +with a secret at whose nature no one can guess--you will deliberately +place yourself under a ban. You will not reveal this strange secret +even to your parents--do you mean all this, Aline?” he asked, +agitatedly. + +“Yes, papa dear,” answered Aline. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +Mr. Rodney gazed at his daughter for a few moments in blank silence. +It had suddenly dawned upon him that, with all her childish ways and +innocent young beauty, Aline was a woman in years. + + “Standing with reluctant feet, + Where the brook and river meet, + Womanhood and childhood fleet.” + +She was eighteen years old, but until to-night she had seemed like a +child. She had the frank heart of a child, and her mother had never put +her forward in society as a woman. The bloom had never been brushed +from her heart by a lover. She had never had a secret from her parents +in her life. She had been open, frank, and guileless, and singularly +confiding. + +Her course now was utterly unlike Aline’s former ways--it was strange, +unfilial, and incomprehensible. + +As he gazed at her silently now, the subtle change in her struck him +most forcibly. It existed not only in her mind, but her face. + +Now that he looked at her more closely, he saw that Aline’s pretty +oval face had grown thin and pale; her eyes, always large and bright, +were more so than ever now. They were not the happy, careless eyes of +the child Aline. They had a brooding shadow in them--a new expression, +almost of pain. The red, smiling lips had acquired a certain gravity. +There was a soul looking out of the beautiful pale face now, illumining +its ethereal loveliness like the light behind a crystal vase. + +“Some new experience of life has come to the child since she left us. +Her mind is expanded and developed into that of a woman,” he said to +himself. + +With that thought came trouble, sorrow, and vague regret, mixed with +a certain horror of the mystery she persisted in throwing around the +months of her absence. Tremblingly he asked himself what did that +strange reserve mean? Was it the impenetrable veil thrown around a +disgraceful secret? + +Disgraceful! He started and chided himself. Was he linking the thought +of disgrace with her, the child of his heart, his bright, beautiful +darling, who had always been his favorite child? No, no, sin could +never touch her, she was too pure, too true, too innocent. He gazed +anxiously into her sweet, blue eyes, and in spite of the vague shadow +he saw there, they were still frank, and open, and honest; she was +still as innocent as a child, although as lovely as a woman. Whatever +had come to her in those months of absence, deepening her experience of +life, it had not brought her any worldly knowledge. The thought that +any one could think hardly of her for that secret she was keeping had +never dawned upon her inner consciousness. + +Mr. Rodney knew the world with all its evil ways, and he was a man of +strong intellect and strong impulses. He vaguely scented trouble if +Aline persisted in her strange course of conduct. + +Her simple air as she answered his last question almost dismayed him. +What a child she was still in spite of her years! + +“Look at me, Aline,” he said, gravely. + +She turned her sweet, flower-like face obediently to his, and met his +stern inquiring look with the full gaze of her lovely violet eyes. The +full white lids and long, curling black lashes raised fully from them, +gave them an air of innocent candor and tender appealing. It was not +possible that sin or shame could stain the pure white soul looking out +at him from those splendid portals of light. + +“Aline,” he said, abruptly, “I can scarcely credit the sincerity of +your refusal to speak. Perhaps you have not counted the cost.” + +“The cost, papa?” + +Honest amazement looked out at him from the dark-blue orbs. + +“The cost,” he repeated, with stern brevity. + +“But, papa, I do not understand you. I went away because mamma had +punished me, and I was vexed and did not mean to stay in all day. +And--and--I could not come back when I wished to do so. There were +reasons why I could not do so--all my own fault, remember, papa; and so +when I come at last--when I come back loving you all more dearly than +ever, and quite determined not to be naughty ever again, you look at me +so strangely, you talk to me so sternly. You ask me, have I counted the +cost? I do not understand you in the least, papa. What do you mean by +the cost?” + +“The cost of your silence,” he said. “Do you not know that it is +strange, unnatural? Do you not know that I have a right to know where +you have been, my child?” + +“Of course I know that, papa. And I have always told you everything, +haven’t I, papa?--haven’t I, mamma? I have never kept a secret from you +in all my life; but I thought that if I chose to keep this one, you +would not care--that it would not matter greatly. I do not see how it +could matter to any one! But you are angry, papa. Was that what you +meant by the _cost_? Shall you lock me in my room again if I refuse to +tell?” + +He stared at her, stupefied. What could he say in the face of such +innocence and ignorance? + +She rose from her seat impulsively, and threw herself down on her knees +before him, folding her white arms across his lap, gazing up into his +face earnestly and lovingly. + +“Papa”--there was a wistful trouble in her voice, a sound as of unshed +tears, a patient humility--“papa, you shall punish me as much as you +please! I quite deserve it; I am willing to bear it. I will do anything +you say without a murmur. I cannot tell you where I have been; I cannot +tell you how I went away; but no one is to blame but myself. You know +how wild and willful I have been. I brought all this upon myself, and I +will bear the consequences. Punish me as you will, papa, only forgive +me and love me again!” + +“Aline, this is the most sheer obstinacy,” he said, looking down at the +lovely tear-stained face, for two great sparkling tears had flashed +from under her dark lashes and rolled down upon her cheeks. “I do not +wish to punish you--I only wish to forgive you, but you make it too +hard for me by your willfulness. Tell me the truth, my darling.” He +bent down suddenly and clasped her in his arms with inexpressible love +and earnestness. “Tell me, Aline, where you have been; and if you have +suffered wrong at the hands of any one, I will find means to punish +that wrong in the most terrible fashion!” + +She slipped from his arms to the floor, and crouched there, with a +strange trouble written all over her face. + +“Papa, I can tell you nothing--nothing!” she murmured, in hoarse, +strained accents. + +All the tenderness in his face was displaced by sudden anger. + +“Aline, I no longer plead to you for your obedience,” he exclaimed, +sharply--“I _command_ you to tell me the truth!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +Aline sprung to her feet and regarded her father in consternation. + +His tenderness and love had given place to fierce anger and authority. +His face was pale and stern, his lips set in a rigid line, his +dark-blue eyes, so like her own, blazed ominously. + +“I _command you_,” he repeated, hoarsely. “Do not continue to trifle +with me any longer, Aline. Tell me where you have been.” + +“Papa, I would tell you it I could, but I cannot do so,” she answered, +gently, almost humbly, and retreating a pace from him toward her sister. + +But he waved her away from Effie’s side with sharp authority. + +“Stand back,” he said, “you have no right by your sister’s side until +this mystery is explained away. Now, will you tell me the truth?” + +“I cannot,” she still repeated, and her lips began to quiver. She +turned a piteous, pleading gaze upon her mother’s face. It touched +a responsive chord in Mrs. Rodney’s heart. She who had always been +harshest to Aline was tenderest now. + +She came forward and laid a soft, pleading hand on her husband’s arm. + +“Oh, Mr. Rodney, do not tease the child,” she said. “See how white and +ill she looks! leave her alone now. She will tell us some time when she +is better--will you not, my darling?” + +Aline flew to her mother’s arms and hid her face on her breast, but +she did not answer her pleading question, she only broke into low, +hysterical sobs. She was frightened at her father’s anger, her heart +and brain were in a whirl. How different was this homecoming from what +she had expected! The dear father who had always loved her best, who +had always defended her girlish escapades, had turned against her now. + +She did not understand that in the very fact of the idolizing love he +had borne her lay the secret of her father’s anger. Because he had +loved her the best of all he felt her defection the worst of all. To +him she had always been loving and obedient. He could not understand +her strange disobedience now. It filled him with mingled fear and +anger. He was wounded in his love and his pride. + +He looked coldly at his wife as she stood with her daughter clasped in +her maternal arms mingling her tears with those that flowed from the +girl’s blue eyes. + +“Mrs. Rodney, I hope you will not interfere in this matter,” he said, +with distinct coldness. “I alone must deal with Aline now; I alone +dictate her punishment.” + +“Punishment! I thought there was to be no more talk of that. We have +punished the child too much already!” cried the remorseful mother. + +“God bless you, mamma!” whispered the girl, gratefully. + +“Be silent. I will have no interference in my management of Aline,” he +repeated, angrily. + +They all looked at him in wonder. No one had ever seen Mr. Rodney +really angry before. His favorite daughter quailed before the white +heat of wrath that distorted his proud, handsome face. He advanced +and drew her deliberately from Mrs. Rodney’s arms and placed her in +a chair. At his authoritative manner Aline’s fair face flushed, and +something of his own high spirit flashed into her eyes. + +“Papa, you have no right to treat me thus!” she cried. “Why do you +humiliate me before this stranger?” and she glanced at Dr. Anthony, who +was regarding her with gravely sympathetic eyes. + +“I have already told you that Dr. Anthony is not to be regarded as a +stranger--” began Mr. Rodney. But the doctor himself interrupted him by +stepping forward and addressing him. + +“She is right,” he said. “Although Miss Aline has not a better friend +on earth than myself, we are actually strangers to each other. I should +have remembered the fact before, but that my deep sympathy and interest +in her caused me to forget. I crave her pardon for my seeming rudeness, +and I will now take my leave.” + +He bowed himself out, and left the beautiful culprit alone with her +family. They stood around her silently--the weeping mother, the +compassionate sister and brother, the father, who had made himself her +judge, who was repressing every instinct of tenderness in his anger at +what he deemed a girl’s waywardness. + +“Aline, you think me harsh and cold,” he said. “God knows no man ever +had a harder task than mine. I do not think you understand what will +follow upon this rash act of folly and this culpable silence of yours. +Shall I tell you?” + +“If you please, papa,” answered Aline. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +She was regarding him with some little curiosity. It was quite plain to +be seen that she had not the faintest idea of the nature of that cost +at which he vaguely hinted. There was nothing but a perfectly blank +wonder on the beautiful, girlish face. + +In the face of her utter innocence and ignorance it was all the harder +to tell her the truth. He looked at her almost despairingly. + +“Aline, I almost wish now that we had not brought you up in such +simplicity and innocence,” he said. “Perhaps, if you had known the +world better, you might not have erred like this.” + +She looked at him attentively. + +“Papa, I cannot see that the world has anything to do with me, simple +Aline Rodney,” she said. “It seems to me that nobody was harmed by my +absence except mamma and the rest of you, to whom I belong!” + +He fairly groaned. + +“There is some one else who was harmed more than all the rest of us,” +he answered. + +“Who was that, papa?” innocently. + +“Was ever such ignorance?” he asked himself, even while he answered, +aloud: “You, Aline!” + +Her face brightened, comprehensively. + +“That is quite true,” she said, “I was harmed the most of all, for I +not only had to bear the pain of my absence from you, but was tortured +with remorse and anxiety. I was never away from home in all my life +before, you know, papa, and when I was so ill, oh, how I longed for +mamma and the rest of you. And then, I was so angry and so sorry +because I could not send for you, and--and--” she paused, with a +shocked exclamation, and put her hand over her lips. + +“So you really were ill--poor darling!” cried Effie. + +“I did not mean to say that,” cried Aline. “Oh, I am so thoughtless, +I shall tell everything yet,” she sighed in dismay, and again the +expression of anger clouded her father’s face. + +“Aline, you have quite misunderstood me,” he said. “I did not at all +refer to your own sensations in your absence, but to a more serious +matter. I will be plain with you, Aline. I meant solely what other +people would think and say of your absence, and your refusal to explain +it.” + +“_Other_ people, papa?” + +“Aline, why will you repeat my words in such a parrot-like and +exasperating fashion?” he cried, sharply. + +Her lips quivered sensitively. + +“I beg your pardon,” she said, simply. “I cannot think what makes me so +stupid.” She put her hand wearily to her brow for an instant. “My head +aches. Perhaps that is the reason. Please bear with me, papa. I am sure +I shall understand you presently.” + +He was touched inexpressibly by her childish humility. Something like +softness and regret quivered in his voice, as he answered: + +“I do not wish to be hard upon you, child. It is my fatherly regard for +your welfare that urges me to sternness. It seems as if you have not +the faintest idea of my meaning.” + +“I am ashamed to confess that I have not, papa. It is all owing to my +own stupidity that I fail to understand you,” she said, with wondrous +gentleness. + +He made a despairing gesture. + +“I am sure I do not know how to make you understand,” he said, “I am +sure I wish I did not need to try. Unfortunately, it becomes my duty. +Remember that, Aline.” + +“Yes, papa.” + +He stroked his rippling brown beard nervously with his long, white +fingers. How hard it was to show the evil nature of the world to this +simple-hearted child! He said to himself, passionately, that he would +almost rather cut off his right hand than be obliged to do it. + +“When I said other people, Aline, I meant the world in general, and the +people of Chester--the people among whom you live in particular,” he +began. + +She bowed her dark head gravely. She did not in the least know what to +say. His remarks appeared quite irrelevant in her eyes. + +“You have some friends among them. You like them, they like you,” he +said. + +“Oh, yes,” she answered with a smile, and he continued, desperately: + +“When they hear that you have come home, Aline, and that you refuse to +reveal where and with whom you have been, they will suspect that your +strange silence hides some disgraceful mystery. They will refuse to +associate with you; they will point the finger of scorn at you.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +Mr. Rodney paused when he had uttered those words and looked gravely +at his daughter. She had not quite taken in his meaning yet. She was +looking at him with an air of blended surprise and incredulity. + +“Papa, you must please excuse me for repeating your words over +this time,” she said, anxiously. “You see I want to be sure that I +understand you. Do you say that people will suspect _me_ of something +disgraceful?--that they will have nothing to do with _me_?--that they +will point the finger of scorn at _me_?” + +“That was what I said, Aline,” he replied. + +The blue eyes turned inquiringly to her mother’s face. + +“Is it really true, mamma, or is papa only teasing me?” she asked, +slowly. + +“I am afraid it is only too true, my dear,” Mrs. Rodney answered, with +a great, strangling sob. + +A look of horror came into the great blue eyes. + +“But, mamma”--she unconsciously turned from her father’s pale, stern +face to her mother’s gentler one--“I have done nothing wrong. Why +should my friends treat me so?” + +Mrs. Rodney could not answer her. She looked at her husband. + +“Aline,” he said, “do you remember when you were a little girl at +school, the first line you used to write in your copy-book?” + +“Yes, papa,” she replied, with a half-smile on her red lips. “It was +this, ‘Avoid the appearance of evil.’” + +“Exactly. Well, it is a maxim that goes with us through life. We should +not only avoid evil, but even the appearance of it. Do you understand +me, Aline?” + +She bowed in silence. + +“The world, society, people in general, my child, judge almost wholly +by appearances. When there is a mystery, where there is secrecy, where +every day of a young girl’s life does not lie fair and open to the +public view, they suspect guilt, and they visit their suspicions on the +offender in unstinted measure.” + +A great change had come over Aline’s face. It was white and startled, +the lips were drawn in a line of pain. He had made her understand at +last. There was no need to ask as he did, half sorrowfully: + +“Can you make the application, Aline?” + +A long, deep, heavy sigh quivered over the girl’s lips. She raised +her eyes to his as if deprecating his words. Her voice was full of +sorrowful anxiety. + +“Papa, is the world really so hard?” + +“I do not call it hard, Aline--only just,” he answered. + +She sighed and remained silent. + +“Only just,” he repeated. “It asks that a woman’s life be kept fair +and pure and spotless, open to the eyes of all beholders. It does not +tolerate secrets or mysteries. But it is not hard, it is only just. All +pure men and women concur in its decision.” + +She did not speak, only gazed into his face with her large, clear eyes, +as if waiting to hear more. + +“Aline, you are young, you are beautiful, you love life, you are of +a most social disposition,” he said. “Can you afford to shroud your +absence during those three months in a veil of mystery? Can you afford +to have your whole life blighted and ruined as it will be if you +persist in your silence? Can you do without hope and pleasure, without +love and lovers, without friends and without respect?” + +Every word fell clearly and coldly. When he ceased there was a deep +silence in the little parlor. They could hear the wild autumn winds +sighing outside, hear the steady downpour of the rain, ceaseless as +though “the heart of heaven were breaking in tears o’er the fallen +earth.” + +Aline was sitting motionless, her dark lashes drooped against her +cheeks, one small hand pressed unconsciously against her beating heart. + +“Of what are you thinking, Aline?” he asked, impatient of her strange +silence. + +She raised her eyes slowly, and looked at him with a mute misery that +pierced his heart. + +“Only of what you said, papa,” she answered. “Need it really be so bad +as that?” + +“No, it _need not be_ if you choose to save yourself,” he answered, +almost savagely. “You have only to speak, Aline, only to clear yourself +from the appearance of evil. You will surely do so now when I have so +patiently explained to you the terrible cost of your silence. You will +not persist in your suicidal willfulness.” + +She sprung from her chair and stood leaning against the back of it, +gazing at him with burning cheeks and heaving breast. + +“Papa, you are only trying to frighten me,” she cried out, hoarsely. +“It cannot be so bad as you say! You exaggerate it all! I have +done nothing wrong, I am guilty of nothing but the willfulness and +disobedience you have pardoned in me a thousand times! Why should any +one be angry, why should any one blame me when I have done nothing +wrong?” + +“Nothing wrong? Do you call it then nothing to have stayed away these +three months?” he asked her. + +“Oh, surely you know I would have come home before if I could, papa!” +she cried, clasping her white hands together in her earnestness. + +“Who or what has hindered your return to us, Aline?” + +“Papa, I must not tell you,” she wailed. + +“You mean you will not,” he said, with bitter chagrin, for he had not +believed her resolve would be proof against the penalties it entailed. + +“I will not, then, since you will have it so,” she broke out, with a +sort of desperate despair, while her blue eyes drowned themselves in +sudden raining tears. + +Then suddenly, before any one could prevent her, she flung herself face +downward on the floor, and broke into stormy, tempestuous sobs and +tears. + +They gazed at her in consternation--no one attempted to soothe her. +What could they say to the willful child who was rashly determined to +blight her own young life? + +At length, just as suddenly as she had thrown herself down, she sprung +up again. She went to her father and stood meekly before him, hushing +her sobs by a great effort of will. + +“Papa, if all be as you say, then is my life indeed ruined,” she said, +despairingly; “I must bear my fate, for I cannot change it. Oh, how +gladly I would speak if I could! Listen to me, papa, dearest. I am not +willful, I am not wayward, I would give one half of my life to have the +liberty to tell you all you ask! But, papa, mamma, Effie, Max--my dear +ones all, I am the most unhappy, most unfortunate girl in the world, +for I have sworn an oath never to speak, never to reveal the secret of +those three months. You may do with me as you will; the world may wreak +its vengeance on me as it will, but I cannot help myself. I must bear +it as best I can. My lips are sealed. I am solemnly sworn to silence!” + +While they yet gazed upon her in speechless horror, she gasped, +staggered, threw out her hands for some support, and missing it, fell +heavily upon the floor. When they lifted her up she appeared like one +dead. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +They were startled and frightened. This was twice that her senses had +yielded to unconsciousness that night. The strong, bright, pretty Aline +who had left them three months ago had never fainted in her life. + +“What dreadful experience she must have passed through since she left +us! How pale and thin she looks!” Mrs. Rodney cried, in anguish. + +Effie wept silently. She had never known how dear was her volatile +younger sister until now. She knelt beside her, chafing the cold, white +hands between her own, warm, rosy palms, while she silently prayed for +Aline’s recovery. + +They wished now that Aline’s hasty words had not driven Dr. Anthony +away, for her swoon was a long and deep one. All their efforts +failed to rouse her. She remained cold and white, with scarcely any +discernible pulse, and the most slow and muffled heart-beats. Her limbs +seemed to grow more rigid and deathly every minute. + +They removed her to her own little chamber, and laid her on her little +white bed. No one guessed that, from the tower window of Delaney House, +a pair of eyes had been watching anxiously for hours to see the light +flashing from the little end window so long darkened by its owner’s +absence. + +When it appeared, shedding a glow of light upon the dying foliage of +the garden, and Oran Delaney saw the moving figures behind the white +curtain, he experienced a sensation of relief. The child was at home +again, surrounded by those dear ones for whom she had pined. She would +soon forget the brief shadow he had thrown over her life for a little +while. They had taken her home and forgiven her, and all would go on as +before in his neighbor’s house. The thought lifted a burden from his +heart. He gave a sigh of relief, and threw himself down upon his couch +to seek refuge from his haunting thoughts in uneasy slumbers. + +Meanwhile, Aline lay locked in that deep trance of unconsciousness. + +They tried every method of rousing her, but their efforts did not meet +with the least success. + +She lay mute and pale before them like one dead. The dark lashes lay +all stirless upon the marble-white cheeks; her lips did not unclose to +repeat those sorrowful words whose bitterness seemed to have broken her +heart. She seemed to have passed away without a regret from that world +in which henceforth she had no part save sorrow: and her father, as he +gazed upon the pale and rigid face almost wished that it were so. + +She was so sweet and beautiful and he had had such great hopes for her. +How could he bear to see her live with this great shadow of silence and +mystery upon her life? How could he bear that the cold, carping eyes of +her little world should rest upon her in suspicion and distrust? And +for himself; he was very proud; how could he endure to be pointed at +as the father of a girl whose willful silence most probably concealed +terrible disgrace. + +“I wish that she had never been born!” he cried out, in the bitterness +of his heart, and then when his own heart reproached him, he made +excuses to it. “She can have no happiness in life, no respect, no +confiding love, no domestic bliss, no peace. There will always be a +shadow on her life. She had better be dead, or never have been born.” + +He remembered those wild words of the Spanish student: + + “Yet I fain would die! + To go through life unloving and unloved; + To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul + We cannot still; that longing, that wild impulse, + And struggle after something we have not, + And cannot have; the effort to be strong; + And, like the Spartan boy, to smile and smile, + While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks: + All this the dead feel not--the dead alone! + Would I were with them!” + +“The girl is like me. She is proud, although she is so loving. I +believe she would sooner be dead than live the life that lies before +her,” he said to himself. + +And he was right. The cold, gray, rainy dawn peeped in at the windows +and saw Aline struggling slowly back to life and consciousness. She put +out her hands and pushed them away from her with their restoratives. +She would have none of them. She flung out her hands in despair. + +“You should have let me die!” she cried out, wildly. “How could any one +wish for me to live?” + +“Oh, my darling, do not talk so!” cried her mother, forgetting +everything save the passionate mother-love that filled her heart. “You +must live to be my comfort when Effie is taken from me. You know she +will be married soon to Dr. Anthony, and I should be so lonely, when +she went were it not for you, my love!” + +“Oh, mamma, how can I be any comfort to you?” cried poor Aline, in +despair. “You will be ashamed of me--you will never--never forget all +that my willfulness has brought on me--perhaps you will hate me after +awhile. If you did, mamma, I could not blame you. I quite deserve it, I +know!” + +“Hush, my darling! How could a mother hate her child?” cried poor +Mrs. Rodney, tearfully, and forgetting all her dignity in genuine +mother-love. “I do not believe you are guilty, Aline! How could my +little white-souled girl be a sinner? Live for me, Aline, and we will +not care for the world. We will let it go by. We will not heed its +smiles or its frowns.” + +But Aline sighed in heaviness of heart. Her trouble was too fresh, her +wound was too deep for her to find comfort anywhere. + +“Oh, mamma, you are so good to me,” she cried. “I never knew how good +before. I do not wish to live. I am proud, though you might not have +thought so in the old, willful days. I cannot live such a life as my +father has painted for me. I shall die like a flower that has no rain +and no sunshine. And that will be best. I do not care to live!” + +And this was the girl who had dreamed of finding life all fair and +desirable at fourscore--who had laughed at Oran Delaney’s croakings +such a little, little while ago. + +She lay there among the snowy pillows, in the little room for which she +had sighed so often, and vainly thinking that she would be so glad and +happy when she returned to it once again, and she wished in her heart +that she might die. + +She was quite a different girl at dawn from the one on whom yesterday’s +sun had set. Then her life lay before her, all bright and fair, like +a landscape in the morning sun. Now it was like the same scene at +twilight, with the sad rain falling and dimming all in its somber veil. + +“I am done with my life, if all is like they tell me,” she said, +soberly, to herself. “What shall I do with all the years that lie +before me yet till I die?” + +Like a flash, her thoughts went back to Delaney House and the beautiful +blue room that had held her a captive those three months. Before her +mind’s eye came a dark, grave, handsome face; in her ears rang a deep +and musical voice, with a tone of subtle melancholy. He was reading the +poem she had not cared to hear, but which seemed at this moment to have +burned itself in on her memory: + + “How many years will it be, I wonder + And how will their slow length pass, + Till I shall find rest in silence under + The trees and the waving grass?” + +“Perhaps you may even subscribe to its sad sentiments some day,” Oran +Delaney had said to her, and how scornfully she had derided the idea. + +Was she the same girl? Scarcely. She had a vague fancy that she would +wake up presently and find that she had been sleeping and dreaming some +horrid dream. + +She furtively pinched herself, and found that she was not dreaming +at all. She was broad awake, and the new day was shining in at her +windows, chill and murky and sunless, like the life that lay before her. + +“And all for such a little, little act of folly,” she said to herself, +with a terrible sinking at the heart. + +Mr. Rodney suddenly came over to her. He took Aline’s cold white hands +and smoothed them gently between his strong warm ones. + +“Aline,” he said, “do you think it quite right to hold yourself bound +by the oath you spoke of? Do not the dreadful consequences it entails +on you justify you in breaking it?” + +She shook her head slowly. + +“I do not care,” she replied. + +“It must be a very solemn oath that can bind you under such +circumstances,” he said, slowly. “Is your decision quite unalterable, +my dear?” + +“Yes, papa,” she replied, with a deep sigh. + +He was silent for a moment, and an echo of her own sad sigh drifted +over his lips. When he looked back at her again there was a new light +in his eyes. + +“Aline, I have been thinking of a new plan,” he said. + +“A new plan?” she echoed. + +“Yes; I cannot bear to see your life blighted, all your chances of +happiness destroyed. We will go away from here and make our home in +some distant spot, where this strange story can never follow you. You +may yet be happy.” + +Her young heart thrilled with sudden joy. She looked at him with +grateful affection. + +“Papa, would you, indeed, do so much for me?” she inquired. + +He bowed silently, and gently pressed her hand. Aline forgot his +harshness and anger of a little while ago, and remembered only the +patient, unalterable love that was ready to make such a sacrifice for +her sake. + +“And you, mamma?” she inquired, turning her wistful eyes upon Mrs. +Rodney’s pale and altered face. + +“I am quite willing, dear,” she replied. + +“You are too good and kind to me, papa and mamma; I do not deserve it. +I must not let you make such a sacrifice for my sake!” she cried. + +“There is too much at stake to call it a sacrifice,” Mr. Rodney +answered. + +“At least we need not make it yet,” Aline cried, musingly. “Oh, papa, +I can hardly believe yet that my friends will be unkind to me, that +they will believe evil of me because I am fettered by a mysterious vow. +Let us make the trial. Let us give them the chance to trust me if they +will. Do not let us go away just yet. Let us stay and be convinced. +Perhaps the world is not so hard as you think. How could it be so +unjust and cruel?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +Mr. Rodney gazed sadly at his daughter. He saw that she could scarcely +bring herself to believe that which he had told her. + +“I see how it is, Aline,” he said to her, gravely. “You are inclined +to doubt my assertions. You do not altogether believe what I have told +you.” + +She was shocked when he put the truth before her in so plain a fashion. +She did not know herself how strong a vein of incredulity ran through +her painful thoughts. + +“Oh, papa, forgive me,” she said, penitently. “I did not mean to doubt +you. It was only my unfortunate manner of expressing myself. I was +hoping against hope. Will you forgive me for my implied doubt? It is so +hard to give up hope.” + +He only pressed her hand in silence, and she continued: + +“Even if they thought hardly of me, might they not in time relent? +Might I not live down the scandal even if they were cruel enough to +make a scandal out of nothing?” + +“You might in time,” he answered, “but it would be a long while first, +so long that your youth and beauty would be faded, and they would +forgive you because they could no longer envy you.” + +“So long as that?” she asked, with a heavy sigh. + +“Yes, dear, nothing but time will heal that wound,” he answered. + +She lay silently musing. + +She could not bear to give up the beautiful, bright world which she +loved so well, and in which she had such unbounded faith and hope. + +It was a great temptation to her to accept the sacrifice her father +proposed making. She had the innate selfishness of youth which thinks +that the world was made for itself. She did not understand how great a +sacrifice it was that her family would make. In her ignorance of the +world, she could not know. + +But while she dallied with the temptation to accept it, she found +herself restrained from leaving Chester by a vague, yet subtle, +feeling she could not understand. It was stronger than her will, it +was some influence outside of herself that she could not analyze, but +it was most powerful. It drew her one way, while her reason and her +will seemed both to point in a contrary direction. She yielded to it +blindly, not knowing that it was fate, that “Divinity that shapes our +ends, rough-hew them as we will.” + +She looked gravely at her father, who had been watching her face, +anxiously noting the changing emotions of its expressive features. + +“Papa, my mind is made up,” she said, with almost womanly calmness. “I +shall not go away. I will remain in Chester.” + +“Remain!” he echoed, surprised at her decision. + +“Yes, I will remain. I will not act a cowardly part, and run away from +my trouble. I will stay here and live it down if my hair grows gray and +my eyes dim in the effort.” + +“You will have to be very brave if you do so, Aline,” he answered, not +without a certain admiration of her high spirit. + +“I intend to be,” she answered, with a sigh. + +He could not help feeling relieved at her decision. He was not a rich +man. All his income was derived from his legal practice. To begin life +anew in another place meant a hard struggle, although he would not have +shirked it in the interest of the child he loved so fondly. But now +that her own decision made it unnecessary, a burden was lifted from his +mind. + +He bent down and pressed his lips to her fair, white brow. + +“God bless you, and help you, my daughter,” he said. + +Her lips quivered, the quick tears rushed into her eyes. She let the +lids drop over them hastily, and the bright drops rolled like crushed +pearls down her cheeks. + +“Aline, you are exhausted. I have been too thoughtless,” he said, +remorsefully. + +“Yes, I am tired,” she answered, wearily. “I should like to go to +sleep.” + +They kissed her, and went away softly, but Aline did not go to sleep. +She lay, broad awake, in the chilly, rainy dawn of the new day, looking +drearily into the future. + +“I have lost my life,” she said, mournfully, to herself. “For, if I +live it down, I shall be old by then, and nothing but the grave will +lie before me.” + +She recalled some verses she had read in a book at Delaney House. + + “Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, + And when once the storm of youth is past, + Without lyre, without lute, or chorus, + Death, a silent pilot, comes at last.” + +Death! She gave a shudder in spite of herself. She had always had the +keenest love of life, the greatest enjoyment of its pleasures. She was +sanguine, ardent, impetuous. Even now, when she looked at Death across +a bridge of sorrow, she felt a little afraid of it. She bewailed her +blighted life, her irrevocable folly. She would have to pay the cost of +her girlish willfulness by the sacrifice of all that was best in life. +Bitterly she bewailed her fault and Oran Delaney’s hard heart, that had +brought this doom upon her. + +“If I had known the cruel price I must pay for my silence, I would +have died before I would have pledged myself to it. But Mr. Delaney +must have known. He is older than I am--he knows the world. How cruel, +how wicked he must be to doom me to such a fate!” she said to herself, +indignantly. + +Moved by a sudden impulse, she slipped from the bed, threw a light +shawl about her shoulders, and went over to the window. She peered down +through a crevice in the curtain at the wonderful garden whose blooming +beauties had lured her so innocently to her fate. + +Oh, how changed was the scene as she gazed upon it now! + +The roses all were dead, the leaves were blown from the trees, and +lay in sodden drifts across the path. Some late autumn flowers, +chrysanthemums, asters, and others of their kind, were breaking into +lavish bloom in their neglected beds, but the rain and storm had beaten +them prostrate to the ground, with broken stalks, and faces prostrate +on the earth. All was dreariness and desolation, and the gray stone +towers of grim Delaney House seemed to frown more darkly than ever +now that she knew what influence potent for evil pervaded its gloomy +interior. + +She gazed wistfully at it through the fine impalpable mist of rain that +obscured all things. She saw a figure emerge from the gloomy portals +into the deeper gloom of the rainy dawn. It was Mr. Delaney. He walked +slowly with downcast head and his hands behind him, smoking a cigar as +was his usual morning habit. Its fiery spark gleamed fitfully in the +dull light, and the fine blue smoke curled upward and lost itself in +the mist. + +Drawing the curtain closer Aline watched him, herself unseen. She found +a singular fascination in doing so, and when she saw his glance turn +musingly once or twice up to her window her heart beat strangely--with +anger she thought. + +“He has spoiled all my life, but does he realize that he has done so?” +she asked herself, musingly. “Could he be so deliberately cruel?” + +It almost seemed to her that he would not have done so could he have +known. + +“Could any one be so hard, so cruel, as to willfully blight a young +girl’s life?” she asked herself, with a sort of wonder, as her eyes +followed Oran Delaney in his dreary saunter along the wet, graveled +paths. “He saved my life once. Why should he make it valueless to me?” + +As she gazed at the dark, grave face under the brim of the wide slouch +hat, it seemed to her that it was not hard nor cruel, only profoundly +grave and sad. A longing came over her that he should know all that had +transpired that night since she came home. + +“If he knew, he might perhaps relent and release me from my vow of +silence,” she thought, eagerly. + +She remained at the window watching him thoughtfully until he +disappeared from view in a turn of the path, then she turned aside +to her writing-desk and drew out pens and ink and paper. She wrote +hastily, and almost incoherently: + + “MR. DELANEY,--They are all very angry and surprised because I would + not tell them where I have been. Papa says that people will think + strangely of me if I do not tell. He says they will think I am guilty + of something--I do not know what--and that they will not associate + with me, and that I shall never have any more peace or pleasure in + my life. You did not know these things when you bound me to silence + and secrecy. Did you, Mr. Delaney? I feel quite sure you did not. You + could not have been so heartless as to ruin all my life like that! + But now that I have told you, will you not have pity on me? Release + me from my promise and let me speak, I pray you. + + “ALINE RODNEY.” + +She put the poor little appeal into an envelope, and when night came +she tied a little weight to it and threw it far out into the garden, +hoping that Mr. Delaney would find it there the next morning. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +Aline’s return to her home created quite a little stir of pleasant +excitement in the town of Chester. + +The friends of the Rodneys vied with one another in the speediness of +their calls upon the young lady. + +They found her pale, calm, and more beautiful than ever, for she had +gained a certain quietness and repose of manner that became her to a +charm. There was a softer tone in her voice, a gentler light in her +eyes. She seemed eager to please and divert all who came. + +The good townspeople came all agog with curiosity. They expected to +hear all manner of romantic stories from the returned girl. They plied +her with all sorts of curious, not to say impertinent, questions. + +They were astonished and indignant when they heard that they were not +to learn anything. To each and all Aline returned the same reply: + +“I prefer not to discuss the subject with any one.” + +This refusal, spoken so gently yet firmly, and not without a certain +wistfulness, silenced further curiosity with her. Indeed, it would have +been the height of rudeness to have persisted. + +But, baffled with Aline, they turned to Aline’s family. Every one felt +that her strange story belonged most naturally to the public. They were +astounded when they found the Rodneys uncommunicative on the subject. +No one could understand such strange reserve. Every question, every +hint was met by a quiet evasion that effectually silenced curiosity. +The social world of Chester woke up gradually to the fact that the +Rodneys meant to keep the cause of Aline’s absence a dead secret. + +Popular indignation was roused to fury. Mr. Rodney’s prophecy did not +prove itself a dead letter by any means, for the loud tongue of scandal +was not lacking to add its quota to the tumult. The worst things +possible were hinted and then spoken outright in the circles of Mme. +Rumor. + +The whole family were socially ostracized in less than a month. Each +member came in for a share of the obloquy that had fallen on Aline’s +head. The silence each was compelled to maintain was held in the light +of crime. From being prominent members of the most select circles in +Chester they were coolly dropped by all. No one left cards, no one sent +invitations. + +Every one turned the cold shoulder. + +There was only one friend who remained faithful to the Rodneys in their +troublous time. + +This was Effie’s noble and handsome lover, Dr. Anthony. + +While the town gossiped and sneered, his neat buggy was seen before +the Rodneys’ door more frequently than ever. Effie, Aline, or Mrs. +Rodney were often seen driving with him through the wide, pretty +streets, and people were fain to acknowledge that “that girl,” as they +contemptuously called her, was prettier than ever in spite of the cloud +of mysterious disgrace that clung about her. She and Dr. Anthony had +become great friends. He could not help admiring his betrothed’s young +sister even while he deprecated the silence she maintained at so bitter +a cost to herself and her friends. + +And while the weary days waned and faded, Aline was waiting with a +breaking heart for some sign or token from Oran Delaney. + +It was many days now since the little white-winged prayer for mercy had +fluttered from her hands down into the garden of Delaney House. + +She had watched and waited, she had hoped and prayed, but no answer had +come to her frantic appeal. Yet she knew that he had found it and read +it. + +She had been watching through a tiny rent in her curtain which she had +made expressly for that purpose. She saw him tear it open and read it, +then slowly walk away without even glancing up at her window. + +Days went and came. There was no day in which Aline did not watch +that tall form pacing up and down, though sensitively shrinking from +observation herself. She spent many hours alone in her room, and it +became insensibly a fascinating occupation to watch for his appearance +as he came out for his daily walk, which he did whether it was gloomy +or bright. + +There was one thing which inspired her with a feeling of pique. It was +that he never turned his eyes up to her window, never by any chance +gave a sign or token that he was conscious of the wistful blue eyes +watching him behind the white lace-bordered curtain. + +Of what was he thinking? Why did he so persistently ignore her prayer? +Had he really forgotten her? She asked herself these questions over and +over, but no answer came from the silent lips of Oran Delaney as he +walked up and down his lonely garden. + +Aline grew half frantic sometimes watching him thus. A bitter rebellion +grew up within her heart. Why did he not speak--why did he treat her +with such silent contempt, for she interpreted his silence to mean +nothing less! + +One day her father came home to dinner with a rather excited look upon +his face. + +He glanced across at the beloved daughter whose willfulness had brought +such sorrow upon them all. She sat in her place as usual, but she +scarcely tasted her food, only toyed with it while her thoughts seemed +far away, and her long lashes drooped against her pale cheeks. + +“Aline!” he said, abruptly. + +She started like one in a dream, and dropped her fork. The blue eyes +looked quickly at him with a startled expression. + +“Yes, papa,” she answered, in the low, sad voice that had grown +habitual with her since her return. + +“Mr. Linton called upon me to-day,” he said. + +“Mr. Linton?” she repeated, blankly. + +Mr. Linton was a banker, and quite an important personage in the social +element of Chester. + +“He brought me something for you,” continued Mr. Rodney, and he reached +across the table and laid a small folded package by Aline’s plate. + +She looked at it in wonder, without touching it. + +“What is it, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Rodney, with womanly curiosity. + +“Open it, Aline!” said her father. + +“Is it a letter, papa?” she asked, and the note of keen eagerness in +her voice did not escape his alert hearing. + +“Were you expecting a letter from any one, my dear?” he asked, +pointedly. + +“Yes--no,” she answered, dejectedly, and a scarlet flame leaped up into +her cheeks, then faded out into deathly white. + +“Why don’t you open your package, Aline?” said her sister. + +“Yes, why don’t you?” echoed Max, in a voice of lively curiosity. + +She did not touch it still--only looked at her father. + +“Do you say it is not a letter, papa?” she asked. + +“It is not a letter,” he replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +Aline could not keep the expression of bitter disappointment out of her +face. Her lips quivered sensitively, and a mist of tears dimmed her +eyes. + +A wild hope had sprung into her mind that Mr. Delaney had sent her an +answer at last, although she could not understand why he had done so +through the medium of Mr. Linton. + +But her father’s negative reply at once dispelled the springing hope. +She was bitterly disappointed, and she could not keep her emotion from +showing in her face. Every one could see it plainly. + +“She did expect a letter, and she is disappointed at not receiving it,” +said her keen-witted father to himself. “It is something better than a +letter, Aline,” he said, aloud. “Shall I tell you what it is, since you +show no disposition to look at it?” + +“If you please, sir,” she replied, indifferently. + +“It is a check-book and a certificate of deposit in the Chester Bank of +the sum of ten thousand dollars,” he replied, with sparkling eyes, and +watching her closely to see how she received the news. + +She showed nothing but a blank surprise. + +“Ten thousand dollars? But what has that to do with me, papa?” + +“Everything, Aline, for it is all yours,” he replied. + +“Mine!” she exclaimed. + +“Yes, yours!” he replied. + +“But, papa, I do not understand it at all,” she said, when some of the +expressions of amazement had ceased around the table. “I have no money +at all, you know, and I do not think you have ten thousand dollars of +your own. So how can it be mine?” + +“It is yours by the free gift of some person unknown, Aline, who has +placed it at your disposal in the bank.” + +“Oh, dear, who could it have been?” cried Mrs. Rodney, while Effie and +Max looked the image of silent amazement. + +“I am sure I do not know,” Mr. Rodney replied. “Can you guess who it +was, Aline?” + +“No, papa,” she replied. + +He was watching her closely, as he had fallen into a habit of doing +since she had come home. There had been a look of wonder on her face at +first, but she had scarcely spoken before it was replaced by a sudden +look of comprehension. A deep, betraying blush overspread her face, and +showed him that she _knew_. + +“Aline, are you quite, quite sure?” he asked. + +“Of what, papa?” + +“That you have no knowledge of the person who placed the money in bank +to your account?” he replied. + +The hot blush burned deeper in her face. She put up her fair, cool +hands to hide it. She was silent a moment, and then she lifted her +dewy, violet eyes frankly to his grave face. + +“Papa, I will not speak falsely to you,” she said. “I think--I could +guess who the person--might be?” + +“Well, dear?” he said, interrogatively. + +She understood the stifled pleading in his voice. The blue eyes fell +sensitively. + +“You see, papa, I am only guessing--I am not sure,” she explained, +tremulously. + +“Am I to have the benefit of your surmise, my child?” he asked. + +“Papa, forgive me,” she pleaded; “I cannot tell you.” + +“Tell me this,” he said: “Was it the person who bound you to silence?” + +“Perhaps so--I cannot tell,” she answered, reluctantly. + +She was very guarded. He saw that it was useless to press her. + +“Shall you accept this munificent gift, Aline?” he asked. + +A sudden flash of scorn and anger leaped into the blue eyes, her lip +curled. She took up the unopened package, reached across the table, and +laid it beside him. + +“I shall not accept it!” she replied, with bitter brevity. + +He was disappointed. Ten thousand dollars would have been so much to +her and to them all. They might have taken it and gone away from this +place, where the finger of scorn was pointed at them for her fault. +They might have made themselves a new home far away from the tongues +of scandal that were busily wagging against them here. But he did not +press her. + +“You know best, my dear,” he said, simply. + +“Yes, I know best,” she answered, with a sort of passionate anger in +her clear, young voice, “I know best, and I tell you I despise that +money, so given! I despise the donor! I will never touch one cent of +it! I trample upon it! Base money, were it piled as high as the stars, +could never recompense me for my blighted life and lost hopes! Tell Mr. +Linton he may tell his generous patron to take back his sordid wealth! +Tell him that honor is dearer than gold!” + +Mr. Rodney replaced the package carefully in his breast-pocket. + +“Very well, dear, I will return these to Mr. Linton, if you are quite +sure you are acting for the best?” he said. + +“You may be quite sure, papa, that your daughter could not act +otherwise than I have done in this matter,” she replied, with decision. + +And she arose and left the room hurriedly, leaving her untasted dinner +upon the plate. Then they discussed the affair in all its phases. They +concluded that Aline was enveloped in a most baffling mystery. + +“Could Mr. Linton tell you nothing?” inquired Mrs. Rodney. + +“Nothing at all. He said the transaction was a _bona fide_ one. All +legal matters were carefully observed. He received the money in genuine +bank bills of a large denomination, but of the mysterious investor he +could tell me nothing. He shrouded himself in a thick veil of mystery. +Linton was himself most curious over the matter.” + +“It is very strange,” said Mrs. Rodney, and they all echoed her +thought. It was very strange, all of it. This new development only +added interest to Aline’s secret. An air of romance was thrown around +it by the offer of that large sum of money. What terrible wrong had +Aline sustained, and why was she offered this as a recompense? + +Of one thing the Rodneys had become convinced. Dr. Anthony’s story of +the wounded girl in the blue room was not a fiction. Mrs. Rodney had +furtively examined her daughter’s breast while she slept, and she had +found the scar of a wound upon it. Her heart had swelled with bitter +anger toward the merciless wretch who had hurt Aline. She longed for +vengeance, but she was powerless to do anything in the face of this +tormenting mystery. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +Aline ran away to hide herself in her room in a flurry of mingled +emotions. + +This was the way in which Oran Delaney had answered her pleading letter. + +Not a line, not a word, only a shower of gold flung at her feet, as +if this could make up to her for all she had lost, for the pleasures +that belonged to her youth, for the love that ought to bless her +womanhood, for the worldly respect and applause that she had forfeited +so innocently and rashly. + +She threw herself down into a chair and buried her face in her hands. +Stifled sobs shook her frame, and bright crystal drops fell through her +fingers. + +She felt as if she hated Oran Delaney. He was cruel and heartless, she +said to herself, indignantly. What did she care for money? She had +her youth and beauty, her tender heart, her desire for the pleasures +of life. With all this heritage of youth she could have had happiness +enough if only--if only she had not lost that fair fame, that open +record of life without which all else availed her nothing. + +She wept bitterly for this terrible misfortune that had fallen upon +her. She was young and beautiful and pure, but a great, horrible, inky +blot had fallen on the whiteness of her life, and she could never wipe +it out by the words of explanation that would have cleared away the +hideous stain. People believed ill of her. Women, especially young and +fair ones like herself, passed by her with sneers and averted faces. +She was as innocent and as spotless as they were, but no one would +believe it. Because she would not satisfy their curiosity they believed +she was a sinner. There was one text that every one took and preached +from. It was this: “Where there is secrecy there is guilt.” + +By this standard Aline was judged and condemned. The fierce rebellion +of her heart against this unjust sentence availed her nothing. The +world’s code was many hundreds of years older than she was. It said in +so many words: “A woman’s life must be like an open book, that every +eye may read. If there is even one leaf folded down, one page the world +may not scan, then there is a shameful secret written on it.” + +There was one leaf folded down in the book of her life. It was as pure +a record as any other; it only recorded the punishment that had come +to her for her girlish willfulness and folly. But no one would believe +it. She cried out against the hardness and wickedness of the world that +could so misjudge her! + +“The world must be full of wickedness, or people would not be so ready +to believe evil,” she said. + +The hardest part of her trouble was that her family were compelled to +be sharers in her disgrace. Because they had taken her home again, +because they would tell nothing of her absence, people were angry with +them, too. They were all under ban alike. + +“My beautiful Effie, it is too bad that this shadow should rest upon +her life--she who was always so much admired and beloved!” she sighed +over and over. “Ah, me, if only I could speak!” + +But the iron fetters of her vow chafed and hurt her. There was no going +back on that solemn pledge of silence. She might beat her wings as she +would against the bars that held her, but there was no escape for her, +no release from her sorrow. She could have exclaimed with the poet: + + “Oh, Life, is all thy song + Endure and die?” + +It seemed to her little less than an insult to offer her money to +console her for the cureless wound that had laid desolate her life. She +said to herself that she would have to be reduced to beggary--ay, that +she would starve on a crust in the street before she would touch a cent +of Oran Delaney’s money. He had refused her even a word--he had thrown +her his gold like a bone to a dog. Well, she would let him see that she +would never touch it. She would die first, she said to herself, in her +passionate pride and resentment. + +So the days passed by. It was little more than a week before the news +of the money in the bank for Aline became disseminated far and wide, +thanks to the gossiping tongue of the genial Banker Linton. The busy +tongue of scandal wagged afresh over this delicious tid-bit. + +Opinions were divided over Aline’s course. There were some who said +that she should have accepted the money, that was doubtless offered to +her in reparation for wrong that had been done her. This class thought +that she was very quixotic in refusing, and even very foolish. The +money would have done her a vast deal of good. She might have gone away +somewhere with it, and made herself a new home where the story of her +mysterious absence was not known. Decidedly, she had acted foolishly in +refusing, said these wiseacres. + +There was another class who found Aline’s action rather admirable. They +argued that if the girl had suffered wrong at the hands of any one, +mere money could not repair the injury done. They applauded her spirit +in declining such atonement. This new element of romance added fresh +fuel to the flame of scandal. It was considered that the case against +Aline was quite proven now, for who would give her ten thousand dollars +unless to condone an irreparable wrong? + +Aline was none the wiser for their praise or blame. Neither penetrated +to her quiet cottage home. Day after day dragged itself wearily along, +and a dreary, apathetic calm began to settle down on the girl. She had +lost heart and hope and given herself up to despair. + +She rose from her sleepless bed one morning, and went to the window and +drew back the curtain, and looked at the dreary morning sky stretching +chill and cold over all the land. It was gray and sunless like her +life, she thought, wearily, and dropped her eyes and sighed heavily. + +The down-dropped eyes suddenly fell on a bit of paper lying outside the +window on the narrow sill and held down by a piece of gravel. It was +addressed to herself in a strong masculine hand, and Aline’s heart beat +quickly as she lifted the sash and drew it in. + +“At last,” she said, as she hurriedly tore it open and ran her eager +eyes over the clear, bold chirography. + +Only a few lines, hurried and incoherent as her own had been, but +strong and earnest like the writer: + + “Aline, you refused the money because you guessed that I had sent + it,” ran the brief note. “Oh, for God’s sake, take it, child, and + believe that it is your own as the gift of a heart that bleeds + because it has wronged you, and because it can make no other + atonement than what lies in sordid gold. Let your father take the + money and make a new home for you all in some distant city where this + unmerited persecution may not follow you, and where you may have all + the social pleasures due to your youth and beauty and innocence. Take + the money and use it. It is only due, and I shall never forgive you + if you continue to willfully refuse it. D.” + +She ran her eyes slowly over the brief note twice. It only excited her +anger and contempt. She said to herself that he was a coward, strong +man as he was, to make a weak girl suffer for the sake of that hidden +secret he guarded so jealously. Oh, that she had never taken that oath +of silence upon her girlish lips! + +How grim and gray and frowning the towers of Delaney House appeared +in the dull, cold light. All the years of her girlhood it had been a +pleasure to her to watch the mysterious mansion, with the picturesque +ivy creeping about and covering the grim, hard angles and small-paned +windows with beauty. She had watched the sunset lighting its windows +with splendor every evening; she had gazed upon the beautiful garden +with rapturous delight; she had speculated often, with girlish +curiosity, over the motives that made Oran Delaney an alien from his +kind, shut up in that gloomy house, and but seldom seen in the streets +of the town. It had not always been thus. Ten years ago, before Oran +Delaney went abroad, and before the Rodneys came to live in Chester, +he had been friendly, genial, social, mixing freely with the best +society of the town on his annual visits from college, and was liked +and admired by all. After his father’s death he had shut up the old +family mansion and gone abroad. He had remained away several years, and +returned to his home a strange and altered man. He no longer sought +society, he did not visit nor receive visits, he gave no invitations, +and accepted none. He seemed to have become an inveterate recluse, +and remained isolated in the lonely mansion, haunted by the ghosts +of his dead-and-gone ancestors, perhaps, for there were rumors of +strange sounds and blood-curdling shrieks heard by day and by night by +those who passed his home. Aline had heard all these tales from the +townsfolk, and her girlish interest had been strongly roused. Yet how +little she had dreamed of the subtle influence Delaney House and its +strange master would exert upon her life! + +She held the note in her fingers, and gazed dreamily at Delaney House, +thinking, with a shudder, of the strange, horrible, unearthly creature +hidden within its walls, and of the long days of illness and sorrow she +had suffered from the creature’s rude assault. + +“_He_ thinks that gold can pay me for all that I have suffered--for all +I suffer now!” she breathed, with bitter sarcasm. + +As she stood there in her long white dressing-gown, with her loose dark +hair falling heavily over her shoulders, Mr. Delaney came out with his +cigar. + +It was the first time that Aline had been visible at the window since +she had returned. Usually she sprung back from sight at the moment of +his appearance. + +A new mood came to her now. She stood there calmly, holding the paper +in her hand, and fixing her gaze steadily upon the darkly handsome, +brooding face visible under the wide-brimmed hat. He did not see her at +first, but at length the angry intensity of her gaze seemed to draw his +eyes upward by some subtle fascination. In a moment he saw her standing +there, pale, proud, angry, holding his letter in her clinched white +hand. + +Even at the distance at which he stood, he could see the angry flash of +the deep violet eyes as they steadily regarded him. Her gaze held his +a moment as if trying to pour all the wrath that filled her being into +his inner consciousness, then-- + +Even while he still regarded her with his dark, soulful eyes in mute +inquiry, she lifted her hands and tore the pleading letter into +fragments, that fluttered swiftly from her hands and fell down into the +garden among the winding paths. It was her only answer to his prayer. +When the last white strip had fluttered from her disdainful fingers, +she removed her magnetic gaze from his, stepped backward, without word +or sign, and dropped the white curtain between them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +Mr. Lane, the New York detective, who had so ignobly failed in the +search for Aline Rodney, did not easily recover from that unprecedented +defeat. + +He was acute, wary, and intelligent, with a boundless stock of patience +and persistence, and these qualities had always insured him success in +all his undertakings. Failure was a new experience with him. He chafed +under it. He could not understand it. + +If pressing business matters had not recalled him to New York, he would +have persevered indefatigably for months in the effort to find the +missing girl. It was not in his nature to give up a quest easily. Only +the stress of circumstances had induced him to give up this one. When +he had thrown it over and returned to New York, it weighed on his mind. +He hated to own himself conquered. Amid the stress of other pursuits, +he often recalled the case in which he had been defeated. He would +shut his eyes amid the din and noise of the city, and recall the quiet +country town that had been the scene of such an unfathomable mystery. +He did not like to think that he, who had worked up the most difficult +cases in the great cities, had been completely baffled by a simple slip +of a girl in a country town that, with all its pretentiousness and its +exclusive society, was scarcely better than a village. + +Although he had ridiculed Dr. Anthony’s story of his beautiful, +mysterious patient, it had made an impression on him that was not +easily shaken off. He often asked himself in the easy, slangy language +of the day, whether there could be anything in it. + +He thought sometimes that he had been too hasty and incredulous in +condemning the story because all his efforts to find the mysterious, +hidden maiden had failed. Dr. Anthony was certainly a man to be +trusted, being frank, reliable, and most intelligent. And he had not +taken umbrage at Mr. Lane’s credulity. He had been frankly amused at +it. When Mr. Lane had quoted, for his benefit, + + “Keep probability in view, + Lest folks believe your tale untrue.” + +He frankly admitted that his story had an air of romance. + +“Notwithstanding which,” he gravely added, “it’s an o’er true tale.” + +Spite of this little chaffing, the two men having been frequently +thrown together grew to like each other. There were attractive +qualities in each one that pleased the other. They became quite social +and friendly. When the detective returned to his city home he found it +a pleasure sometimes to pause in the whirl of this strange life and +drop a few genial lines to the Maywood physician. Dr. Anthony, in his +turn, found it pleasant to reply. + +So that even before the gossipy newspapers chronicled the fact of Aline +Rodney’s return to her home, Mr. Lane was made cognizant of it through +the medium of the young physician’s letters. + +He was amazed and rather indignant. It was bad enough that she had so +cleverly covered up her traces and stayed away as long at it pleased +her, but that she should come home and keep her secret still was far +worse. He had no vulgar curiosity over the girl, but he had a strong +professional interest. She had baffled him and damaged his reputation +as an invariably successful man. He was distinctly conscious of an +inward pique. + +“I should like to shake the naughty little runaway! What business has +she to outwit me?” he said to himself. + +Sometimes he almost made up his mind to run down to Chester and have +a look at this girl who could keep a secret so well. She would be +well worth looking at, he fancied, from Dr. Anthony’s enthusiastic +description of her beauty. Then, too, she must have brains and will +besides her beauty, or she could not have kept her secret against the +odds that had been brought to bear against her. Decidedly he meant to +see her. + +But steady business kept him rather against his will in New York. He +put off his trip from time to time waiting for a convenient season. +So the autumn months waned and winter was upon him before he had +given himself the promised visit. At Christmas he received one of Dr. +Anthony’s pleasant, friendly letters. It contained among its closing +messages an invitation to Mr. Lane to be present at his friend’s +marriage on the 1st of January in the pretty little Gothic church the +Rodneys attended in Chester. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +Marriages were not much in Mr. Lane’s line. He was forty and a +confirmed old bachelor--at least that was what his friends said and +what he said himself. He had never put his neck under the galling yoke +of matrimony. He rather pitied Dr. Anthony’s weak-mindedness in that +respect, but he considered that if there was any excuse for him it was +Effie Rodney’s grace and beauty. These were certainly tempting enough +to an ordinary, susceptible man. + +But Mr. Lane did not feel sufficient romantic interest in the union of +the lovers to make a point of witnessing the marriage. He was about to +decline, on the plea of urgent business, when a sudden thought arrested +him with the ink yet wet on the pen. Why not make an opportunity for +seeing Aline Rodney by accepting Dr. Anthony’s cordial invitation? + +He changed the contemplated No to Yes, adding a single proviso: he +would come if Dr. Anthony would guarantee that Aline should not know +that he was a detective, and that he had vainly tried to trace her in +her mysterious absence. He fancied that the young lady might conceive +an antipathy to him, and vaguely suspect ulterior designs from his +presence at Chester. + +Dr. Anthony replied on the part of himself and the Rodneys, that Aline +should be kept in entire ignorance of Mr. Lane’s profession, and look +on him merely as the friend of the physician. + +Receiving this assurance, the detective decided to attend the nuptials +of his friend, arriving in Chester on the day previous to the happy +event. + +Dr. Anthony took him that evening to call on the Rodneys. + +“I have told Aline that I expect a friend from New York,” he said. “She +is prepared to meet you and suspects nothing.” + +Mr. Lane thanked his friend for respecting his scruples. + +“I have a fancy to study the young lady, with the advantage on my side. +Perhaps I may get at the bottom of the mystery yet. It has become +more incomprehensible than ever since the story of the little fortune +offered and refused.” + +“It is most romantic,” answered Dr. Anthony, “and the strangest part of +it all is that I believe Aline would be glad to confess the whole truth +were she not restrained by her vow of silence.” + +“How does she bear the suspicion and scorn of those who were once her +friends?” + +“She is crushed by it. One can see that she is almost heart-broken. +She is pale and sad. She shrinks sensitively from observation. She can +scarcely be persuaded to go outside the door.” + +“Will she be present at the marriage ceremony in the church?” + +“Yes, by Effie’s earnest wish and prayer. My darling has very solemn +ideas connected with marriage. She believes that the sacred rite should +always be celebrated in church wherever possible. Aline, by Effie’s +earnest wish, will accompany her to the altar.” + +“I am most curious to meet the young lady,” said the detective. + +“You will be quite sure to admire her,” said Aline’s prospective +brother-in-law. “She is very beautiful.” + +Mr. Lane had heard this so often that he only smiled. It occurred to +him, however, that if she were prettier than Effie she would have to be +very pretty indeed. + +“I shall take you to call at the cottage this evening,” said Dr. +Anthony. “You will then have an opportunity of meeting Aline. The rest +of the family you have met already.” + +They went, and although Mr. Lane had expected to meet a very pretty +girl indeed, he was surprised and amazed when he saw Aline Rodney. + +He saw a tall, graceful figure, exquisitely molded in the delicate, +symmetrical curves of early womanhood. She wore a simple dark-blue +cashmere dress, and the round, white throat rose from it with a +certain stately grace and pride that was very excusable, seeing what a +beautiful face shone above it like a peerless flower upon its stem. She +was pale, but her skin was like the cream-white petals of a tea-rose. +Her hair was darkest brown and loosely curling; her features were +exquisite; her eyes were large and of the rare violet tinge so much +admired, so seldom met; her brows were slender and black, and the long, +fringed lashes were black, too, and made her eyes appear black in their +shadow. + +Mr. Lane was as much struck by Aline’s bearing and manner as he was by +her beauty. She had no ungraceful self-consciousness or awkwardness. +Her bearing was easy, graceful, and even distinguished. It was +natural, not acquired, for she had never mingled in society, and had +had but few advantages of travel and culture. He wondered at that even +more than at her beauty. It did not occur to him that the heavy cross +that had fallen on her life had had the effect to intensify her natural +grace into a grave, proud dignity, that in its silent way seemed like +a mute protest against the wrongs she had sustained. The girl had +budded into the woman, forced into untimely maturity and gravity by the +refining power of sorrow. + +She was very quiet. She did not speak to Mr. Lane unless he pointedly +addressed her. She rarely met any strangers, and when she did, she +supposed that they knew her strange story, and despised her. She +remembered always that + + “One venomed word, + That struck its coward, poisoned blow, + In craven whispers, hushed and low-- + And yet the wide world heard.” + +Mr. Lane could talk very well when he would. It pleased him to converse +with Aline Rodney. He was very gracious and affable with her, giving +her no smallest hint or sign that he knew her strange story. While +Effie touched the piano-keys with soft, lingering chords of music, and +her lover hung enraptured over her, the detective sat apart and bent +himself to the task of amusing Aline. + +He did not find it very easy at first. She was shy and cold; she seemed +to take no interest in his words. She kept thinking, morbidly, to +herself: + +“He knows my story, and he accordingly despises me.” + +But, as he continued to talk to her pleasantly, unmindful of her quiet +reserve, a new thought came to her. + +“This good-looking, agreeable friend of Dr. Anthony is from New York. +It is not possible that the story of my trouble has reached the great +city. Perhaps he does not _know_.” + +There was inexpressible comfort and relief in the thought. +Unconsciously the tense bands about her heart began to loosen. It was +pleasant to meet any one, even a stranger, who did not distrust and +suspect her. She ventured to lift her frank, blue eyes to his face, and +when she saw how kindly he was regarding her with his attentive gray +eyes, she took heart of grace to talk to him, because she believed that +he did not know. Some of her old impulsiveness returned to her. She +began to take an interest in his conversation. + +He on his part began to see what a charming girl she might have been +if this shadow of some unknown sin had not fallen on the whiteness of +her life. Once or twice she even laughed aloud, and he said to himself, +even though he was intensely practical and not in the least romantic, +that her laughter was as sweet as a chime of music. + +He talked to her of the world, of the gay cities, of the people he +had met, of the places he had visited, and she listened with delight. +She had never met any one like Mr. Lane before--any one who had seen +the world and knew it thoroughly in both its good and bad phases. She +became so interested that she forgot momently the brooding shadow of +trouble that hung always over her. Her old love of life and the world +returned to her. A soft color glowed on her cheeks, her eyes beamed as +she cried out, vivaciously: + +“Oh, how I envy you, Mr. Lane! You have traveled, you have seen the +world, you have enjoyed life! There is nothing I should like better!” + +He looked at her with a smile. Her beautiful face was momently radiant. +She was full of eager anticipation and desire. + +“You would like to travel?” he said. + +“Oh, so much!” she cried, clasping her shapely white hands together +in the earnestness of her feelings, and carried out of herself by +excitement. + +“Have you ever been in New York, Miss Rodney?” he inquired, with +apparent carelessness. + +A little laugh that was half pity and half self-scorn rippled sweetly +over her lips. She was evidently amused at his entire ignorance of her +traveling record. + +“New York!” she exclaimed. “Why, Mr. Lane, would you believe that I +have never been away from Chester in my life?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +The sweet, high pitched voice reached every ear in the room distinctly. +Every one was surprised at the assertion; but they saw that Aline had +forgotten herself, and all were wise enough not to take any apparent +notice of the admission. She continued, confidentially. + +“You see, Mr. Lane, we lived on a farm in the country, about two miles +from Chester, while I was a child. Before I was grown up papa sold the +farm, and came to live at the cottage here, and here we have been ever +since, and I have never been five miles from Chester in my life.” + +She saw some sort of a wonder on his face, and added, gayly: + +“I see that you are wondering at me, Mr. Lane. Perhaps I should not +have confessed to such lamentable ignorance of the world around me?” + +“On the contrary, I am charmed to have you confess it. + + “‘Where ignorance is bliss, + ’Tis folly to be wise.’” + +She looked at him in some little wonder. The tone of his voice was +peculiar; but when she looked at his face, it appeared perfectly calm +and frank. After a moment’s silence, he continued: + +“To one versed in the lore of the world as I am, it is refreshing to +meet with one so guileless and so innocent of the evil of the world. +I am not so enviable as you think me, Miss Rodney. A knowledge of the +world is not conducive to love of life.” + +She had been slowly gathering her thoughts together while he talked. +Quite suddenly the memory of her own knowledge of the world rushed over +her--the knowledge that had come too late to save her from the evil. + +Her face grew suddenly pale. She recalled the admission she had made +just now, “I have never been away from Chester in my life.” + +She grew frightened at the thought that she had almost betrayed the +secret she was sworn to keep. Fortunately, this man to whom she was +talking knew nothing and could make nothing of what she had said. But +Dr. Anthony and the others--had they heard? + +She glanced furtively around her. No one was observing her. Effie’s +fingers were still straying over the piano, waking low, soft chords, +and the doctor’s head was close to hers, as he whispered love’s +delicious nothings in her willing ears. Mr. and Mrs. Rodney were +looking over the pictures in the new magazine. Max had fallen asleep, +as usual, on the convenient sofa. She thought, with a sigh of relief, +that no one except Mr. Lane had been paying any attention to her. + +“But I must be more careful next time. I shall betray everything some +time if I suffer myself to relapse into my old thoughtless self,” she +thought, and she became so suddenly quiet and _distrait_ that Mr. Lane +began to wonder in his mind if he had unwittingly offended her. + +She did not give him a chance to find out, for just as he was on the +point of asking her whether he had been so unfortunate, she made some +slight excuse for leaving the room and did not return that night. + +But Mr. Lane’s brief interview with her had given him material for +grave reflection. + +He had quite decided in his own mind that she was pure, true, and +innocent, as she was beautiful. + +He said to himself that her trouble, whatever it was, might have come +to her through folly or waywardness, but never through deliberate sin. + +He was a close reader of human nature, as his profession necessitated +he should be. He knew that he had made Aline temporarily forget her +trouble, and he believed that every word that she had spoken to him +had been the pure, unadulterated truth. Those frank blue eyes were +the very well of truth and purity. They had looked at him frankly and +guilelessly, and they had no falsehood in them. + +Her frank and thoughtless admission had let in such a flood of light +upon his mind as would have frightened Aline indeed could she only have +known it. + +“I have never been away from Chester in my life,” she had said, and the +words rung in his hearing long after her fair, bewildering face had +vanished from his sight. + +If this were true, and Mr. Lane did not in the least doubt the +assertion, what became of Dr. Anthony’s romantic story? + +The place where Dr. Anthony had been called to attend the mysteriously +wounded girl must have been about five miles from Maywood, declared the +physician. + +“Chester is five miles distant from Maywood.” + +Mr. Lane repeated these words to himself, and his face began to burn +and his heart to thump against his vest pocket. + +He seized his hat and went out into the night air to cool his glowing +face. Out under the cold, wintery sky, with its host of gleaming stars, +he mentally shook himself. + +“I have been a stupid dolt, a stark, staring idiot,” he cried, +vehemently. “I shall never pride myself on my skill and acumen again. +Only to think that I never reflected on that plain fact that Chester +is five miles from Maywood. The girl has never been out of Chester, and +oh, what a consummate stupid I have been.” + +He was angry with himself, indeed. He accused himself of the most +inexcusable stupidity. Only to think how he had scoured the country +for miles around Maywood and never thought of Chester. It was the most +natural mistake in the world, but he was bitterly angry with himself +for having made it. + +He walked along the pavement in front of the cottage, so absorbed in +thought that he scarcely heeded the cold winter wind that sighed among +the leafless trees and around the gables of the cottage. With the sight +of Aline’s beautiful, innocent face had come an even deeper desire to +fathom the secret of that strange absence. + +“I will find it out this time; but will she thank me for it? Will any +one thank me?” he asked himself, soberly, and he decided that it could +not hurt Aline Rodney to have the truth revealed. He did not believe +that any willful guilt could hide behind that smooth, white brow and +those clear, true eyes. + +“She would undoubtedly reveal it herself but for the vow of silence +that binds her,” he said to himself. “I may even be doing her a favor +by tracing out the secret and revealing it to her parents. Anyhow, I +shall make it convenient to remain down here a week or two, and ‘we +shall see what we shall see.’” + +Absorbed in his thoughts he walked on past the strip of fence in +front of the cottage a few paces down the street, without observing +that he was directly before the tall, imposing gray stone mansion +known as Delaney House. It stood well back among its leafless trees +and ghost-like evergreen shrubberies and cedars that showed like +sober-suited sentinels in the cold, white light of the moon. The house +looked gloomy enough with its closed doors and heavily shuttered +windows from whence no friendly light streamed forth to cheer the weary +passer-by, but Mr. Lane did not notice it as he walked slowly past +absorbed in his own vexing thoughts. + +Absorbing as they were they were doomed to have a sudden and startling +interruption. + +The night had been intensely still save for the low whisperings of the +winter wind as it swept past in restless sighs, but suddenly its calm +was broken by a long, low wail that broke shudderingly upon the silence +and repose of the hour, and swelled high and still higher until it +became a fearful shriek of mad rage and impotent anger most terrible to +hear: + +“Ah--h--h! Ah--h--h!” + +That loud, terrible, prolonged shriek fell suddenly and startlingly +upon the ears of the detective. He sprung backward with a smothered cry +and stared upward to where the sound seemed to issue forth. + +His eyes fell upon the dark, silent façade of Delaney House. + +“Ah!” he breathed, and like a horrible echo came that fearful shriek +again. + +“Ah--h--h! Ah--h--h! Ah--h--h!” + +It seemed to float over his head and die away in the wandering breeze. +Again he glanced up at the dark lowering front of Delaney House. +This time its darkness was illumined by a line of light that glanced +momentarily through the shutters, then abruptly disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +He stood silently gazing at the windows where the light had so +strangely flickered and disappeared with almost the swiftness of a +flash of lightning. He was full of wonder over what he had heard and +seen. + +“What a horrible voice!” he said to himself. “It was neither that of a +man nor woman, and yet it sounded distinctly human. What was it? I have +heard such shrieks within the walls of madhouses, nowhere else. Can it +be that some unfortunate lunatic is confined in Delaney House?” + +He stood still, listening and watching some time, but he neither saw +nor heard anything more. The mansion had returned to its usual gloom +and silence. It almost seemed to him as if those fearful shrieks and +that swift flash of light had been the figment of his own disordered +imagination. + +He went up to the front gate, which, like the fence, was of tall ornate +ironwork, surmounted by bristling spear-heads, and softly tried the +latch. It was unlocked and yielded readily to his touch. He entered the +lovely neglected grounds and strolled through the quiet paths, careful +to keep in the shadow and well out of the patches of wintery moonlight +that gleamed on some of the white, graveled walks. He did not himself +understand the strange caprice that had driven him to enter the private +grounds of one who was wholly a stranger to him, but it led him blindly +on. + +“If the owner should catch me trespassing on his grounds I might find +myself rather _de trop_,” he thought, grimly, but he did not turn back. +He did not think it likely that the master of Delaney House would +wander in that dreary, deserted garden on such a night. + +Leaving the vicinity of the house, he strolled slowly on and came out +at that end of the garden which was simply walled by the gable end of +Mr. Rodney’s cottage. Still in the shadow himself he saw a sudden light +thrown on the ground by the reflection of the light from a window. He +glanced up quickly and saw that it shone from the casement of Aline +Rodney’s room. + +He drew back further into the convenient shadow cast by a tall, dark +evergreen-tree, and looked up. He saw that the curtain at the window +had been drawn aside by a small white hand. The next moment he saw a +fair young face gazing out wistfully through the pane into the moonlit +night whose mystic shadows lay long and dark around Delaney House. + +It was Aline Rodney’s face. He gazed upon it, eagerly, as it stared out +with parted lips and wide, despairing eyes at the dark, gloomy house. + +“What is she doing there? What interest can she have in Delaney House?” +Mr. Lane asked himself, soberly. + +The beautiful grave young face gave no answer to his question. There +was upon it an expression of wistful sadness and pathetic sorrow that +went to his heart, strong man though he was. She remained for some time +gazing sadly out into the wintery darkness, then slowly retired and +dropped the heavy curtain between herself and the dreary scene. + +Mr. Lane retraced his steps back through the shrubbery toward the house +again. He went around to the front entrance and looked curiously at the +great carved oaken door. + +He was struck by a coincidence with Dr. Anthony’s story. + +The front door was reached by a flight of wide, marble steps. + +“Strange!” he muttered to himself. “What if this should prove to be the +house!” + +He gazed longingly at the dark stone walls. He would have given +anything could his gaze have pierced through them in quest of the +hidden blue room of Dr. Anthony’s story. A dozen vague suspicions were +floating formlessly through his mind, but each thought hovered like a +dark-winged bird of omen around Delaney House. + +“Can it be that the secret is hidden here?” he asked himself. “Have we +all been searching far and wide for Aline Rodney while she lay wounded +and hidden at her father’s very door?” + +The suspicion took hold upon his mind with startling pertinacity. It +grew into a settled belief even while he stood there gazing fixedly at +the close shut, forbidding looking door. + +“Well, if it be so or not, I shall find it out before I leave Chester +again,” he said to himself, with a certain resolution in his tone, as +he let himself out of the gate into the street again. + +He went back to the cottage and met Dr. Anthony coming out to look for +him. + +“I thought you had run away, Lane. Where have you been?” asked the +doctor. + +“I came out to smoke a cigar. You know my old bachelor habits,” Mr. +Lane answered indifferently. + +“You must be half frozen. It is a very cold night. Come in and warm +your fingers before we go,” said his friend. + +They went in, and though they rallied Mr. Lane on his long absence in +the cold night air, he did not say one word on what he had seen and +heard. The time had not come yet. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +The next night was the wedding-night. It was the first day of January. +Dr. Anthony and Effie had chosen to begin their new life with the new +year. + +No invitations had been issued for the marriage, but the church doors +had been thrown open for the accommodation of those who cared to +attend. When the bridal party entered the church, they were surprised +to find that it was closely packed by the population of Chester. +Curiosity had drawn thither all those among whom Effie had formerly +moved, and who had scornfully dropped her because of the mysterious +secret that had darkened her sister’s life. + +Effie had always been considered very beautiful and graceful. She had +never looked more so than when she glided up the aisle on the arm +of her handsome, noble-looking lover. She was so proud to have been +chosen by him that she carried her fair head undauntedly, in quiet +indifference to the whispers and glances on every side. + +They could not withhold the meed of praise that her beauty claimed. +After all, she had done nothing herself to merit blame. It was only +the shadow of Aline’s dishonor that was reflected upon her. Every one +knew how wild and willful Aline had always been, and how her mother and +sister had tried to curb her in her mischievous pranks and thoughtless +way. Seeing the constancy and devotion of the handsome young physician, +some were moved to repentance for the slights they had put upon the +beautiful bride who looked queenly in her simply made robe of white +satin and the long flowing veil fastened to her dark-brown hair with +snowy orange blossoms. The bridegroom’s gift, a lovely pearl locket +containing the fac-simile of his own handsome face, rested against +her heart, suspended by a slender golden chain. It was an amulet of +happiness to Effie. In spite of the world’s scorn, an ineffable joy had +come to her through her sister’s adventure, since but for it she might +never have become acquainted with the doctor. + +But curiously as the crowd gazed upon Effie, they regarded Aline with +even more interest. + +She entered the church in advance of the bride, and leaning lightly on +the arm of Mr. Lane, having been preceded by her parents, who entered +first of all. + +Every eye turned on the tall, slight young figure in its graceful +drapery of white silk and cashmere. The long, childish curls had been +put up in womanly fashion on the small head in loose waves and puffs, +and as if in mute protest or defiance of their censure, Aline had +fastened a pure white lily in their silken darkness. She carried her +head high as if in conscious rectitude, and her air was that of one +whose thoughts were turned wholly inward upon herself with no jarring +consciousness of the hostile eyes that followed her with scorn and +suspicion in their cold and curious gaze. + +Pausing before the chancel rail, Aline and her companion silently +separated and permitted the bridal pair to pass between them to where +the white-robed rector waited, book in hand, to pronounce the solemn +words of an irrevocable union. + +The loud triumphant peal of the wedding-march died away into silent +echoes. The rustle and murmur of the perfumed throng grew still. +All waited in thrilling silence while the beautiful words of the +marriage-service fell slowly on the air. + +Aline had never been present at a marriage before. She was deeply +impressed by the solemn, beautiful service. She listened with +down-dropped eyes and a grave, sweet look on her fair face. + +“What solemn words, and yet how sweet!” she said to herself. “Doctor +Anthony and my sister will have to love each other very dearly to live +up to those heavenly words!” + +She had never given one serious thought to the subject of marriage +before; but now, as she gazed at the happy faces of the two, and +listened to the beautiful, thrilling vows that bound them, some idea of +the bliss of a true marriage came into her mind. + +“It must be like a heaven upon earth,” she said to herself, and then +quite suddenly she recalled some words her mother had said to her one +day: + +“No one will ever wish to marry you, my poor Aline. No man would take +you with such a stain upon your life as that hideous mystery you guard +so jealously.” + +Was it true? Would no one ever love her as Dr. Anthony loved her sister +Effie? Would nothing so beautiful as love ever come into her life? She +sighed unconsciously, and with the sigh she lifted her eyes--she never +could have told you why--lifted them, and at a little distance met a +pair of eyes gazing straight into her own with a strange, magnetic +fire--Oran Delaney’s! + +She did not know what had caused her to look up at that moment, and she +knew just as little why she blushed when she met that intent gaze--a +blush that burned her pure face like fire. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +Mr. Lane felt rather proud than otherwise as he walked up the aisle of +the church with Aline Rodney by his side. Her exquisite beauty filled +him with admiration, and he had already decided in his mind that she +was as pure and innocent as she was fair. + +He did not care in the least for the opinion of censorious Chester. +If Aline had been a princess, he could not have shown her more +deferential respect than that which he now accorded her. He had the +greatest admiration for her, mingled with pity and sympathy. He said +to himself that he would help her out of her trouble if he could, and +he honestly believed, that the surest way to do that would be to find +out the secret she held and make it public. He had been vexed with her +before he saw her--vexed because she had so baffled investigation and +curiosity. He had determined then, out of pure vexation, to track her +down. Since they had met, his feeling had changed. He was none the less +determined to ferret out her secret, but now he was actuated by pity +and sympathy combined with a belief in her innocence. He decided that +he would say nothing to Dr. Anthony or the Rodneys. He would pursue his +investigations alone. They should hear and know nothing until success +had crowned his efforts. + +He studied the fair face keenly whenever he had an opportunity of doing +so. Its varying expression, the lights and shadows that shone in the +dark-blue eyes, had an actual fascination for him. He watched her as +closely as if he expected to find on her lovely, mobile face the key to +the mystery that shadowed her life. + +Standing a little apart from her while the marriage ceremony progressed +between her sister and Dr. Anthony, he kept his eyes fixed on her face +and saw the new softness that came upon it as she listened to the +beautiful words of the service. He saw the dark, curling lashes flutter +upward a moment and remain fixed, he saw the blush stealing over her +face, dyeing even the whiteness of her low brow in its radiant glow. He +followed the direction of her eyes, and saw the apparent cause. + +At a little distance from the bridal party stood a tall distinguished +looking man leaning lightly against the chancel rail. He was a man to +be looked at twice, for his dress and hearing betokened both wealth and +refinement. It was a handsome face, too, dark and proud and reserved, +with a latent fire in the eyes that had a dark, southern splendor, all +their own. + +It was this man at whom Aline Rodney was looking with startled pathetic +blue eyes while the beautiful color rose in burning waves over her fair +young face. Mr. Lane saw the dark eyes and the blue ones hold each +other one moment with a glance he could in nowise fathom, and then, +without a sign of recognition, the gentleman turned his head away. +Aline’s dark lashes fell and the color slowly faded from her face. + +Mr. Lane was puzzled. + +“Does she know the man? It is not likely that she would blush so at the +glance of a stranger. And yet they gave no sign of recognition,” he +said to himself. + +He watched Aline more closely than ever, but he made no discovery. She +did not look at the handsome stranger again; neither did he look at +her; and when the brief service was over he hurriedly left the church +and disappeared in the moving throng. + +The Rodneys with Mr. Lane and the newly married pair went back to the +cottage. They were to have tea together, simply and sociably, and then +the doctor and his bride were going off on a little tour before they +settled down to housekeeping in the pretty little village of Maywood. + +Aline was very silent and _distraite_. She was overwhelmed by the +parting from her sister. Heavy tears hung on her thick, dark lashes +as she looked at Effie and realized that their pleasant and loving +home-life together was forever ended. Henceforth another home would +claim her sweet sister as its priestess, and she would be the central +sun around which the lesser planets of another household revolved. + + “Sitting by the fireside of the hearth, + Feeding its flame.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +Mr. Lane was anxious to find out if Aline was acquainted with the +stranger who had made her blush in the church. He watched his chance, +and when the family were discussing the crowd that had filled the +church, he said, carelessly: + +“I saw one person who was so handsome and distinguished looking that my +curiosity was awakened. One but seldom sees such a fine-looking man. +He stood on the left of the chancel rail. Perhaps you noticed him, Mr. +Rodney?” + +“Yes, I did; and the more particularly because I was surprised to see +him there,” Mr. Rodney answered. “It was our unsocial neighbor, Mr. +Delaney.” + +“Mr. Delaney!” The detective started and glanced furtively at Aline. +He saw that she had turned her head away abruptly, but the side of her +cheek that was visible was crimson, like a rose. She was holding her +satin fan against her breast, and its plumed edge fluttered with the +quick beat of her heart. + +“I have not seen Mr. Delaney at any public gathering or church for +several years before,” continued Mr. Rodney. “He is one of the most +inveterate recluses I ever heard of. His presence in the church must +have been intended as a special mark of respect and compliment to +Effie.” + +“But, papa, we have none of us the least acquaintance with him,” said +the bride. + +“No matter. He is our next door neighbor. I have no doubt but he +attended the wedding out of respect to us,” insisted Mr. Rodney. + +“For my part, I cannot imagine how he ever found out about the +marriage,” said Mrs. Rodney. “He never goes out, and no one is ever +seen going in. It is quite too bad that Mr. Delaney does not marry, +and give his grand old house a mistress. She would lead society in +Chester--that is, if she would condescend so far, which is not likely, +the Delaneys being proverbially proud.” + +Mr. Lane having adroitly turned the conversation into the channel he +wished, listened eagerly, just throwing in a word here and there until +he had elicited all that there was to tell, or, at least, all that +was known of the taciturn master of Delaney House. To that part which +related to the alleged ghosts that haunted Delaney House, he listened +with a great deal of interest. + +“Since you have named it, I will relate my own experience,” he said. +“Last night I supposed you would laugh at it. Now I see that you will +not even be surprised.” + +“What is it?” they asked him in surprise. + +“It is only that I heard the ghost of Delaney House last night,” he +replied. + +“You heard it!” they echoed, and Dr. Anthony asked, gravely: + +“When?” + +“It was last night when I went out on the pavement to smoke my cigar. +I strolled down the street a little way, and was suddenly brought to +a dead stop by the sound of a loud ringing shriek fearful enough to +have proceeded from one of the denizens of Hades. I paused and looked +up, for the sound had seemed to float in the air above me, and I found +myself in front of Delaney House.” + +Every one was deeply interested--every one uttered some exclamation or +another except Aline. She alone took no part in the conversation. She +had not even looked around. She sat by the reading-lamp and was looking +into a book, but Mr. Lane saw that she was turning its leaves quite at +random and with strangely nervous hands. + +“Is her indifference real or feigned?” he asked himself. “The most of +people would be interested in my story--why not Miss Rodney? Her sex +are not usually deficient in curiosity.” + +“And you really heard the ghost, Mr. Lane?” cried Effie, with awe +struck eyes. “Well, you have been more highly favored than we have! In +all the years since we came to Chester we have never heard the reputed +ghost.” + +“That is because you are so widely separated from the house by the +beautiful grounds,” said Mr. Lane. “Now, I heard it twice, for when I +looked up at the first sound it was repeated in a louder and even more +blood-curdling voice than before, and a flash of light gleamed through +the shutters for an instant, then faded into Cimmerian darkness and +gloom again.” + +“Do you hear that, Aline?” cried little Max. “Oh, don’t you wish that +you had heard it? Do you remember how we used to talk about the Delaney +ghost before you went away?” + +“Yes, dear,” she answered in a constrained voice, without turning +toward the little social group gathered around the fire. + +“I was puzzled and alarmed when I heard that sound last night. I +thought perhaps Delaney had a crazy wife or sister. I had not heard +about the ghost then,” said Mr. Lane. + +“Mr. Delaney is not married,” said Mrs. Rodney. + +“No? And are there no females resident in his house?” inquired the +detective. + +“I have heard that there is a solitary housekeeper, but I have never +seen her,” she replied. + +“It was, then, really a ghost that I heard,” said Mr. Lane. “I am +surprised. I did not really believe in the existence of spirits in this +practical nineteenth century.” + +No one made him any direct answer. It is true that a vein of +superstition runs through most people even in this enlightened age. +The Rodneys had heard so much about the Delaney ghost that they hardly +questioned the veracity of the story. And yet they did not care about +confessing it to Mr. Lane. It was just possible that he might turn the +story into ridicule. He appeared to be very hard and practical, without +any romantic weaknesses. + +So the conversation drifted into other channels, and Mr. Lane made no +effort to prevent it, having learned all that there was to be told on +the subject. He quietly stored away all that he had heard in his mind, +and no one had any idea that he was specially interested in Delaney +House and its strange master. + +In a little while the time for the parting came. Dr. Anthony and his +bride were to have a little bridal tour South. They went away, followed +by tears and regrets and a score of good wishes, symbolized by lavish +shower of old slippers that Max threw after the departing bride. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +“Aline, will you come down to the river and skate this morning? The ice +is ten inches thick, and as smooth as glass,” said Max Rodney to his +sister the morning after Effie’s marriage. + +She shook her head with a slight, wintery smile. + +“Do not tempt me, Max,” she said, “you have got me into too many +scrapes in the past, and now I have promised mamma that I will never do +so any more.” + +The handsome, rosy-cheeked boy, with the skates slung carelessly over +his shoulder, regarded her with palpable disappointment. + +“Oh, Allie, do come,” he said. “Do you remember last winter what +glorious fun we had on the river? And now it is smoother and better +than it was then. I know you would like it, and I’m sure mamma would +not care.” + +“I cannot go, Max,” Aline answered, sadly. “Please do not tease me, +there’s a good boy.” + +The light-hearted boy went up to her and pulled away the white hands +that half shielded the pale, pretty face. He was too young and +thoughtless to know much of the sorrow that had come to Aline. + +“Aline, what has come over you?” he said. “It used to be that I would +rather you came out with me for a lark than any fellow I know. But ever +since you were lost and came back, you have been changed. Why is it?” + +“It is nothing, Max, only that mamma thinks I am getting too old to be +your childish playmate any longer,” Aline answered with a forced smile. + +“Bosh! Is that all? Why, there’s lots and lots of grown people on the +river this morning. You need not be a childish playmate this time. +There are lots of older people to keep you company. Say, will you come?” + +“I cannot. I would not go among those people for anything,” she +answered. + +“I don’t see why. You can skate better than any of them--you are just +like a bird,” he said. “I say, sister, I shall ask mamma. Will you go +if she says yes?” + +“Not even then!” she answered, half hesitatingly, for the proposal was +not without its charms. + +Her old passion for out-of-door sports returned to her. She longed +to be skimming the glittering ice with her light swift feet, and +feeling the rush of the cold sweet breeze against the cheeks that had +grown pale and thin in the months while she had been hiding herself +sensitively within doors from the sneers and frowns of those who had +traduced her so bitterly. + +“You will come if mamma will come too, won’t you?” persisted Max, +unwilling to yield the point. + +“Mamma will not go,” replied Aline. + +The door opened, and Mrs. Rodney came suddenly into the room. She had +a lugubrious look on her face and her eyelids were pink from weeping. +She had been having a private crying spell over the loss of her elder +daughter. + +She had caught Aline’s words, and now looked inquiringly into her pale +face. But eager Max forestalled the question that trembled on her lips. + +“Mamma, I want you and Aline to come down to the river with me for the +skating. Will you come?” + +Mrs. Rodney looked at Aline’s pale cheeks and heavy eyes, and her first +resolve to negative the proposal died on her lips. She saw the girl was +fading and drooping in her enforced seclusion. + +“Should you like to go, my dear?” she asked. + +“With you, mamma,” Aline answered, wistfully. + +“Very well. We will go for a little while. Wrap yourself up warmly, +dear, and Max shall get your skates ready.” + +Aline ran up to her room, full of pleasurable anticipation, for she +was an expert skater, and always enjoyed being on the ice. A girlish +impulse prompted her to make herself as pretty as possible. She let +down her dark, curling hair loosely over her shoulders, and donned a +dark-red cashmere trimmed with silvery fur, a warm, wadded jacket of +red, and a jaunty fur cap having a little bird perched on one side. +Then she sallied forth with Max and Mrs. Rodney, who was so warmly +wrapped up in cloth and fur and thick veils that barely the tip of her +aristocratic-looking nose was visible to the beholder. + +They had a bracing walk of half a mile in the cool, fresh air of the +clear, wintery morning, and then the river burst upon their view like +a sheet of silver, dotted about with merry youths and maidens who were +sliding merrily about over the crystal expanse, without a thought of +danger. + +Many of them were Aline’s old friends and companions with whom she had +been a prime favorite until that mysterious trouble fell upon her. Her +heart warmed to them as she saw the smiling, familiar faces and heard +their merry voices. A longing came over her to be friends with them +again, to touch their hands, to hear their voices talking to her in +the old friendly, familiar way. Everything was so gay, so merry, so +unceremonious, she half hoped they would relent and welcome her to her +old place among them. + +Poor Aline! The light came into her violet eyes, the rich color flushed +her cheeks at the thought. She looked wistfully at the groups that +dotted the shore and the river as she came up. Her heart beat with +anxiety and expectation. Would any one speak to her? Would any one of +all these, her old friends, give her one friendly clasp of the hand? + +Vain thought, vain hope! As they saw her coming among them with her +eager, expectant face and her winning beauty, every one turned aside +with cold, averted looks, and scarcely restrained sneers. In a moment +she stood solitary, with her mother and Max, in a spot where only a +moment ago more than a score of people had been. They had tacitly +deserted and ignored her. That strange sense of loneliness in crowds +so often felt by the sensitive heart came over her now. Something +like a strangling gasp came from her lips, and then she shut them +tightly together, and held her small head high, with a proud, stag-like +movement that was almost defiance. In her heart she was saying, +bitterly: “They may scorn me as they will, but they shall not crush +me! I have done no wrong, and in time I shall live down their cruel +slanders!” + +“Do not mind them, Aline,” her mother whispered tenderly; but Aline +heard the quiver in her mother’s voice, and it sent a fresh pang to her +own heart. + +“Never mind, Max,” she said to the boy, who was kneeling down to fasten +her skates. “Do not put them on, please. I shall not skate. I had +rather go home.” + +“Oh, no, not yet--” he began; but just at that moment a shabbily +dressed old woman pushed him aside and came up in front of Aline. +She had a basket of cheap laces on her arm, which she paraded +ostentatiously. + +“Will the leddies buy some of my pretty things--collerettes, _jabots_, +cuffs, scarfs--de finest things in lace,” whimpered she. + +Mrs. Rodney shook her head with a smile. + +“We want nothing at all, my good woman,” said she. + +“Let me tell the young lady’s fortune, then. I am a fortune-teller, and +I tell de truest fortunes you ever heard. I have told a many for the +young gents and leddies this morning. They say every word is true. This +is the sweetest face I have seen yet. Let me tell her what is past and +what will be,” cried the old crone, loquaciously. + +“No, no, go away! We do not wish to hear anything!” said Mrs. Rodney, +impatiently. + +But Aline turned her blue eyes wistfully upon her mother’s face. + +“Oh, mamma, I should like it so much,” she said, pleadingly. + +“Like _what_, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Rodney, uncomprehendingly. + +“To have this good woman read my past and future,” Aline answered, with +a blush. + +“But, my dear, she cannot possibly know anything of the kind. +Fortune-tellers are all frauds. They only guess at things,” said Mrs. +Rodney. + +“I should like to hear what she has to say,” insisted Aline, willfully. + +“Oh, very well, my dear, just as you please, but you will only hear +a pack of stories,” Mrs. Rodney replied; but she crossed the old +fortune-teller’s coarse palm with the traditional silver piece, and +Aline drew the warm glove from her delicate hand expectantly. + +The old lace-vender set her basket down on the ground and took the +little hand into her own large and brown one. + +“What is this I see?” she said, squinting her gray eyes at the rosy +palm. “The line of life is crossed with sorrows. You have had a great +trouble in your life. You are very unhappy, and you are doomed to be +even more unhappy--” + +“Do not tell her such jargon,” broke in Mrs. Rodney, impatiently. + +“I but read what I see, madam,” said the seer. “And I see nothing but +blight and sorrow. I cannot understand it, for I see no love in her +past--none of that love that makes or mars a woman’s life. The shadows +come from other things, from other influences. And yet--” she paused +and looked searchingly into Aline’s marble-white face. + +“And yet--” repeated the girl in a tone of eager inquiry. + +The fortune-teller went on without removing her keen gaze from Aline’s +wistful face: + +“And yet, although you have never loved, there is a man mixed up in +your past and future strangely. He is dark and grand and handsome, +but he has cast a shadow on your life, a thick, dark shadow so dense +you cannot see beyond it. You blush, yet the man is nothing to you. I +cannot understand it.” + +It was true that Aline was blushing hotly, and she was gazing in wonder +at the strange old woman. + +“Go on,” she said, in a low, almost pleading voice “Tell me--will those +dark clouds ever be lifted from my life?” + +“It is hard to tell. I said I could read your future, but the clouds +that overhang it are too dark and heavy. I cannot pierce their gloom. +Perhaps the sun may shine for you again, perhaps, never! Let me see!” + +She held the little palm close up before her eyes. + +“Ah, there is a _secret_! You are young to hold so much hidden in your +heart. I may tell you this much. You will never be happy until that +secret is openly revealed! It will cost you too much to keep it hid! If +there are any who love you they will never rest, they will never cease +striving to fathom the secret that has shadowed your life so darkly.” + +She dropped the little hand abruptly, caught up her basket, and strode +quickly away, leaving Aline and her mother stupefied with surprise. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +“What an old hag! Her hands were coarse like a man’s and her voice +too!” cried vivacious Max. “It was no kind of a fortune, either. She +did not say anything about your marrying. But I hope you never will; +it was bad enough to lose Effie. I hope no one will ever persuade you +away, Allie. No one is good enough for you!” + +“I am flattered by your extravagant opinion of my perfections. I think +you need give yourself no uneasiness as to losing me,” Aline replied, +making him a demure little courtesy. + +He laughed, and nodded. + +“I am glad of that. But come now, let me fasten your skates. You must +come on the ice with me. You promised, you know, and I shall not let +you go back on your word.” + +“I would rather go home, Max,” Aline answered. + +“No, dear, you need not be put down so easily. You may go on the ice +with your brother a little while, then we will go home,” said Mrs. +Rodney. Her pride and resentment had both been roused by the cavalier +treatment Aline had received. She knew that her daughter was the most +beautiful girl on the spot. No one there could at all compare with her. +She was an accomplished skater too. Something like defiance rose in her +mind. She would not let them drive Aline away with their scorn. She +had as much right here as her severe judges. “Go on the ice with your +brother a little while,” she repeated; “then we will go home.” + +She stood silently on the shore watching them as hand in hand they +skimmed blithely across the icy surface of the beautiful river. Her +thoughts were busy while her eyes followed the form of her beautiful +girl in the bright costume that accorded so well with the gay scene. + +The strange words of the old lace-vender filled her with wonder. + +“How did she chance upon the truth so cleverly?” she asked herself. +“What did she know of Aline’s troubles and her fatal secret? What did +she mean by the dark man who influenced Aline’s life? Was it true--or +why did Aline blush at her words? I have a mind to follow the woman and +find out what she knows.” + +She looked around her, but the old woman had already disappeared from +sight. + +“As well, perhaps,” Mrs. Rodney, muttered to herself: “she could tell +me nothing. I dare say it was all guess-work. It is so easy to prate +of dark clouds and secrets and dark men--it is the stock in trade of +fortune-tellers.” + +But she was very uneasy in her mind. There was a great pain in her +heart as she watched Aline. + +The girl had forgotten her trouble for a little while in the +exhilarating excitement and exercise. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks +glowed with pleasure. She and Max were the best skaters on the river, +and the girl thoroughly enjoyed her triumph. She looked like some +bright winged bird in her scarlet costume, and many eyes followed her +course in unwilling admiration. + +“Aline, I will tell you something,” said Max, as they skated sociably +along, side by side. “I believe that old woman was a man dressed in +woman’s clothes!” + +Aline’s heart gave a quick throb. + +“Why do you think so, Max?” she said. + +“Well, because she had boots on, and her feet were large, and her +hands, too, and her voice was coarse and squeaky, as if she tried to +alter it to a woman’s. Didn’t you notice it yourself, Aline?” + +“She was rather masculine-looking, certainly; but, then, many women are +so. I have no doubt she was what she appeared to be,” said Aline, after +giving the matter a moment’s grave consideration. + +Max was silenced but not convinced, and presently he looked round at +her again. + +“I will tell you something else,” he said. “There is a man watching +you. Perhaps it is the dark man the fortune-teller talked about.” + +“Where?” asked Aline, with a start. + +“Do you see that great tree down the bank at some distance from the +crowd? There is a man round one side of it. He is looking at you. He is +tall and dark, and has on a great fur overcoat. I believe--that is, he +looks like him--that it is Mr. De--Ah! ah! help! help!” + +The revelation of what Max believed was never finished, for, all +unknowingly, and in her interest in his words, Aline had gone upon +a dangerous place, where the ice was cracked and thin. A little in +advance of her brother, although clinging to his hand, she felt the +treacherous ice giving way beneath her, and, like a flash, tore her +hand from his and threw it far from her. All in an instant there was +a loud crash, the treacherous element gave way, and Aline sunk down +into the cold waves. Max was left alone upon the ragged edge, screaming +aloud for help in the frenzy of his despair. + + * * * * * + +All in a moment there arose a great hubbub of excitement. All eyes +turned upon the spot where Aline had broken through the thin crust of +ice and gone down into the cold, dark waves. With the thoughtlessness +born of excitement, the crowd made a rush for the spot. Some slipped +and fell, and were heedlessly trampled, and deserted in the terrible +rush. A panic was imminent. It seemed as if all were bent upon +satiating a wild curiosity, and the solid ice, beginning to tremble +beneath the burden upon it, might have broken through, and precipitated +the crowd, pell-mell, into the same dark waves that had ingulfed Aline; +but, at that moment, a loud, stern, authoritative voice rang out +clearly and sharply: + +“Stand back, all of you! Do you not see that you are liable to cause +her death as well as your own? Go back before the ice breaks through +with your weight!” + +The stern voice seemed to put reason into their bewildered minds. There +was a moment of flurry and indecision, and then the excited crowd +began to veer toward the shore. No one was left in the vicinity of the +dangerous ice except little Max, screaming piteously on the brink of +the abyss into which his sister had disappeared. + +But, an instant more, and the form of a tall, handsome man was seen +crossing the ice, carefully yet fearlessly. As he neared the thin ice, +he threw himself carefully down upon it, and crept slowly along to the +edge of the precipice. He had thrown off his coat, and was in his shirt +sleeves, so that every one knew what was in his mind, and no one was +surprised to see him drop cautiously over the ragged edge of the ice, +and so down into the deep, running water. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +It was an act of heroic daring that appealed to all, even to hearts +less brave. A cry rose up from the shore, a shout of admiration for the +hero’s bravery, a cheer to give him courage in his daring deed. + +Some one drew little Max away from his perilous position, and carried +him screaming to the shore, where Mrs. Rodney had fallen down +fainting with the shock of Aline’s fall. Some men went for a rope, +knowing instinctively that it would be needed if Aline Rodney and the +adventurous hero were ever rescued from the river. + +When they had found one, fortunately near at hand, they returned, and +went over the ice cautiously, by lying down flat upon it and creeping +slowly along. Then they peered over the icy edge of the opening into +the dark, swirling river. + +Joy! joy! The icy current had not swept the hero away. He was there, +with his head above the waves, and supporting on his arm the drenched +form of a girl whose dark head drooped heavily, and whose chill, white +face and closed eyelids showed that death or deadly unconsciousness had +stolen upon her. + +He looked up and saw them peering down at him, and shouted, hoarsely: + +“A rope, quick, with a slip knot! I cannot sustain her much longer. I +am freezing to death!” + +They knotted the rope hurriedly and threw it down. In a moment he threw +the rope over the girl’s limp body, tightened it, and they drew her up +safely. In the same manner they rescued him, and again the loud shouts +of joy rose up from the shore. + +They carried the girl’s limp, wet body to the shore, and her preserver +followed after. It was the tall man Max had seen behind the tree--it +was Oran Delaney. + +People looked at him in wonder. It was so seldom that he appeared in +public that it always caused surprise to see him. His sudden appearance +in this romantic _rôle_ was a nine days’ wonder. + +But he did not stay to hear their wondering congratulations. Mrs. +Rodney had recovered from her faint, and he hurriedly placed her +with the frightened Max and the still unconscious girl in a passing +conveyance, then wrapped himself in his furred overcoat and hastened +home. + +Mrs. Griffin was astonished and frightened when her master walked in so +wet and cold. She exclaimed loudly upon his plight. + +“It is nothing. I have only had a fall into the river,” he replied, +carelessly. + +“But I thought that the river was all frozen over?” she said, perplexed. + +“Yes, but I broke through the ice,” said Mr. Delaney. + +“Oh, dear, dear, then you have got your death of cold!” cried Mrs. +Griffin in alarm. + +“Pray do not make me out a girl or a baby,” he said, impatiently. “When +I get some warm, dry clothes, I shall do very well.” + +She busied herself in laying them out for him, and when she had done +this she made some warm drinks for him. + +“To drive the cold out of your system,” she said, fussily, but kindly. + +He drank something just to please her, and then he hurried away from +her, disregarding her pathetic entreaty that he would go to bed and +wrap up warmly in blankets, that his wetting and freezing might not do +him any harm. + +“As if there were danger, when my heart and brain are on fire,” he said +to himself. + +He went up to a quiet little chamber in the tower, and peered, with +burning eyes, down at a little white-curtained window of his neighbor’s +house. He could dimly see figures moving about the little room as if +they were busy over something. + +“Has she revived?” he asked himself, anxiously. “Poor child! she went +under the black water twice before I reached her. It was only the +strength of my despair that enabled me to bring her up to the surface +again. Oh, how fearful it was! the cold, black water, the jagged ice, +the terrible danger! And yet I would risk life and limb again a hundred +times to save her life!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + +“Ah, dearie me, but it’s a lonesome life, after all,” sighed Mrs. +Griffin. + +The good soul was sitting by the comfortable stove in the commodious +kitchen of Delaney House, intent upon the concoction of some savory +broth that was simmering on the stove. It was on the evening of the day +that Mr. Delaney had saved Aline Rodney from drowning. + +The bright, sunny morning had ended in a dreary, overcast evening, +with hints of snow in the air. The warm, spacious kitchen was very +comfortable, but it was intensely quiet and still, even to dreariness. +The audible ticking of the clock, and the soft purr of the little gray +kitten at Mrs. Griffin’s feet, seemed to make the stillness and quiet +even more marked and oppressive to her peculiar mood. + +“It’s a lonesome life,” she repeated. “It is hard even for me, and I do +not see how Mr. Delaney bears it at all, used as he has been to society +and amusement. Sometimes I fairly long for the sight of a friendly face +and the sound of a kind voice besides my master’s. I never felt the +dreariness of my life as much as I have done since Miss Rodney came and +went away. Spoiled child as she was, she brought a bit of life into the +house!” + +She sighed and mechanically lifted the lid of the stew-pan and stirred +the savory broth with a long-handled spoon. + +“Tap! Tap! Tap!” + +That ghostly sound broke so suddenly upon the silence of the room, +that Mrs. Griffin gave a violent start and dropped her long spoon upon +the floor with a hideous clatter, disturbing kitty’s peaceful slumbers +by a thump upon her little pink nose, accompanied by a few drops of hot +broth that sent her pattering into the corner with a spiteful meow. The +good woman mechanically reached for the spoon and looked toward the +door. + +“Tap! Tap!” came the low knocking again, with as ghostly a sound as +ever Poe’s fabled raven produced. + +Mrs. Griffin stared at the closed door with an air of stupid amazement, +and made no move to open it. + +“Whoever can it be?” she asked aloud, and a squeaky, peculiar voice +from outside, answered immediately: + +“Open the door, my good woman, and see!” + +“What impudence! There, then, I won’t do it!” replied Mrs. Griffin, +who, although dying of curiosity to see her visitor, knew better than +to admit any one within the walls of Delaney House. + +“You’re the first woman, then, that I ever knew to turn a poor peddler +from the door, and it’ll be to your sorrow as you did so,” replied a +bantering voice outside. “I have a basketful of notions, and I’m just +from New York with the biggest bargains of the season. Come, don’t +be churlish, mistress. Open the door, and let me come in and warm my +frozen fingers, even if you won’t buy one of my nice lace collars.” + +Mrs. Griffin’s eyes had brightened at the mention of the peddler. The +majority of women have an unexplainable propensity for buying from +peddlers, and Mrs. Griffin was no exception to the rule. Besides, she +was dying of loneliness and _ennui_. She intensely desired to speak to +some one, and to have better companionship, if only for an hour, than +the purring gray kitten. + +She hesitated. And we have always heard--have we not, reader?--that the +woman who hesitates is lost. She remembered that her stock of pins and +needles and tapes and buttons needed replenishing. Why not embrace this +excellent opportunity for the purpose? She might easily do so, and Mr. +Delaney be none the wiser, and no harm done. She would take care that +the harmless peddler did not penetrate beyond the kitchen. + +The cheery, seductive voice of the person outside sounded pleasantly +in her hearing. She felt that she would be all the better for a little +human contact with that world from which she was so closely secluded. + +She softly turned the key and opened the door, meaning to have some +little colloquy with the peddler before she admitted her; but that +worthy frustrated her intention by immediately stepping across the +threshold, with the proverbial impudence of the class. + +“So you thought better of your first intentions, did you?” she said, +genially, to the astonished mistress of the kitchen. “Second thoughts +are best, aren’t they? Well, you were wise to let me in. I shall sell +you the biggest bargain of the season.” + +And then she laughed, and set her basket down upon the floor, and +warmed her brown fingers by the stove. + +Mrs. Griffin was dumfounded by the ease, not to say impudence, of the +female peddler, who already had taken a seat and was gazing about the +large apartment with careless curiosity. + +“You must please not to laugh so loud,” she said. “If my master hears +you he will come down and turn you out. I should not have let you in +anyhow, only that I needed some things in your line. Strangers are not +allowed in here. You shouldn’t have entered the grounds.” + +“I did not know there were any orders against it. You see, I’m a +stranger about here, and seeing such a fine large house I naturally +thought to myself, ‘Here’s the place to sell my nice goods to the +ladies.’ But if there’s any offense, ma’am, I’ll humbly take my leave,” +said this artful old woman, beginning to replace the tempting things +she had drawn from her heavy basket. + +“Well, well, let me have my buttons and things first,” said Mrs. +Griffin, who had not expected to be so soon taken at her word. “You may +show me your things, only be quiet about it. I shouldn’t care to have +my master disturbed.” + +“And your mistress, hey? Wouldn’t she like to buy some of my pretty +laces?” + +“There isn’t any mistress. There’s only my master and me. I’m cook and +housekeeper both,” Mrs. Griffin replied, as she poised a black lace cap +on her fingers, and mentally wondered if it wouldn’t be becoming to her. + +They had the usual haggling, the old woman good-humoredly putting down +her goods to Mrs. Griffin’s own prices, remarking as each new purchase +was laid on the pile at the housekeeper’s elbow: “I told you I would +sell you the biggest bargain of the season. They don’t call me Cheap +Jane for nothing!” + +“Is that your name? How funny!” said the housekeeper, laughing. + +“That’s what they call me,” said the female peddler. “Mrs. Broadcloth +is my real name, though.” + +Mrs. Griffin had to laugh again. She thought that the name of +Broadcloth was even more amusing than that of Cheap Jane. There was a +dry humor about the peddler that she rather enjoyed after her forced +seclusion from companionship with her kind. + +“Perhaps you’d like a cup of hot tea before you start out again, Mrs. +Broadcloth,” said she, with reckless hospitality. + +“Thank you kindly,” was the reply, and the old woman drew out a short, +black pipe from, some recess under her coarse cloak. “While you draw +the tea, I suppose you will let me smoke my pipe by your fire,” she +said. + +“Certainly,” assented Mrs. Griffin, and then her heart suddenly misgave +her. + +It occurred to her that, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, +she was making almost too lavish a show of hospitality. + +“Only suppose that Mr. Delaney should happen in! It isn’t likely he +will, but then I’ve heard say that the most unlikely things are always +happening,” she thought, apprehensively to herself. + +“I will step up to his room and see if he wants anything,” was her next +thought, with a view to forestalling his possible intrusion on the +prohibited guest. + +Fortune favored her artful design. At that moment a bell rung from the +upper room that Mr. Delaney occupied as a bed-chamber. + +Mrs. Griffin turned to Cheap Jane, who was contentedly puffing away at +her stubby pipe. + +“There is my master’s bell now,” she said. “Will you just set here all +quiet while I step up and see what he wants?” + +“Yes, go. Don’t mind me,” replied Mrs. Broadcloth, affably. + +The housekeeper opened the door into the hall, closed it carefully +behind her, and went up to Mr. Delaney’s room. + +To her surprise, although it was barely six o’clock, he had retired to +bed. There was a feverish flush on his face, and his dark eyes gleamed +restlessly. + +“Oh, Mr. Delaney, you are ill,” she exclaimed. + +“Hardly that,” he replied, with a forced smile; “but I am certainly +somewhat the worse for the wetting I received this morning.” + +“Oh, sir, you should see a physician!” she exclaimed, alarmed at his +feverish looks. + +“No; the last one did me harm enough by his long tongue,” Mr. Delaney +answered, angrily. “I will have nothing of the kind. I need no one--I +shall be all right in the morning.” + +She saw that persistence would only irritate him, and dropped the +subject. + +“Can I do nothing for you?” she inquired, anxiously. + +“No; I have myself taken some drops that will soon cool my fever. I +shall not take any supper; but, after a while, you may bring me a cup +of tea--nothing else.” + +She beat a hasty retreat, sorry for his sickness, but reflecting that +it stood her in good stead at this particular time, when her loneliness +had led her into such imprudence as admitting a human being under the +tabooed portals of Delaney House. + +“I will go and make the tea, and get her away as soon as I can,” she +thought, hurrying down the wide stairway, along the hall, and so into +the kitchen again, where she had left Cheap Jane contentedly, puffing +at her pipe. + +“Well, now, Mistress Broadcloth, I will put the tea to draw,” she +began, then stopped and stared, and rubbed her hand across her eyes. + +The great kitchen was empty, save for the gray kitten under the stove, +purring away in lazy contentment. The old woman and the big basket were +vanished from the scene as if they had never been. The door by which +she had entered a little while ago, stood wide open, letting in the +cold and the gathering darkness. + +Mrs. Griffin ran down the steps and into the grounds in search of the +missing peddler; but the darkness and a haze of snow were beginning to +fall together, and they soon drove her into the house again. + +“Ah, well-a-day! the strange old creature has taken herself off without +her tea, and just as well, perhaps, for I was on needles and pins for +fear of being caught in her company,” commented the housekeeper. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + +Aline Rodney’s feelings on plunging through the broken ice into the +cold, black waves of the river may be better imagined than described. + +A shiver of mortal cold and terror rushed over her as the icy current +came in contact with her warm, tender young body. She went down, down, +down, with a swift rush and a terrible sensation as of suffocation, +into the infinite depths of death, it seemed to her, and then arose +to the surface and felt the cold, sweet air in her face again with a +sensation of exquisite relief. + +Aline had some little knowledge of swimming. She tried to hold herself +up in the water until relief should come. And a great horror came over +her at the thought of being whirled away under the ice and beyond all +hope of rescue. How terrible it would be to perish miserably under that +sheet of solid crystal, where but a little while ago she had sported +gayly and fearlessly, but which now rose between her and the world like +a glittering wall of destruction. + +She made an effort to keep from drifting away from the wide, ragged +opening in the ice made by the falling through of her body. She knew +that if once swept beneath that terrible crust her death would be +certain. The sounds from above came to her faintly, deadened by the +ringing in her ears, and by the wild shrieks of her brother nearer +at hand. She was conscious of a vague anxiety over her mother, faint +wonder if any of those people who hated her would try to save her life, +and then a numbness induced by the fearful cold overcame her wholly, +her arms ceased to beat the waves in frenzied endeavor, and she felt +herself sinking again to rise no more. + +It was at that awful moment that Oran Delaney sprung boldly into the +terrible death-trap, fearless of danger, and only intent on saving that +frail, weak girl from imminent danger. + +When he first sprung into the river the little dark head was going down +beneath the waves. He was compelled to dive twice before he succeeded +in retaining a hold upon her. When, after a desperate struggle, he +succeeded in holding her above the water, he was almost exhausted +himself. He feared that he would succumb to the dreadful cold himself +before assistance could arrive. + +The forethought of the man who had so fortunately brought ropes stood +him in good stead now. A little longer in the cold waves must have +exhausted his remaining strength. + +He was frightened when they were drawn out of the water, and he saw +Aline’s face clearly. It was pinched and blue, and the parted lips +and closed eyelids looked like death. Had he been too late? he asked +himself, anxiously. + +He saw the unconscious form placed in the vehicle, and driven away +toward home with a silent, speechless trouble in his heart. His +thoughts followed her, in fancy, to that little white chamber where her +parents and the old family doctor hung anxiously over her, trying to +infuse life into the chill and rigid form, that seemed as if it would +never breathe the warm breath of life again. + +“Oh, that I had never taken her to that fatal river! She would not have +gone if I had not urged it!” cried poor Mrs. Rodney, wringing her white +hands in despair. + +She remembered the old fortune teller’s strange words: “The clouds that +overhang your future are so dark and heavy I cannot pierce their gloom. +Perhaps the sun may shine for you again, perhaps never!” + +“It was a true prognostication! That old crone did, indeed, read the +cards of fate truly! It was the shadow of death that hung over my poor +darling!” cried the anguished mother in mingled grief and wonder. + +But she was wrong. The tangled thread of poor Aline’s life was not +broken yet. Her little feet were not done wandering yet through the +weary mazes of the world. + +Insensibly a little warmth began to creep about the poor chilled body, +under the stress of their patient endeavors, a faint pulse fluttered +about her heart, and at length the black fringe of the lashes trembled +feebly against her cheeks. The old physician, standing anxiously over +her, with his hand upon the blue-veined wrist, looked up, and said, +kindly, to the distracted mother: + +“Thank God, she revives! She will live!” + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + +“Aline, you have not asked me who saved your life, yet?” + +“No, mamma.” + +It was the morning after Aline’s almost fatal accident, and she was +sitting up in an easy-chair before the fire, in a pretty, bright blue +wrapper. She was very pale and quiet. She had been listening to her +mother, who had been telling her the details of her rescue, and who now +remarked in wonder: + +“Aline, you have not asked me who saved your life, yet.” + +“No, mamma,” the girl answered, in a tone of visible embarrassment, +while a faint color rose to her cheeks. + +“I should think you would be curious over it,” said Mrs. Rodney, in a +tone of slight disappointment. + +“I have not thought about it,” the young girl replied, evasively. + +“Then you will be astonished when you learn who the person was--the +very last one you or any one else would have thought of,” declared Mrs. +Rodney. + +“You make me feel quite curious, mamma,” said Aline, with a faint +smile, and a tone so listless it belied her assertion of interest. + +“I do not suppose, if you guessed all day, that you would come at all +near the truth,” pursued Mrs. Rodney. + +“I suppose not,” answered Aline, laughingly. + +She leaned back wearily, and watched the leaping flames of the fire +with a smothered sigh. Oh, if only her mother would but drop the +subject. + +But Mrs. Rodney had no intention of doing so. + +“Indeed you would not,” she went on. “You would sooner think of any one +else that you ever knew, though indeed you never knew this gentleman!” + +“Then it was a stranger,” said Aline, seeing that an answer of some +sort was expected, and feeling a guilty consciousness of deceit, for +she had an intuitive knowledge that Mr. Delaney had saved her life. She +had caught a glimpse of his darkly handsome face behind the tree Max +had pointed out to her just as she crashed through the thin ice into +the river. + +“Yes, it was a stranger, although you have seen him a thousand times, +and although you know his name. Prepare to be surprised, my dear. Only +think, it was our unsociable neighbor, Mr. Delaney!” + +Aline knew that she was expected to appear greatly surprised, but to +have saved her life she could not have enacted such a fraud. She was +too frank and honest. She could only falter out, embarrassedly: + +“Mr. Delaney!” + +“Yes! I knew you would be surprised. Every one was,” said Mrs. Rodney. +“I was surprised, and, to tell the truth, Aline, I was proud, too. Just +to think, after the mean way the Chester people had treated us, that +the richest and grandest man in the place should risk his life to save +yours! Oh, how grateful I feel to him for his kindness!” + +“Grateful!” murmured Aline, in an indescribable tone. + +“Yes, indeed!” cried Mrs. Rodney. “Why, my dear, you might have +perished for any help those other men would have given you--that is, +they did bring a rope, but that would not have been any good if Mr. +Delaney had not gone into the water and brought you up from the bottom.” + +“It might have been better had he left me there,” the girl murmured, +half to herself. + +Mrs. Rodney shuddered at the bare thought. + +“Oh, how glad I am that he did not,” she exclaimed. “I feel like going +down on my knees to thank him for his bravery!” + +“Thank _him_! Thank Oran Delaney? Oh, mamma!” cried Aline, with +irrepressible agitation. + +“Why, yes, my dear; of course we should thank him,” cried Mrs. Rodney, +“and yet, strange as it seems, your papa and I are at a loss to know +how to do so. You see, he is so strange. Although he saved your life, +he has never called or sent to inquire how you are. And yet, one would +suppose he would take that much interest in you, seeing that he risked +his life for you.” + +“I dare say he would prefer not being thanked,” murmured Aline. + +“Do you think so? And yet, it would look very ungracious in us to +neglect doing so. It would appear as if we thought the saving of our +daughter’s life not even worthy a word of thanks. I should not like to +have him think that we undervalued either your life or his services,” +said Mrs. Rodney, with natural pride. + +“What can it matter what he thinks? I should not say one word to him,” +cried Aline, with sudden peevishness. + +Mrs. Rodney gazed at her in surprise. + +“Aline, I never did understand your strange nature,” she said, rather +coldly. “Do you mean for me to think that you are not grateful to Mr. +Delaney for his inestimable service in saving you from such a horrible +death?” + +Aline flushed under the rebuking glance her mother bent upon her. + +“Not exactly that, mamma,” she said. “But Mr. Delaney is so unsocial +and retiring, I thought he might not care to be intruded upon, even to +receive our thanks for what he has done. Of course I am grateful. I +was dreadfully frightened down there in the water. I did not want to +die, although I had as well be dead as living, since my life is ruined +and blighted. But I dare say Mr. Delaney has almost forgotten the +occurrence by now, and I do not think we have any right to intrude upon +his privacy even to air our gratitude.” + +Mrs. Rodney did not take this view of the case at all. + +“I should not think it an intrusion if any one came to thank me for +saving life,” she said. “In any case, I shall thank him; but, since he +is so reticent and unsocial, perhaps the best way would be to send him +a letter--don’t you think so?” + +“Yes, I think so,” answered Aline, closing her eyes with a weary sigh. + +She thought of the letter she had thrown into the garden to him, +begging him to save her good name by allowing her to break the vow of +silence he had imposed upon her. He had refused her prayer; he had +allowed her hopes to be ruthlessly blasted, without lifting a finger to +prevent it; and yet he had risked his life to save hers. She could not +understand it. + +“Why was he there? People say he never goes out; yet he was at the +church, and he was at the river. Was he watching me?” she asked +herself, and the thought only made her wonder the more. What did his +interest mean? “Twice I have owed my life to him,” she thought. “And +yet he has suffered me to lose that which was dearer than life--my good +name! I do not know what to think of him--while I hate him for the one +thing, I must needs be grateful to him for the other.” + +She closed her eyes and lay musing on those perplexing questions. Her +thoughts went back to the days she had spent at Delaney House, and +to the horrible mysterious Thing that had so terribly assaulted and +wounded her. She wondered, as she had often done before, what that +creature was to Oran Delaney. Why did he shut himself up alone in that +great gloomy house with such a terrible companion for his solitude? She +shuddered at the thought of it--the ghost of Delaney House as he had +called it. The remembrance of those awful, maniacal shrieks rung in her +hearing often, and often, chilling the bounding life-blood in her young +veins. + +“Perhaps it will kill Mr. Delaney some day,” she said, to herself, and +she shuddered at the thought. Death seemed a terrible thing to this +fair young girl in whose veins the tide of life flowed so strong and +free. She dreaded the cruel grave, its darkness, its nothingness, its +gloom. + +The sudden opening of the door roused her from the gloomy musings that +began to steal over her. + +Mr. Rodney entered abruptly. + +Aline turned her head with a smile toward her father, but the gentle +beam faded from her lips, and a cry of terror broke from her at sight +of his face. + +He was pale to ghastliness, his blue eyes seemed to almost emit sparks +of fire, so angrily did they blaze upon her. His face was almost +contorted with the strong agitation that possessed him. + +Aline half started up, filled with a blind terror. + +“Papa!” she gasped. + +He caught her roughly by the shoulder and shook her so fiercely that +she fell back in her chair, hiding her white face fearfully in her +hands. He looked as if he were about to kill her as she crouched in +her chair, with her face hidden from his wrathful gaze, while she +trembled like a leaf in a storm. + +Mrs. Rodney sprung up and ran hurriedly to him. She caught his arm in +both her delicate white hands. + +“Oh, Mr. Rodney, pray do not be so rough with Aline! You will kill +her!” she cried. + +He shook her off rudely almost as he had shaken his daughter. Indeed, +he was so strongly agitated, that he did not seem to know the extent of +his violence. + +“Better for her if she were dead!” he broke out, bitterly. “Better for +us if she never had been born!” + +“Oh, papa, what have I done?” Aline wailed out, frightened by his +fierce denunciations. + +“Done! What have you not done?” he stormed at her, fiercely. “Oh, +wretched, shameless girl, whom I have nurtured at my fireside and in my +heart! How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have such a child! +Would to God you had perished yesterday rather than live for me to tell +you your shame to-day!” + +“Shame!” the girl broke out with sudden passion and violence, while the +deep color flooded her exquisite face with crimson. “Do not apply that +word to me, papa! I have done nothing, nothing!” + +“What can you mean?” gasped Mrs. Rodney, growing as pale as her +daughter. + +He glared at them fiercely, his handsome face disfigured by passion. + +“I mean,” he said, dropping his voice to a low, tense sound of intense +bitterness--“I mean that I have discovered Aline’s shameful secret.” + +“Papa, papa, you have discovered it! You know it, and yet I have not +had to break my vow! Oh! how glad I am!” cried Aline, and a light of +joy broke over the fair face, almost transfiguring its beauty. Such +happy roses glowed on her countenance, such a radiant light shone in +the deep blue eyes as struck her father with wonder. + +“Aline, I cannot understand what you mean,” he said, sharply. “I have +discovered nothing that could make you happy. This, that I have to +tell your mother, is enough to strike you dead with shame at her feet, +because you have so dishonored her!” + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + +A moment of utter silence ensued upon Mr. Rodney’s excited declaration. + +Mrs. Rodney had fallen into a chair like one stunned at her husband’s +dreadful words. She stared alternately from his face to Aline’s in +hopeless bewilderment. + +But although she was in a maze of wonder, her bewilderment did not by +any means equal that of her daughter. + +Aline had attempted to rise from her seat, but her extreme weakness +forced her to grasp the back of her chair with both hands. She clung +to it tightly, leaning against it while she regarded her father with +startled, wide-open eyes, and slightly parted, tremulous lips. As he +gazed at the fair, wondering, innocent face, he was suddenly reminded +of her childish days. Just so the beautiful face had looked many a +time when, as a willful child, she had been reprimanded and blamed +innocently for many pranks that she had not done; just so the dew of +unshed tears had seemed to glitter on the dark, curling fringe of her +lashes. The appealing innocence of that look cut him to the heart for a +moment, and then he was angry with himself for his weakness. How dare +she look so pure and true when she was such a sinner? + +In a moment she spoke--gently, almost appealingly. + +“Papa, there must be some mistake. You said you knew my secret?” + +“Yes, to my sorrow,” he replied, bitterly. + +“But, papa,” she spoke in a slow, grieved tone, “if you know it, as you +say, why, then, do you talk of shame to me? It you know that secret you +say you know, you must be aware that I have done nothing to blush for. +Why should I fall down dead at my mother’s feet when I have done no +wrong?” + +“Aline, why do you try to keep up that wretched farce?” he exclaimed, +hoarsely, while his eyes flashed luridly. “My God, you, the child we +loved so dearly, the child we thought so innocent and true, you have +been the falsest-hearted girl that ever a mother bore! Even while we +were searching for you in anguish of soul, deeming you lost or dead, +you were heartlessly hiding yourself away in the house of the rich man +yonder. You were living with him in terrible shame. Say, is this not +true?” + +“As God is my judge, papa, you accuse me falsely!” she answered, +lifting her white hand solemnly to heaven, while her beautiful face +flushed a vivid burning scarlet. + +“You deny that you were at Delaney House?” he asked. + +“I cannot answer that question, papa; but I _can_ deny, and I do deny, +your other accusation.” + +“Your word does not signify much in this case,” he said. “I already +have the proofs that you stayed, during the three months of your +absence, at Delaney House.” + +The beautiful blush seemed to burn deeper on the fair young face. + +“Papa, who is my accuser?” she inquired, in wonder. + +“You shall know by and by,” he answered. “I am going to ask you some +questions now. Mind that you answer them truly. There is no longer any +need to keep back the answer to anything I may ask you. All is known.” + +“All?” she echoed, faintly, and with palpable wonder. + +“Yes, all,” he replied. “And first you were at Delaney House, during +the whole three months of your absence. It is too late to deny it. You +must confess all.” + +“But my oath,” she said, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes. + +“Is of no avail, since I have found out the truth without your agency,” +he replied. “The secret is a secret no longer. You may answer freely +all that I ask you.” + +She looked at him dubiously with those beautiful eyes that seemed to +mirror her soul’s purity. + +“I should be glad to answer you, papa, if I thought it were quite +right,” she said. + +“You can take your papa’s word for that,” interposed Mrs. Rodney, +rather peevishly. “He has never deceived you in anything, has he, +Aline?” + +“No, mamma,” she replied. + +“Then tell him what he asks you,” said her mother. + +Aline turned her eyes back to the pale, stern face of her father. + +“Papa, I admit that I was at Delaney House those three months,” she +said, simply. + +“And you were dangerously wounded in the beginning of your stay there,” +he said. “Don’t deny that either, Aline. You bear the scar on your +bosom in witness of the fact.” + +“I admit the wound,” she replied, in the same gentle, obedient way as +before. + +“I must now require you to tell me how you received it,” said Mr. +Rodney, watching her closely. + +She started, and looked earnestly at him. + +“You said that you knew all, papa,” she replied, with a touch of vague +reproach in her tone. + +He could not conceal the embarrassment her words caused him. His +eyelids fell and he stood silent a moment gazing down at the floor. + +“You said that you knew all, papa,” Aline repeated, reproachfully. + +“I know the most and worst,” he replied, looking up at her. “There are +some trifling details with which I am unacquainted. I depend on you to +make me acquainted with them.” + +“But, papa--” she said, and paused, tremblingly. + +“Well?” he said. + +“You know, papa, it would be wrong for me to tell you anything about +that fatal absence of mine. It would be breaking my oath of silence,” +she replied. + +He stifled an impatient exclamation between his mustached lips. + +“But, my child,” he said, in a softer tone than he had yet used, “did +you not promise just now to answer all of my questions?” + +The blue eyes dilated in innocent surprise. + +“Oh, no, papa,” she replied. “I thought it could do no harm to admit +anything that you already knew; so I did not hesitate to own that I had +been at Delaney House, and that I received my wound there. But of the +manner in which I received my hurt I cannot tell you since you do not +know. I am bound to silence. I cannot break my word of honor.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + +Mr. Rodney regarded his daughter with a disappointed and baffled air. +He had set a trap to surprise all the details of her secret from her, +deeming it no harm to do so. But she had been too quick-witted for him. +He saw that he was to learn nothing from her that he did not already +know. + +He was bitterly angry with her. His outraged pride prompted him to +denounce her in the bitterest terms, and to drive her forth from his +roof as one unworthy to dwell in the home she had dishonored. Something +stronger than his own will held him back. + +As he gazed at her clinging feebly to the back of the chair, weak and +white from the effects of her accident yesterday, and with that look +of helpless innocence on the fair young face, his conviction of her +guiltiness was staggered. In the face of all the evidence, in the face +of her terrible silence, he could scarcely believe that his beautiful, +petted daughter was a deliberate sinner. Yet what was the meaning of +the mystery in which she shrouded her absence from her home? Why had +she gone to Delaney House, and what had she been doing there? If Oran +Delaney had wronged his little darling, he said to himself, fiercely, +his life should pay the forfeit. + +“Aline,” he said to her with startling abruptness; “tell me, what is +Oran Delaney to you?” + +She shivered and started as if an icy wind had swept across her. + +“Tell me,” he repeated sharply, “what is Oran Delaney to you?” + +The sweet, frank blue eyes lifted earnestly to his face. + +“He is nothing, papa,” she replied. + +“Nothing _now_, you mean,” he said. “Well, I will put my query in +another shape. What _has_ he been to you?” + +Her heart thrilled bitterly at the pointed question. + +An impulse came over her to tell him the truth--to say, bitterly and +truly, “He has been the evil genius of my life; he has spoiled my +life for me; he has blighted all the budding hopes of my youth, and +made earth a wide Sahara, where I must walk with blistered feet and a +fainting heart.” + +This would have been the truest answer she could have made, she +said, bitterly, to herself; but she shut her lips over the unspoken +words--they were not for her to say. + +“You do not answer me, Aline,” said her father, and then she answered, +gravely: + +“I can only repeat what I said to you before. He is nothing to me.” + +He walked away from her, and went over to the window that overlooked +Delaney House and its beautiful spacious grounds. Drawing aside the +curtain, he looked out upon the scene. The winter snow was falling in +soft, thick flakes, and had been falling thus all day. The ground was +covered with a soft, white carpet, pure and unspotted, for no footfall +had smirched its virgin purity. Through the veil of softly falling +flakes the gloomy gray outline of Delaney House glimmered indistinctly +like a picture. To his wretched, distracted mind, filled with harrowing +suspicions of his child, recurred a line or two from a familiar poem: + + “Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell-- + Fell, like the snow-flakes, from heaven to hell!” + +A groan forced itself through his pale, drawn lips. + +“My God!” he said, hoarsely. “Only to think, Aline, that while we were +distracted over your unknown fate, while we sought you everywhere, +while sleep was a stranger to our eyes and food tasted bitter on our +lips, through the terrible strain of our anxiety for you, that you were +hidden away in my neighbor’s house, within a stone’s throw of your own +home! It was wicked, cruel, heartless!” + +“Heartless!” she echoed, with weary bitterness, and a look of agony +came over the white face. She recalled that time so well when she had +sorrowed to feel what they would think of her at home; how they would +miss her and grieve for her, blaming her for the terrible silence she +was forced to keep. + +“Aline, will you tell me one thing?” he asked. “I suppose it cannot +greatly matter in the keeping of your secret. I am most curious to know +how you left your room that day.” + +“I went through that window, papa,” she answered, thinking that she +might tell him the truth thus far, at least. + +“But how?” he inquired, in palpable astonishment. + +“Down a ladder,” she replied. + +“Placed there by Oran Delaney?” he inquired, smothering a terrible +imprecation on his writhing lips. + +“Yes, papa,” she answered, wearily, for she was weak and tired, and in +his excitement he had not thought of sparing her feeble strength. + +“So then there was really an intrigue carried on between you?” he burst +out, wrathfully. + +“No, papa, there was not. I had never spoken to Mr. Delaney in my life +until that day,” she replied, with such candor that he could not but +believe her. + +“How then did it happen that you allowed him to place a ladder for you +to descend upon?” he asked. + +The pale face grew suddenly scarlet again. + +“Papa, it was the fault of my own willfulness,” she sighed. + +“I told you so, Aline. I always knew that your willful ways would bring +you into trouble,” cried poor, half-dazed Mrs. Rodney. + +“Yes, mamma, dearest, and your words came true--as true as any words +ever spoken in this world,” cried Aline, meekly; and she added, with a +long, heavy sigh, “I do not believe any one ever paid a greater price +for an innocent folly than I have done.” + +Her mother broke into low, heart-broken sobbing, and buried her face in +her handkerchief. + +“Tell us how it came about, Aline,” said her father, impatiently. + +“It was just in this way, papa. I was angry because I was left at home +that day, and I threw the book mamma had given me to read out of my +window into Mr. Delaney’s garden.” + +“Well, go on,” he said, as she paused a moment. + +Aline continued: + +“You see, papa and mamma, I had no idea Mr. Delaney was walking in his +garden that morning. But he was, and when I threw the book it struck +him sharply on his head. He looked up and saw me, and then I was +frightened at what I had done. I spoke to him. I apologized to him and +explained that it was an accident.” + +“And then?” asked Mr. Rodney. + +“He excused me after amusing himself with me a little while. He +evidently thought me nothing but a child,” said Aline. “I am sure I +acted like a child. I told him how much I wanted some of the beautiful +roses in his garden. So he brought an old step-ladder, placed it under +the window, and told me to come down and take all the flowers I wanted.” + +“My God!” groaned her father, gazing at her in despair. + +“I did not mean to do anything wrong. It was only one of my willful +escapades, and I never thought that it could end more seriously than +my other girlish freaks. I went down the ladder, papa, but, indeed, +indeed, I did not mean to stay ten minutes. I just meant to have one +breath of the sweet air under those shady trees, and a bunch of the +roses, and then to come back before cook should find out my absence.” + +“Why, then, did you stay?” he inquired. + +“That, too, was the result of my thoughtlessness and folly. When I +found myself in the garden, among the beautiful flowers, I wandered +away by myself, absorbed in the pleasant task of gathering a huge +bouquet to brighten my lonely room. I was so charmed that I forgot +everything else in my fascinating task. The poet has given us a pretty +and appropriate quotation, papa,” she said, looking at him with a +faint, quivering smile on her marble-white face. + +She repeated it softly: + + “Too late I stayed--forgive the crime! + Unheeded flew the hours. + How noiseless falls the foot of Time + That only treads on flowers!” + +Then she resumed, in a low, sad voice: + +“It was just like that with me, papa. I did not remember anything but +my pleasure in the sweet, fragrant flowers. I kissed their fragrant +velvety faces a hundred times. I patted them softly with loving hands. +I knelt down and whispered to them as if they had been sentient, human +beings. I was filled with pleasure at their lovely forms and exquisite +colors. I gathered one here, another there, until my hands were full. +Never did Time fly so fast. It trod on flowers, indeed, but, ah me! ah +me!” she sighed, clasping her small hands together in agony, “since +then its flight has been slow and dreary, over thorny paths with +bleeding feet.” + +They gazed upon her in troubled silence, knowing not what to say. + +“Even then, papa, mamma, if I had come home when I found out that it +had grown so late all might have been well,” she said. “But the fatal +curiosity our common Mother Eve bequeathed us led me on to my fate.” + +Again they had nothing to say to her. They hung eagerly on her next +words. + +“A bell rang from the house, then, for luncheon, and Mr. Delaney +came to ask me to go to share it,” she went on. “It was then that my +inexcusable folly began. If I had come back home all would have been +well. My foolish curiosity led me to enter the great house of which I +had heard so much.” + +Mrs. Rodney groaned aloud in bitterness of spirit. + +“I went into the grand dining-room and had my lunch--a delicate, +luxurious lunch that appeared to have been spread by invisible +hands, for no one appeared except Mr. Delaney and myself. I feasted +luxuriously, then came out into the hall to return home, full of sudden +dread that the cook had discovered my protracted absence.” + +“And then?” inquired Mr. Rodney, anxiously. + +A look of fear and dread and bitter regret came over the white face of +the tortured young girl. She answered, slowly: + +“Then something happened that was the cause of my remaining hidden away +wretched and maddened for three long months, that seemed longer to me +than all the years of my life that had gone before.” + +“And that something? You must tell us what it was, Aline,” said her +father, sternly. + +“No, papa, I cannot tell you. I have sworn never to reveal it,” Aline +replied, despairingly. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + +Again a disappointed and baffled expression crossed Mr. Rodney’s fine +face. He was cruelly tortured by this dreadful secret that lay, like a +great, inky blot, on the fair fame of his beautiful, beloved daughter. + +“Aline, did you know that it was wrong for you to take such an oath?” +he inquired. + +A piteous look came over the sweet, pale face. + +“It was hard for me to do so, but I did not know that it was wrong,” +she replied. “I was perfectly ignorant, papa, of the dreadful +consequences that would follow upon my silence.” + +“I wish to Heaven that you had never suffered any one to bind you to +such a promise,” he cried. + +“But, papa, he--I mean, I could never have come home unless I had taken +the solemn vow asked of me. At first I refused. I was determined to +reveal all when I reached home. I was stubborn in my refusal to submit. +But--when I found that I would never be permitted to come back unless I +gave way, I yielded. I was so homesick and wretched, papa, that I could +not hold out.” + +He crossed the room to her and took one of the cold, nerveless hands in +his. + +“Aline, forgive me for asking you so hard a question,” he said, “for +sometimes I am tempted to believe in your innocence still, in spite of +all the circumstantial evidences to the contrary. My daughter, will you +swear that you are as innocent and pure as when you left your home that +dreadful day?” + +She lifted her white hand to Heaven and looked at him fearlessly with +her bright, clear gaze. + +“Yes, papa, I swear before Heaven that I am as pure as when I went +away,” she replied. + +Then there was silence for a moment. Mrs. Rodney had fallen down upon +the bed, weeping bitter, but quiet tears. Mr. Rodney walked over to +the window, and stood looking out again at the gloomy outlines of his +neighbor’s house. It had acquired a strange fascination for him since +he had learned that his daughter had been hidden there so long + +“I wonder,” he broke out, abruptly, “what I have ever done to Oran +Delaney that he should have done this thing to me?” + +Aline had sunk wearily into her chair again. She looked around at him +now, earnestly. + +“Papa, I am sure you have done nothing,” she said. “There are reasons +relating to himself that compel him to wish the story of my presence in +his house unknown.” + +“One thing I must know, Aline. This man who has so cruelly blighted all +your prospects in life, does he love you?” + +“No, papa,” she replied, with something like wonder at his question. + +“Yet yesterday he risked his life to save yours.” + +“I think he meant that in some sort as a reparation,” she said, timidly. + +“Then it was he that sent you the ten thousand dollars?” interrogated +her father, quickly. + +“It was he,” she replied. + +“Then you were right not to accept it,” he exclaimed. “Oran Delaney +must make you a greater reparation than that for the ill you have +sustained at his hands.” + +“He will not reveal the secret--we need not hope for it,” Aline said, +despondently. + +“A thousand revealed secrets could not clear the stain from your name, +my poor child,” he answered “You are irretrievably compromised by your +stay in his house. There is but one atonement he can make you, and I, +as the guardian of your honor, shall force him to that if it be at the +point of the sword.” + +“Would you murder Mr. Delaney?” she exclaimed, in horror. + +“I will meet him on the field of honor and fight him until one or +both of us be dead,” Mr. Rodney answered, so resolutely that Aline +shuddered. A vision of the scene he threatened rushed over her mind. +Oh, what a terrible price she was paying for the willful folly of that +summer day long past! + +“Papa, you said there was one atonement he could make,” she said, +timidly. “Will you tell me what you meant?” + +“He must make you his wife, Aline. He must give you the shelter of his +proud, honorable name to wash away the stain he has cast upon your +own. In no other way can he make atonement for his fault,” Mr. Rodney +exclaimed. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + +Mr. Rodney’s firm and decisive declaration had the effect of +frightening his fair young daughter. She looked at him, piteously. + +“But, papa, I do not want to be married,” she exclaimed, with such a +childish air of dismay and surprise that he could have laughed if he +had not been so miserable. “I do not want to be married, I should not +like to be married,” Aline repeated, forlornly. + +“But, my dear, all women marry,” said her father. + +“Not all,” replied she; “I know several who did not. There are Miss +Palmer, Miss Brown, Miss Robinson.” + +“Cross old maids, all of them,” Mr. Rodney replied. “I hope you will +never be an old maid, Aline. Indeed, you must not think of such a +thing. You will have to marry, and the man you marry must be Oran +Delaney.” + +“I dare say he will not want to be married any more than I do,” said +Aline, with unconscious hopefulness. + +A certain hard and grim expression came over Mr. Rodney’s handsome face. + +“He will not have much choice in the matter,” he replied. + +“Oh, papa!” the young girl cried, and a deep color rose up all over her +face. + +“Well?” he said. + +“Would you give me to one who took me unwillingly?” she asked, in a +tone of blended shame and reproach. + +He was silent a moment, and his brows knitted themselves together in +a straight, hard line. Aline, gazing wistfully at him, saw that gray +hairs had come into his brown locks that were not there a few months +ago. Her heart thrilled with pain and remorse. + +“Aline, I do not know how to answer you,” he said. “God knows that I do +not wish to force you upon any man. But your good name is irretrievably +compromised, and nothing can clear it except a marriage with Oran +Delaney. As you are, you can never hope to hold up your head in society +again. As his wife, you would soon live down the scandal that now +assails you. You would have some chance of happiness. He owes you this +reparation, and I, as the true guardian of your happiness and honor, +shall compel him to make it. It he refuses--” he paused, and an ominous +light came into his eyes. + +“If he refuses,” she echoed, faintly. + +“Then I will kill him, or he shall kill me!” he replied, bitterly. + +Aline sat gazing at him like one stunned. All the horror of her +position rushed over her. + +Was there indeed no other way out of the labyrinth of error in which +she was involved than by this dreadful forced marriage? + +All the native pride within her rose up in arms against it. Could she +give herself up to be an unwilling bride forced upon an unwilling +bridegroom? + +She shrunk sensitively from the thought. Better be dead, she thought. + +She looked at her father and said, with a babyish quiver of the sweet, +red lips: + +“Papa, I wish that Mr. Delaney had not saved me yesterday. I should +then have been spared all this trouble and distress. My poor life is +only a sorrow and disgrace to you all.” + +Mr. Rodney did not answer. Perhaps his troubled thoughts ran in the +same channel. + +Aline waited a moment for him to speak, but as he remained silent and +abstracted, she asked, timidly: + +“Papa, will you not tell me how you became possessed of my secret?” + +“What good can it do you to know?” he inquired. + +“None that I can think of,” she replied, wearily. “It was only my +natural curiosity that prompted me to ask the question.” + +“At some other time, Aline, I will tell you,” said her father. “I would +prefer not to do so at present.” + +And after a moment’s hesitation, he abruptly left the room. Aline +remained sitting wearily in her chair, gazing into the leaping flames +of the bright coal fire with sad blue eyes that could scarcely see for +the thick mist of tears that filled them. Her heart ached drearily in +her breast. Something like despair thrilled through her as she sat +there with her small hands folded on her lap. + +“It were better if I had died yesterday--ay, it were better if I never +had been born,” she murmured to herself, with a sudden passionate +bitterness. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + +While Aline sat gazing drearily into the fire that winter eve, the +grave, taciturn master of Delaney House lay languidly on a silken couch +in his quiet library. + +The dark, handsome face had a worn and weary expression. It was pale, +too, and the dark eyes were dim and heavy. His head rested wearily on a +crimson satin cushion, and one hand was pressed against his brow, as if +in pain. + +There was a light tap at the door, and then Mrs. Griffin entered and +replenished the fire, that had commenced to burn low behind the steel +bars of the grate. Then she stood looking at him anxiously a moment. + +“Your head aches?” she asked, questioningly. + +“Slightly,” he replied, indifferently. + +“Can I do nothing for you?” the old woman questioned, kindly. + +“No; it does not matter. The pain will wear itself out by and by.” + +She looked at him wistfully a moment, then went out quietly, leaving +him to silence and repose again. + +The fire crackled merrily in the grate, the clock ticked softly on +the marble mantel. Outside, the noiseless flakes of snow fell lightly +against the window-pane. Gradually the twilight began to fall, and +shadows gathered in the room. + +Mr. Delaney lay very still and quiet, with half-closed eyes shaded by +his hand, his fine features grave even to sadness. In the gathering +obscurity a heavy sigh drifted over his lips. + +Mrs. Griffin came back, lighted the library lamp, then paused and +regarded him with a strange expression. + +He removed his hand and looked at her with his heavy eyes. + +“What is it?” he asked. + +“Oh, Mr. Delaney, there’s some one to see you!” she exclaimed. + +He started up, all his gravity and calmness stirred by angry +displeasure. + +“Some one to see me? Have you forgotten my orders to admit no one?” he +exclaimed. + +“No, sir, I have not forgotten,” she answered. “But she did not knock. +She came slipping in so softly, like a ghost, that I was frightened.” + +“She? Whom?” he exclaimed, hoarsely. + +“Miss Rodney, sir.” + +“Miss Rodney--Aline--here in this house? My God!” he cried, abruptly. + +“Yes, sir, down in the kitchen, waiting to see you,” said Mrs. Griffin. +“You see, I forgot to lock the door, and just at dark the knob turned +soft like, and she came gliding in, still as a ghost and pale as one, +too, sir. And she says to me, weak and nervous-like, ‘I _must_ see Mr. +Delaney, quick. Go and ask him to give me an interview.’” + +He could only stare at her in blank astonishment. + +“I was so surprised and frightened, sir, that I did not speak one word +to her, but just left her standing there shivering in the middle of the +room, and came away to do her bidding. Now, what answer shall I take +back? Will you see her, Mr. Delaney?” + +He hesitated a moment, and Mrs. Griffin added, respectfully: + +“I think she’s in a hurry, sir, and perhaps she’s afraid to stay down +there alone.” + +He drew a long breath and answered: + +“Very well. You may show her up here.” + +Mrs. Griffin turned the dim lamp up to a brighter flame and hastened +away to do his bidding. + +Oran Delaney remained standing in the center of the beautiful, lofty +room, gazing expectantly at the door. + +In a minute he heard Mrs. Griffin’s heavy footsteps in the hall, with +light, quick ones pattering beside them. The door opened quickly, and +Aline entered alone. + +She was wrapped from head to foot in a long, dark cloak, from which +her pale face gleamed like some beautiful white flower. Her dark blue +eyes were black with excitement, her parted, panting lips, from which +the breath came in quick little gasps, showed the haste with which she +had sought his presence. She stood just inside the door, a dark, chilly +little figure from which the melting snow-drops ran down in little +rills upon the velvet carpet. + +Mr. Delaney shook off the trance of wonder that held him and went +forward to meet her. + +“Miss Rodney, what has brought you back to this ill fated house?” he +exclaimed. + +“I knew you would be surprised,” she answered quickly. “Mr. Delaney, I +came here to ask you to marry me!” + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + +If the solid earth had parted beneath Oran Delaney’s feet, he could not +have been more surprised than he was at those words from Aline Rodney’s +lips. He did not answer, only stared at her in hopeless bewilderment. + +“I came here to ask you to marry me,” she repeated, clearly, thinking +he had not heard her, and no blush stained the pale cheek, the white +lids did not droop over the blue eyes that gazed at him frankly and +gravely. What did she mean? Had she gone mad under the stress of her +great trial? + +He went over to her and lifted one of the white hands that hung by her +side. It was cold as ice as he held it in the warm clasp of his own. + +“Aline, child, I do not understand you. What was it you said to me?” + +He saw a little shiver creep over the slender form, but she looked up +at him bravely, and repeated her words: + +“I want you to marry me, Mr. Delaney.” + +“To marry you, Aline? Do you then love me, my poor child?” he asked, +gazing into the clear eyes with sudden compassion. + +She shook her small head gravely. + +“No, but I want to be your wife,” she said, and the words filled him +with the most utter bewilderment. + +There she stood, a young, beautiful, intelligent girl, usurping his +sex’s prerogative with a calm, unblushing face and clear, frank eyes +that regarded him with the innocent light of a child’s--the calmness of +an unawakened heart. + +“You do not love me, yet you wish to be my wife! Aline, are you +dreaming, or am I?” he asked, drawing her forward into the warmth of +the bright fire, for little shivers of deadly cold were shaking the +girlish form from head to foot. + +He saw a sudden, passionate pain flame into the pale face. She threw +out her hand with a gesture of despair. + +“No, I am not dreaming, nor are you,” she said. “I would to God that we +were! This reality is more horrible than any dream!” + +“But, why--why should you wish--wish to--to--” he began, and paused, +unable to continue, and feeling a shamed consciousness of a fiery, +uncontrollable color overspreading his face. To be wooed in this calm, +business-like fashion by this ridiculous child was too strange, too +absurd for anything, and yet there were little thrills of rapturous +emotion tingling along his nerves, his heart was beating quickly with +emotion. + +The girl’s eyes had wandered to the leaping flames of the firelight. +She turned them back gravely to his face. + +“Why do I wish you to marry me?” she said. “I will tell you, Mr. +Delaney. The secret of my stay in this house has been discovered!” + +“You have broken your oath!” he exclaimed in sudden anger. + +She stood before him in proud silence, neither denying nor assenting to +his affirmation. + +Gazing at the fair face a moment he felt that he had wronged her by the +brief suspicion. + +“Aline, forgive me. I see that I am suspecting you unjustly,” he said. +“But tell me, who has revealed the secret?” + +“I do not know,” she answered. “But only a little while ago papa came +in and charged me with it. He was very, very angry.” + +“Angry with you?” he questioned. + +“Angry with you,” she answered, a faint color creeping into the pallid +face. “He told me that you had forever compromised my good name, and +that I could never take my place in the world, in society, unless you +married me.” + +She was speaking to him with the simple directness of a child. He was +staggered by her simplicity--assurance he would have called it in any +other woman. + +“And so he sent you here to ask me?” he said. + +A look of terror came over the fair face. She glanced around her, +fearfully. + +“No, I have stolen away, and if he misses me he will come here to seek +for me,” she said. “I must hurry back, but first I must have an answer +to my question. Tell me, Mr. Delaney, will you do as I have asked you?” + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + +It was the strangest question Oran Delaney had ever heard from a girl’s +lips. He said to himself that Aline Rodney’s simplicity was simply +matchless. If she had been reared within the walls of a convent she +could not have seemed more ignorant of the offense she was committing +against society, against the creed of the whole world, in asking a man +to marry her, and thus usurping his masculine prerogative. + +Breaking in upon his stupid silence, she continued: + +“Only a marriage in name, you know, Mr. Delaney. I should not live with +you, of course. Neither of us would care for that. If you gave me the +shelter of your name at the altar I would go back then to my father’s +house, and never trouble you again!” + +“You do not know what you are saying!” he cried out, passionately. +“Never trouble me again! Oh, my God!” + +“Indeed I should not, Mr. Delaney!” she cried out, hastily, and quite +mistaking the cause of his agitation. “I should never come here again. +All that I wish is to satisfy papa and the world. The simple marriage +ceremony would do that.” + +“And you would be content with that, Aline?” he asked, gazing down into +her splendid violet eyes with a look she could not understand. + +“Quite content,” she answered, letting the long fringe of her lashes +droop low before that anxious gaze. + +“But I am a wealthy man, you know, Aline,” he said. “Should you not +wish to have some of my income settled upon yourself?” + +She raised her blue eyes fearlessly to his face. + +“I think I have told you before that the wealth of the world could not +make up to me for the trouble you have caused me,” she said, proudly. + +“And you would refuse it even as my wife?” he asked. + +“Yes,” Aline answered, steadily, and then there was a brief silence. +The man turned his back upon her and walked to the furthest corner +of the room. In that moment he was paltering with the most terrible +temptation of his life. The angels of good and evil were fighting +fiercely for his soul. + +She waited in nervous impatience for him to return to her, and when he +did after a few minutes, she spoke eagerly, without waiting for him to +speak: + +“Well, your answer, Mr. Delaney--is it yes or no?” + +He parried the question by one that was cruel and cut deep: + +“Miss Rodney, do you know that it is a bold and unmaidenly act for you +to ask a man to marry you?” + +The barbed shaft went home. The slight form quivered as if transfixed +by an arrow, the blue eyes dilated and looked at him with an agony of +reproach in their lustrous depths. + +“Did you not know it?” he repeated, harshly, almost sternly, while he +averted his eyes in cold disdain. + +“I should have known it if--if only I had stopped to think,” she +cried, and the great waves of crimson began to roll over her face on +which he would not look. “I was so frightened for you that I put self +aside. I thought only of saving you, and now”--she broke down suddenly, +and finished the sentence through hard, dry sobs, “now you scorn and +despise me!” + +“Why were you frightened for me?” he asked, curiously. + +“No matter--and yet God knows I would have saved you if I could--do +not forget that, Mr. Delaney, since you will not marry me!” she cried, +desperately. + +“No, I will _not_ marry you!” he cried, with a furious bitterness that +was quite inexplainable. “Oh, go, girl, go! Why do you stay here to +torture me thus?” + +“I am going,” she answered, with a proud bitterness, as she tore the +door open and rushed from the room. She ran along the hall, down the +stairway, flew through the hall and the kitchen, pausing not until she +found herself again out in the dark, starless night, with the soft, +swift flakes of snow still falling steadily, and wrapping old Mother +Earth in a pure white winding sheet. + +“I shall never go home again--never!” said the girl, lifting a white, +desperate face in the wintery darkness. “May God pity and guide me in +my wretched exile!” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + +Oran Delaney drew a long breath of relief as the door closed behind the +slender form of Aline. + +He had been face to face with a great temptation, and he had mastered +it by the strength of an indomitable will. But the great drops of sweat +beaded his white brow as he sunk into a chair and gazed blankly at the +carved oaken door that had shut Aline out from his sight. + +“She thinks me cold, cruel, heartless,” he muttered. “But, oh, my God, +what if I had taken her at her word? Ah, no, no, better let her go pure +and innocent, though miserable, than such a fate as that, poor child.” + +He remained silent a few moments, then rose from his chair and began to +pace restlessly up and down the floor. + +“Ah, Heaven, if only I knew what to do!” he cried. “It is a shame that +her pure, sweet life should be sacrificed to the keeping of my bitter +secret. Ah, if only I could beat down my wretched pride and confess the +truth! Aline, Aline, I would give uncounted gold if only I had never +seen your face.” + +His distracted thoughts received a sudden and startling interruption. + +A sound he had not heard for years echoed loudly through the house. + +It was the peal of the long-unused door-bell. Once, twice, thrice, it +echoed through the house, loudly and harshly, as if grasped by a hasty +and authoritative hand. + +Mrs. Griffin came flying into the room and met her master coming out. + +“Oh, sir, the door-bell,” she gasped, breathlessly. + +“Go back and guard her,” he answered. “I will answer the bell myself.” + +He went with slow steps along the hall. Something told him what was +coming. He was not surprised when he opened the door and saw his +neighbor on the threshold. + +“Mr. Rodney!” he exclaimed. + +“Mr. Delaney!” replied the other as he stepped deliberately into the +wide, dimly-lighted hall. + +And then they stood gazing at each other in silence a moment. Mr. +Rodney spoke first in low, deep voice of concentrated bitterness and +repressed fury. + +“I have come for my daughter,” he said. + +“She is not here,” Mr. Delaney answered, steadily. + +Mr. Rodney’s hand clinched itself as it hung by his side, until the +sharp nails were buried in the tender flesh. + +“Do not answer me with falsehoods,” he said, fiercely. “She has fled +from her home, and I am quite sure that she is here.” + +“I repeat that she is not here,” answered the master of Delaney House, +with a forced calmness. “She was here but a little while ago, but she +went away again.” + +“Went away again,” repeated Mr. Rodney, with white lips. “Where did she +go?” + +“Where should she go but to her home?” queried Oran Delaney, in amaze. + +“Where, indeed?” echoed the distracted father. “You might better ask +yourself that question, Oran Delaney! You who have ruined her young +life, might know better how to answer it!” + +“Come with me, Mr. Rodney. We have much to say to each other,” said +Oran Delaney. + +He led his uninvited guest up to the quiet library where but a little +while ago Aline had stood, asking him to save her ruined life by making +her his wife. It was the father now instead of the daughter--quite a +difference, Oran Delaney said to himself, with grim pleasantry. + +He placed a chair for Mr. Rodney, but the latter declined it and stood +up stiffly, with his arms folded over his breast. Their glances met, +and Mr. Delaney saw bitter hatred in the dark-blue eyes whose likeness +to Aline’s struck him with a strange pain. + +“You have come to curse me, Mr. Rodney,” he said, drawing a long, deep +breath. + +“I have come to do more than that,” the man answered, passionately. “I +have come to demand reparation for my daughter’s wrongs!” + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + +It was exactly what Oran Delaney was prepared to hear. Nay, he would +have been disappointed if the proud, noble looking man before him had +not made that passionate, determined assertion. He said to himself +that, if he had been the father of Aline Rodney, he would have killed +any man who had thus shadowed her life. He knew that he had a true man +and a devoted father to deal with, and the groan that struggled up +from his breast was not one of fear, but rather of grief that he could +not make the reparation demanded. + +“Let me ask you one question, Mr. Rodney,” he said. “Who has betrayed +Aline’s secret to you?” + +Mr. Rodney looked at him steadily, as he answered: + +“I have no objection to telling you, sir. It was a New York detective, +who has been upon Aline’s track ever since her first disappearance from +her home.” + +“How has he discovered it?” Mr. Delaney exclaimed, while a terrible +pallor overspread his face. He knew what those keen New York detectives +were. Was all his humiliating secret, indeed, revealed to the carping +world? + +“I cannot tell you that,” Mr. Rodney answered. “It is the man’s own +secret. Suffice it to say that I am now fully aware that Aline spent +the three months of her strange absence under this roof. You will not +deny that fact?” + +“Would to God that I could!” groaned Oran Delaney, involuntarily. + +“Ah! you are frightened at the consequences of what you have done!” +sneered the outraged father. + +It he had expected to arouse a tempest of wrath in the other by his +contemptuous sneer, he was mistaken. Mr. Delaney looked at him gravely, +even sadly, but he made no answer to the angry words, His heart and +mind were in a tumult. He could not think clearly. Aline’s beautiful, +anguished face kept rising between him and her father. It haunted him, +he could not banish it from his thoughts. + +“Because I have grieved her so, I will speak no angry words to her +father,” he said to himself. + +He turned to the angry man and said, with grave dignity: + +“I am quite willing to offer you all the reparation in my power, Mr. +Rodney, for the injury I have done you and your daughter.” + +“I think you know that there are but two ways of settling our +difficulty,” Mr. Rodney said, gazing sternly into the troubled eyes of +his neighbor. + +“You mean--” + +“The first way would be to marry my daughter and give her the shelter +of your name,” said Mr. Rodney. + +“And the second?” queried his neighbor. + +“Satisfaction at the sword’s point” the other answered, sharply. + +“A duel?” Mr. Delaney exclaimed. + +“Yes.” + +Then for a brief space they were silent, and gazed gravely at each +other. The visitor was the first to break the deep, strange silence +that reigned in the room. + +“You have your choice, sir. Which shall it be--a death or a bridal?” + +“Most unfortunately, I can have no choice in the matter,” Oran Delaney +answered, in calm, repressed tones that showed no trace of fear or +dread. “It must be the duel.” + +“You refuse to marry Aline--you prefer death rather than be the husband +of my beautiful child!” Mr. Rodney exclaimed, in mingled anger and +wonder. + +“I have already told you that I have no choice,” the other answered. + +“Of course you will allow me to doubt that assertion?” sneeringly. + +“I will allow _you_ to do so for your daughter’s sake: but it would not +be safe for any other man to say so much before my face.” + +They gazed fixedly at each other. Mr. Rodney’s lips were just starting +to speak, when the contemplated words were frozen on his lips by a +terrible interruption. That terrible voice, which any one who had ever +heard it never forgot, rang suddenly and startlingly through the house, +waking all the sleeping echoes into awful life. Mr. Rodney’s blood +tingled in his veins, every individual hair on his head seemed to stand +erect with horror. He sprung forward and caught Mr. Delaney by the arm. + +“What is it?” he cried, hoarsely. + +His host did not answer for a moment. He stood still, listening to +those ringing cries with a look like despair on his face. + +“What is it?” Mr. Rodney repeated. + +Then Mr. Delaney turned his tortured eyes on the other’s face. + +“It is the ghost of Delaney House,” he said, in a changed and hollow +voice. + +“The ghost!” Mr. Rodney cried. + +“Yes,” Mr. Delaney answered, and then both were silent, while those +shrill cries filled their ears with a horrible din. + +A pause, and then Mr. Delaney said, abruptly: + +“Do not think me inhospitable, but you had better go. Delaney House is +no place for you or any one. It is haunted. It is the abode of unhappy +spirits. Go now, and send some one to me in the morning on the business +you propose.” + +Mr. Rodney obeyed mechanically. He was so surprised and confused by the +sudden, dreadful sounds that still assailed his ears that he seemed to +have no volition of his own. He moved toward the door that Mr. Delaney +held open, and passed quickly through it, followed by his host. + +“Are you sure that Aline is not here?” he asked, as they passed through +the hall, his mind suddenly recurring to the fact of her absence an +hour ago which had been discovered by her mother and reported to him in +a frenzy of alarm. + +“I give you my word of honor that she left me only a minute before you +entered. You must have met her only for the darkness of the night. I +am quite sure you will find her at home when you return,” Oran Delaney +answered, confidently. + +“I shall send a friend to you in the morning to make arrangements,” Mr. +Rodney said, presently. + +“Very well. I shall make my will to-night,” Mr. Delaney answered, with +grim pleasantry. + +Then he opened the heavy door and ushered his visitor out into the +snowy night, in whose gloom and darkness Aline had disappeared a little +while ago. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + +When the retreating footsteps of his neighbor had died in the stillness +of the night, Oran Delaney closed and locked the door against the outer +darkness and returned to the library. He walked to the hearth and stood +there gazing thoughtfully down into the glowing fire. + +“The last night of my life, perhaps,” he said, half aloud. “Ah, me! how +terribly I have been tempted to-night! How easy it would have been to +have flung honor to the winds and yielded to the impulse that prompted +me to seek happiness at whatever cost. Happiness--‘ay, there’s the +rub’--should I have been happy? Would not conscience have pursued me +with the bloodhounds of remorse?” + +The weird shrieks of the fabled ghost of Delaney Hall had died away +into silence now. In the stillness of the room a heavy sigh was +distinctly audible as it drifted across the dark mustached lips. + +“Poor child! Now I understand why she came to me on that strange +mission to-night. She would have sacrificed herself to appease her +father’s wrath and to save me! And I had to be cruel and unkind to her +because I was not free!” + +The wind sighed in the trees outside, and the bare branches rustled +eerily. He thought to himself, with a shudder, that the snow must be +deep by now. It had been falling almost steadily since yesterday. He +remembered how the melting flakes had trickled down from Aline’s dark +cloak. + +“It must be cold and deep by now,” he thought. “I wish to Heaven that I +were lying beneath it! Perhaps I shall be soon.” + +He went to his desk, drew out writing materials, and began to write +steadily. Half an hour passed in this occupation, when he was suddenly +startled again by the loud alarum of the door-bell. The harsh clang +pealed through the house discordantly. He pushed back his chair and +hurried out into the hall. + +“It grows late. Who can be coming now?” he said. + +He opened the heavy door, and in the dim light of the hall lamp again +saw Mr. Rodney’s face. It was pale with deadly wrath, the blue eyes +were lurid with rage. + +“You have deceived me, Oran Delaney,” he blazed forth, in accents of +concentrated rage and hate. “Aline has never returned to her home. She +is still here!” + +“Here!” echoed the astonished master of Delaney House. + +“Yes, here!” Mr. Rodney answered, stormily. “You need not deny it! Oran +Delaney, if you do not give me back my child, I will kill you where you +stand!” + +The other reached out and drew the half-frantic man into the hall, +closing the heavy door. + +“My God, what do you mean?” he cried. “Aline not returned to her home?” + +Astonishment and dismay were depicted on his countenance, but the +infuriated man would not believe the signs of alarm and dread written +on the face of the man whom he believed to be the destroyer of his fair +young daughter’s happiness. + +“Do not act a part with me,” he cried. “I warn you I will not bear it. +Aline has left her home and fled to your protection. If you do not +immediately restore her to me, I will not answer for the consequences!” + +“She is not here, Mr. Rodney. I swear to you that she left this house +five minutes before you entered it, this evening.” + +“I will not listen to your prevarications. I _know_ that Aline is here. +I will not leave Delaney House to-night without her!” cried Mr. Rodney, +in a low tone of deadly menace, as he fixed his lurid, blazing eyes on +the face of the man whom he hated with a terrible hate. + +He was cruelly tortured. The thought of Aline’s dishonor was like a +thorn in his heart. He was filled with a deadly rage against her. She +was so young and beautiful to be so wicked. He felt as if he could +easily kill her--her and the man who had so cruelly wrecked her young +life. + +The grim, hard smile that played around his writhing lips in the dim +light of the stately old hall was terrible to see. + +“I am a desperate man,” Mr. Rodney continued, hoarsely. “You have taken +from me my ewe-lamb. You must look to yourself. I shall not leave this +house to-night until I find her. If you do not give her up, I shall +search the house for her--ay, even if I have to pass over your dead +body to do so!” + +They stood looking at each other steadily. Oran Delaney had whitened to +a deadly pallor. + +“Mr. Rodney, you know not what you ask,” he said. “Can you not take my +word of honor that your daughter is not here? If you searched my house +thrice over you would find nothing but dust and gloom and ghosts of the +dead past.” + +“What about the hidden blue room?” sneered Mr. Rodney. + +Mr. Delaney changed color at those words. + +“The blue room?” he stammered. + +“Yes, the blue room where you kept my child hidden so long. Let me look +there,” said Mr. Rodney. + +“It is empty. There is no one there,” said Mr. Delaney. + +“It is a falsehood! I do not believe you!” Mr. Rodney cried out, beside +himself with fury, and for a moment there reigned an ominous silence. +The hot blood leaped to Oran Delaney’s dark face, his black eyes blazed. + +“I come of a race that does not brook such words as those, Mr. Rodney,” +he said, coldly and sharply. + +“Clear yourself of the imputation, then, by proving your innocence,” +the other retorted. + +“My word is my proof,” Mr. Delaney replied, proudly, and again there +was a short silence. + +Mr. Rodney, goaded to madness by his wrongs, raised his head and +regarded his foe fixedly. + +“I do not take your words as proof,” he said, angrily. “I demand the +right to search this house. Do you allow it?” + +“No!” thundered Mr. Delaney, fiercely. + +“Then I shall do so without your consent!” exclaimed Mr. Rodney, +advancing and attempting to thrust him aside. + +Oran Delaney firmly barred his further progress by placing himself +between him and the stairway. + +“You dare thwart a wronged and maddened father!” cried Mr. Rodney, in +almost maniacal wrath. “You thus bring down doom upon your own head! +Thus do I avenge poor Aline’s wrongs!” + +A pistol gleamed in his upraised hand; there was a sharp report, a +flash of fire, a cloud of thick smoke. Oran Delaney fell forward on his +face, and lay there motionless. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + + +Mr. Rodney did not pause to see the result of his maddened deed. He +threw the smoking pistol far from him, sprung over the body of his +prostrate victim, and rushed up the stairs, two at a time, in his +eagerness to find his runaway daughter. + +At the head of the stairway he found himself in another long, wide +hall, richly carpeted and dimly lighted by a large swinging lamp. On +either side stretched a row of closed doors, and as he gazed at them +irresolutely one on the left opened hurriedly, and a woman rushed out +and came running down the hall toward him. His heart leaped into his +mouth. Could that be Aline? + +But as she came quickly up to him, he saw that he was mistaken. It was +not Aline. It was an old woman in a cap and glasses. + +She ran up to him and caught him quickly by the arm, and then he saw +that there had been a mutual mistake, for when she saw his face she +recoiled from him in terror. + +“My God!” she said, “I thought that it was Mr. Delaney. What are you +doing here, sir?” + +“I am seeking my daughter. Bring her to me, woman,” he cried, wildly, +catching her by the sleeve as she was about to rush away from him. + +“You are Mr. Rodney,” she said, looking curiously into the strange face +with its wild, excited eyes. + +“Yes, I am Mr. Rodney,” he answered, in hoarse, strained accents. “I +am the father of the wickedest girl that ever cursed a father’s life. +Woman, woman, where is my Aline? Bring her here to me, that I may curse +her for her sins!” + +“O, Mr. Rodney, she is not here,” cried Mrs. Griffin, regarding his +wild strange visage tearfully. + +“It is false. I _know_ that she is here,” he thundered at her. + +“Oh, sir, you are mistaken. Miss Rodney is not here,” she answered. +“But I heard the sound of a shot. What was it? My master--” + +“Yes, I have murdered your master. He stole my pure darling from me, +and now he has paid for the sin with his life. He lies down there in +his own hall, shot to the heart by an avenging father,” cried Mr. +Rodney, with a harsh laugh, of satiated hate and revenge. + +Mrs. Griffin did not wait to hear another word. She pushed him from +her, with a piercing cry of grief and terror, and ran headlong down the +stairway. Mr. Rodney, released from her detaining presence, set about +his search for his missing daughter. + +Outside, the soft, cruel snow still fell with slow regularity, and the +rising wind tossed it into deep, treacherous drifts. He dreamed not +that while he sought her amid the gloomy splendor of Delaney House, his +fair and tender Aline was wandering in all the perils of that winter +night. He did not believe the combined assertions of Oran Delaney and +his housekeeper that Aline was not in the house. + +Where could she be but here? he thought, and in his heart he vowed that +if he found her he would kill her, too--the wicked girl who had broken +her father’s heart and made him a wretched murderer. + +In his horror at her sin, he was fast becoming a monomaniac. The blood +upon his hands only whetted his thirst for more. In his madness, it +seemed to him that the horror of her sin could only be wiped out in her +blood, shed as an expiation. + +He had vaguely noticed that the door from whence Mrs. Griffin had +issued had been left slightly ajar. Perhaps she was in there, he +thought. He would go and see. + +He crept softly along the hall toward the door of that room. He vaguely +wondered if this was the hidden blue room of Dr. Anthony’s story. +Would his sight be blasted by the sight of her, his little Aline, who +had been the pet and darling of his life, sitting there contentedly +in splendid sin, mistress of the vile wretch whom he had slain in his +anger? + +He crept softly to the door and peered in through the narrow crevice +made by the slight opening of the unlatched door. He peered into the +room, and it was with difficulty that he repressed a cry of horror. +Heavens! Was this a fiend that his straining gaze encountered? + +It was a large, splendidly furnished room into which he gazed, all +purple and gold, with soft, luxurious couches and chairs, large, fine +pictures on the walls, and everything that could please the eye save +and except the many little objects of delicate _bric-à-brac_ in which +feminine eyes and tastes delight. The room was utterly void of such +trifles. It was splendidly, even garishly furnished, but everything was +strong and substantial. There was nothing light and airy in the large, +lofty apartment, with its large, white lamp swung from the ceiling +out of reach, and the glowing fire before which a wire guard had been +carefully placed. + +But the wire guard had been ruthlessly torn away from the fire now, and +the sole inmate of that luxurious room was a creature that might have +struck terror to a heart even more desperate than was the lawyer’s as +he gazed into the room. + +“My God, what is it? Can it be a human creature, or is it a fiend from +the nether world?” he asked himself. + +He might well ask himself the question. The creature on which he gazed +was a small, misshapen thing, with such horribly distorted features, +as caused a shudder of loathing to run through Mr. Rodney. The crooked +form was clothed with an almost barbaric splendor of apparel--in +crimson satin, embroidered in golden thread, while the fire of +priceless diamonds flashed from the yellow arms and neck, and upon the +tangled braids of coarse, black hair that fell down her back. + +She--for he had concluded that it was a woman from the long, black +hair, and the womanly apparel--had snatched a fire-brand from the +glowing grate, and was now running about the room, uttering discordant +shrieks of fiendish glee, while with a ruthless, vandal hand she held +the flaming brand now here, now there, against the satin hangings and +the filmy lace curtains, the lambrequins, the silken fringe of the +chair-covers, until all became a smoldering mass, through which small +jets of lurid flame began to creep weirdly. + +Mr. Rodney gazed for a moment like one fascinated upon this horrible +scene, and then he made a bold and desperate dash into the room. + +He ran up behind the horrible fire-fiend, threw his arm over her +shoulder, and wrenched the flaming brand from her clasp, threw it down +upon the floor, and trampled it into a black, charred mass. Then he was +obliged to turn round and defend himself. + +For the dreadful woman had thrown herself fiercely upon him, and was +choking his life out with her long, talon-like fingers and sharp nails, +that held his throat in a vise-like pressure. Half strangled, he made +a supreme effort against the furious maniac, and succeeded in tearing +her hands away from their murderous hold. She was wonderfully strong +and agile, but he held her firmly, and wild screams of rage issued +from her distorted lips. He recognized the sounds as those that had so +frightened him in the earlier part of the evening. + +“This, then, was the ghost of Delaney House!” he thought grimly. “My +God what can this terrible creature be to Oran Delaney, and does Aline +know of her existence?” + +He held her firmly by both hands while she bit and tore and raved in a +frenzy of maniacal fury. He was perplexed what to do with her. He knew +that she was a dangerous creature, but he would not have harmed her for +the world. She was already too terribly blasted in body and mind. But +he longed to make some disposal of her that he might make some effort +to quench the smoldering flames that already filled the room with a +thick and suffocating black vapor. + +She solved the question for him herself by suddenly wrenching her hands +from his and making a rapid exit through the open door. It did not +occur to him to follow her. Instead he threw all his energies into the +task of subduing the flames. + +He tore down the heavy satin hangings and trampled them beneath his +feet, he found an ewer of water and deluged the smoking cushions of the +chairs and lounges fighting bravely amid the smoke and fire, reckless +that his strong hands were torn and burned with the superhuman efforts +that he made. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + + +But when all was done that a brave and energetic man could do Mr. +Rodney found that his efforts had been spent in vain. + +The maniac fire-fiend had fired the filmy lace curtains and the blaze +ran along the inflammable material, licking it up with a fiery tongue +of flame and mounting to the ceiling where it ignited the curtain-rods +and then the ceiling. The lawyer gazed at it an instant, and seeing the +leaping tongues of flame spurting out he realized that he could do no +more toward stopping the fire. He ran out of the smoking-room to give +the alarm in the street, forgetting for a moment the terrible deed he +had done and that his own safety demanded instant flight. + +Rushing wildly down the stairs he encountered Mrs. Griffin coming up at +a pace as headlong as his own. + +She caught him entreatingly by the arm. + +“Oh, sir,” she cried “you have not quite killed him! He breathes +yet--he can talk a little. Oh for pity’s sake bring some one to him. I +cannot leave him alone to go myself.” + +Her words recalled him to himself. In the excitement of the past few +moments he had momently forgotten that down-stairs in the wide hall lay +a man whom he had ruthlessly slain. It rushed over him now with a keen +pang of remorse. + +“He lives!” he exclaimed and there was a keen note of relief in his +voice. Already the thought of murder had begun to lie heavily on his +hitherto unspotted soul. + +“Yes, and you must bring a doctor quick,” Mrs. Griffin said imploringly. + +He glanced back up the wide stairway into the hall. It was already +filled with a volume of thick smoke that was pouring out from the +doorway of the room he had just quitted. + +“Look!” he said. + +Her glance followed his. + +“My God! have you fired the house?” she cried, in a terrified tone. + +“No; but it was fired by the hand of a deformed maniac in that room you +quitted,” he answered. + +“And she?” cried Mrs. Griffin. + +“Has escaped!” he answered. + +“Oh, I always thought it would come to this!” cried the housekeeper, +wringing her plump hands. “I thought she would murder us all in our +beds, or set fire to the house; and she has done it, just as I thought +she would. And where is she, Mr. Rodney--not in that room, surely?” + +“No; she ran away after she had half strangled me!” he replied, with a +shudder at the remembrance of the uncanny creature. + +“My God, then she has escaped! Oh, what will Mr. Delaney say? I must +go and find her! She must not leave the house!” cried Mrs. Griffin, +breaking from him and continuing her flight up the stairs. + +He followed and overtook her. + +“Woman, are you mad?” he cried to her. “Of course she must leave +the house. Every one must leave it. It will be burned to the ground +presently! And hark you, if my erring child is here--if she perishes in +this holocaust of flame--her blood will be upon your head!” + +“Oh, Mr. Rodney, she is not here!” Mrs. Griffin answered, so earnestly +that he could not but believe her. “She was here a little while ago, +but she went away. I let her out of the kitchen door myself. I saw her +go away.” + +“Then, where can she have gone?” he cried distractedly. + +“I do not know; but I must find that poor crazy soul!” she cried, +again breaking from him and fearlessly rushing into the smoke filled +hall. + +Mr. Rodney ran down the steps, flung wide the front door, and sent his +voice ringing out into the snowy night: + +“Fire! fire! fire!” + +A distant shout answered him from some belated wayfarer whose ear had +been caught by the ominous words. He waited for no more, but, leaving +the door ajar, ran back into the hall, and knelt down by the side of +the man whom, in his murderous wrath, he had tried to murder just now. + +Mr. Delaney lay quite still and motionless in the spot where he had +fallen, save that Mrs. Griffin had turned him over upon his back, +giving him better facilities for breathing. The long fringe of the +lashes lay dark and stirless, against his cheeks, but his chest heaved +faintly, showing that life was not quite extinct. Strange to say, Mr. +Rodney was overjoyed to find that he lived. + +“I am glad I did not kill him,” he muttered. “For deeply as I have been +wronged, it was terrible to feel myself a murderer.” + +He examined the wound, and found that his bullet had entered Mr. +Delaney’s shoulder near the breast, but not necessarily in a vital +part. With care he might, perhaps, recover. + +“But what shall I do with him now?” he thought, in perplexity, hearing +a babel of voices outside. “He cannot remain here, and it would be too +dangerous to remove him far.” + +He decided rapidly that he could not do less than to remove him to the +cottage. + +By some strange revulsion of feeling, he was now most anxious to save +the life of the man whom but a little while ago he had been tempted to +kill. + +A score of men came hurrying over the threshold of the open door just +then. By the help of some of these the wounded man was carefully +removed to Mr. Rodney’s house, a physician was hastily summoned, and +the men returned to the scene of the fire. The only fire-engine the +small town afforded was quickly upon the spot, and every effort was +made to save the burning house. + +But all in vain. The devouring element had obtained too deadly a +headway. It was impossible to beat back the swiftly encroaching +flames. They leaped into the air like hydra-headed serpents, coiling +and twisting in mad delight over their doomed prey; they lighted the +darkness of the snowy night into fierce and lurid grandeur; they licked +up at a breath the beautiful articles of _virtu_ that generations of +dead and gone Delaneys had gathered in their ancestral home at the +cost of many thousands of dollars. They spared naught that came in +their way, and when the gray dawn looked with dim eyes at the scene of +desolation, nothing remained of the Delaney House but a huge black pile +of smoking ruins. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + + +It was a strange mockery of fate that had thrown Oran Delaney, wounded +and helpless, beneath the roof of the man whom he had injured, and who +had wounded him near unto death. + +Yet so it was; and he was likely to remain there several weeks, for +the physician, who was summoned to attend him, declared that the wound +was a serious, if not fatal, one, and that it would be some time before +he could be moved with safety. + +Mr. Rodney, who had been temporarily maddened by excitement last +night, had come to his senses now. He made no attempt to fly from the +consequences of his assault upon Oran Delaney. He went and delivered +himself up to the authorities, accusing himself of the crime. + +They laughed at him at first--it was so strange for a man to accuse +himself of crime without even a witness to testify against him--but +he insisted that his statement was true; so they put him under bonds +to appear when Mr. Delaney was well enough to come into court, and +released him. + +In a day or two, when he was well enough to be seen, he told Oran +Delaney what he had done. + +“So that, whether you live or die, your wrong will be avenged,” he +said, grimly. + +“I do not wish it so,” said Oran Delaney, gravely. “In any case, I +shall not appear against you. You only did what I, in your place, would +have done. No one can blame you.” + +Mr. Rodney said to himself that if the man’s sense of honor was so +lively, he should not have acted as he did with regard to Aline. He +said nothing, however--only turned upon his heel and left the room. His +heart was on fire with anxiety, for he had heard no word of Aline since +that snowy eve when, finding that her secret was discovered, she had +fled from her home. + +Neither had any trace been found of the escaped lunatic who had fired +Delaney House. Mrs. Griffin had been so suffocated by the smoke and +flame of the hall that she had been unable to prosecute her search far. +She had been forced to retreat before she had penetrated all the rooms. +It was the same way with the men who had gone to the rescue. The smoke +and flame had beaten them quickly back. So it was not certainly known +yet whether the dreadful creature had fallen a victim to the fury of +the fire her own hand had kindled, or if she had wandered out into the +stormy night and perished in some of the huge drifts of snow that the +wild wind had blown together in out-of-the-way places. + +But the storm was over now, and the deep snow was melting away. It was +three days since Delaney House had been burned. + +The hidden secret for whose keeping poor Aline Rodney had paid so dire +a penalty, belonged to the world now. Oran Delaney, in the troubles +that had crowded thickly upon him, had thrown pride to the winds and +revealed all. + +Let us listen to him as he tells his own story to Mr. Rodney. + +“I will tell you my story briefly now,” he said, “and then you will +understand why I have led such a strange, retired life. And,” he added, +with a dark-red flush creeping over his handsome face, “you will know, +too, that I have never harmed your beautiful young daughter as you +think. She is as innocent and pure as she is fair.” + +Somehow the words carried conviction to Mr. Rodney’s heart. He waited +eagerly for the story Mr. Delaney had promised to tell him. + +His first words filled him with horror and amazement. + +“That poor, deformed maniac whom you saw in that upper room, who set +fire to Delaney House, was my wedded wife,” he said, with a shudder he +could not repress. + +“Great Heavens, your wife! How could you wed that creature?” Mr. Rodney +cried out, startled. + +“How, indeed!” echoed Mr. Delaney, with a groan. “But that is what I am +about to tell you. I was made the innocent victim of a terrible fraud.” + +Mr. Rodney began to feel strangely interested in this man whom his +avenging bullet had laid low upon a bed of pain. He waited eagerly for +further disclosures. + +“Who could have perpetrated such a monstrous fraud?” he exclaimed. + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + + +A look of bitter pain came over Mr. Delaney’s handsome face at those +words from Mr. Rodney’s lips. + +“Who could have been so cruel, so wicked?” repeated the lawyer. + +And then Mr. Delaney answered: + +“One to whom I owed a debt of gratitude, and who caused me to pay the +heaviest price man ever paid for a like debt.” + +“I do not understand you,” said Mr. Rodney. + +“I did not suppose you would. My reference was too obscure. I will +make my meaning more clear,” said Mr. Delaney. “When I first went on +my travels abroad, I met in France a native of that agreeable country, +by name Monsieur Sanson. Our first meeting was on an occasion, when he +saved my life, in what manner I will not now relate, as my strength +would not hold out for the recital. But we became friends from that +hour, and in course of time fellow-travelers. I found my new friend one +of the best-read and most agreeable men I had ever met. He was clever, +cultivated, full of _bon camaraderie_--in short, a man of the world, +full of wit and _bel esprit_. He was middle-aged and good-looking and +appeared to have the means of living well, and even extravagantly, at +his command. He told me that he had no family ties with the exception +of one daughter, a young and lovely creature then being educated in the +retirement of a convent school. Of this daughter, his ‘_chère_ Julie,’ +as he lovingly called her, he never wearied of talking and expatiating +on her manifold perfections. Once he showed me a small portrait of her. +It represented the loveliest brunette I ever beheld. I fell in love +with her and begged to be presented, but he laughingly refused, telling +me that he did not intend to have his plans for _chère_ Julie spoiled +in that way. After awhile he told me more seriously that in France the +parents seldom permitted daughters to have any male acquaintances, +fearing unfortunate love-affairs for them, as they were usually +affianced by their parents to men of wealth and position.” + +“I have heard that that is the way they manage affairs of marriage in +France,” said Mr. Rodney at this point. + +“I found it so to my cost,” groaned Oran Delaney, and then there was a +short silence. He lay still with closed eyes, breathing heavily. + +“You have unduly wearied yourself in talking so much. Defer the +remainder of your story until you are better,” said Mr. Rodney. + +“No, I will go on. I am anxious now that the secret I have kept so long +in my morbid pride should be revealed. I am anxious to clear the name +of Aline from the stain I suffered to rest upon it to save my own,” he +answered. + +“My poor Aline. Shall I ever find her?” sighed the wretched father. + +“God grant you may. Oh, if I only were not chained down to this bed +by my weakness, I would search the world over, but I would find her!” +cried Oran Delaney with feverish impatience. + +A vision came over his mind of the fair young face and the sweet +supplicating eyes, he seemed to hear her voice again as she spoke the +strange words that made the warm blood run tingling through his veins +with rapture. + +“I want to be your wife,” she had said, in her clear, frank voice, with +her large eyes lifted childishly to his face, while in her exceeding +innocence she had never dreamed of the passion of pain and despair in +the man’s heart as he refused her request. + +“Ah, Heaven, if only I might have taken her at her word,” he sighed to +himself, “I would have taught that young heart to love, and that soft +cheek to blush at my glance. I would have won her heart as well as her +hand. Aline, my poor darling, where are you to-night?” + +He put away the thought of her with a great effort of will and returned +with a shudder to the subject of his story. + +“I was young and impressible, Mr. Rodney. My heart was touched by the +beauty of the picture I had seen, and Monsieur Sanson’s refusals to +present me to the original only fanned my boyish passion into hotter +flame. I importuned him often, but he only laughed at me, artfully +leading me on by his apparent reluctance to yield to my desires. Ah, +what a simple, gullible young fool I was in those days.” + +He paused and drew his breath with a heavy tortured sigh. + +Mr. Rodney held a reviving cordial to his lips. His heart was pierced +with remorse as he looked at the pale face and heard the weak voice, +and realized what a wreck he had made of the strong man. + +“It would be much better if you waited until you are stronger before +you finish,” he said, compassionately, though his anxiety to hear the +rest was very strong. + +“No, I cannot wait. Let me tell my story and clear Aline’s name, then +if I die, what matter? I have long been weary of life,” sighed Oran +Delaney. + +There came to him across the mist of the long intervening months a +memory of the words he had read to Aline when she lay wounded and +impatient in the beautiful blue room--the words she had rejected in the +blindness of her ignorant youth: + + “How many days will it be, I wonder, + And how will their slow length pass + Till I shall find rest in silence under + The trees and the waving grass?” + +“Not long now, perhaps,” he thought, wearily, for he felt strangely +weak and faint, and his sufferings were most severe from his wound. + +He cleared his throat and slowly proceeded: + +“When I look back at that past time, Mr. Rodney, I am lost in wonder at +the consummate young fool I was in those days. Would you believe me, +sir, that in my infatuation for a girl I had never seen, but of whose +perfections I had been told day by day for months, I proposed to marry +Monsieur Sanson’s pretty little school-girl daughter?” + +“Impossible!” + +“I did, Mr. Rodney, and I was in the most serious earnest. Monsieur +Sanson pretended to be shocked when I laid the matter before him, but +promised that he would consider it, and assured me that he would have +no objection to an American son-in-law, declaring that he admired +Americans individually, and as a nation, to a most excessive degree. I +was delighted at his blarney, which slipped from his tongue as easily +as from a son of the Emerald Isle.” + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + + +“Monsieur Sanson must have been a villain,” exclaimed Mr. Rodney, +vehemently. + +“He saved my life once, and now he is dead. I scarcely feel at liberty +to express my real opinion of the man,” said Mr. Delaney. + +“All obligations were canceled by the wrong he did you,” said Mr. +Rodney. + +“Perhaps so. He saved my life, but then he certainly made it valueless +to me,” said the wounded man, musingly. + +After a moment, he continued: + +“After a short time and without any further solicitation on my part, +he consented to allow me to consider the beautiful Julie my _fiancée_, +but only on condition that we never met until the bridal day. Although +I was most eager to meet my fair intended bride, I was forced to +acquiesce in his decision. Indeed, I did not greatly care to change +it. I was carried away by the romantic idea of never meeting my bride +until the hour that gave her to my eager arms. Its very difference to +the customs of my own country had its peculiar charm for me. Monsieur +Sanson wrote to his daughter, and she consented to the marriage in a +_naive_ pretty letter that transported me with rapture. It was arranged +that the fair one would leave her convent school to become my bride in +about six months. Do I weary you with all this preliminary explanation, +Mr. Rodney?” inquired the invalid, pausing suddenly. + +“On the contrary, I am deeply interested in your story,” replied the +lawyer. + +“I will hasten to the end, then,” said Oran Delaney. “We continued our +travels for awhile, when about two months before the time set for my +marriage, Monsieur left me, to return to his villa at Nice, ostensibly +to make preparations for the marriage. He was to write to me when to +come, but in little more than a week I was telegraphed to go to his +death-bed. He had accidentally shot himself.” + +He was growing excited now. The feeble breath came from his lips in +great palpitating gasps. + +“You are over-tasking yourself,” Mr. Rodney reminded him again. + +“No, I shall soon have done now,” Mr. Delaney answered. “Well, I went +with all haste to Nice, and I arrived there late one night, and found +Monsieur Sanson dying, indeed. They told me that he had been handling +a revolver when it exploded in his hand, fatally wounding him. He lay +at the point of death, and his one anxiety was his fair young daughter +whom he was leaving alone in the world. Would I have any objection to +fulfilling my marriage contract now, he asked me, that he might die +satisfied? + +“I told him I would marry Julie at once, and his mind was at once +relieved of its load of care. Preparations were made for a midnight +marriage. A priest was summoned. Everything was arranged with perfect +legality.” + +He paused and swept his aristocratic white hand wearily across his brow. + +“How it all comes back to me,” he said. “It was a beautiful summer +night. A wind from the sea came into the room through the open windows, +mingled with the breath of tropic flowers. A dim light burned in the +room where the dying man lay breathing heavily. They brought my bride +in to me. I could not make out either her face or her form for the +great billows of snowy lace in which she was enveloped from head to +foot, but I fancied that all womanly loveliness was centered in her +form. Well, they made her my bride, and then led her quickly from the +room, for Monsieur Sanson’s death-hour was near at hand. He thanked me +feebly for what I had done, and then he bound me by a solemn oath to +protect and cherish his Julie as long as she lived, never leaving nor +forsaking her. + +“‘I have already promised the priest all that,’ I said, in wonder. +That was no matter, he said, and persisted in his request that I would +solemnly swear to do what he asked. An oath made to a dying man would +be more sacred, he said. + +“Though I thought him unreasonable, I could refuse nothing to a dying +man; so I took the oath he asked of me. I thought it could not greatly +matter anyhow. I had no idea of ever forsaking my fair young foreign +bride. I was too much infatuated with the charming young creature the +fertile imagination of the Frenchman had painted for me. + +“He died in a little while after the ceremony and left me to comfort +his bereaved daughter. It was not until after the funeral that she +allowed me to see her. She was prostrated by the shock of her father’s +death, they told me. + +“Oh, Mr. Rodney, can you guess what a terrible shock it was to me when +I beheld her at last? + +“I had in my mind the vision of an angel. I imagined my bride lovely in +mind as in person, and thought myself most fortunate in the possession +of such a perfect creature. + +“When they showed me the creature to whom I had bound myself--the +misshapen, deformed, blighted creature, with a mind as blasted and out +of shape as her body--do you wonder that I almost went mad?” + +“Surely the laws of any land would have freed you from such a +creature!” exclaimed Mr. Rodney, indignantly. + +“I made no attempt to free myself,” said Oran Delaney. “I was so +shocked at finding myself placed in such a terrible position, so +ashamed of the foolish ease with which I had fallen into the trap set +for me, that I was like one dazed or stunned. It was some little while +before I realized it, and then the weight of my oath to the dying held +me back from taking any steps toward freeing myself from my horrible +incubus. + +“Monsieur Sanson had left a letter for me, too. It was a confession.” + +“A confession!” repeated Mr. Rodney. + +“Yes. It appeared that the story of the accidental shooting was all a +hoax. The man had given himself the death-blow with a suicidal intent.” + +Mr. Rodney uttered an exclamation of horror and dismay. + +“He had committed suicide, but why?” + +“Because he had run through his property and was reduced to beggary. +He had led a fast and gay life and had nothing left to live upon. The +villa and all its furniture were mortgaged beyond their value, and were +to be seized. There would be nothing left for him and the deformed +maniac, his daughter, whom, despite her afflictions, he seemed to +cherish with a strange morbid affection.” + +Mr. Rodney could not repress a shudder of disgust. He thought of his +three brilliant, beautiful children with a feeling of pride, and he +wondered that even a father’s heart could have cherished tenderness for +the dreadful, misshapen maniac of Delaney House. + +“So he formed that dreadful plan for providing his deformed and maniac +daughter with a husband to take care of her, and then he consummated +it in the way I have told you. When it became impossible to enjoy the +wealth and pleasures of this world any longer, he sent himself out of +it, with a shocking deliberateness, and shifted his burden upon my +shoulders.” + +“He was a villain! But you were not compelled to accept the loathsome +legacy he bequeathed to you. The marriage, being with a person of +unsound mind, was really null and void in the eyes of the law,” said +the lawyer. + +“I did not resort to the law to help me out of my trouble,” said Oran +Delaney. “I was too proud, for one thing, to let the public know +how shamefully I had been duped. I was bitterly ashamed of my own +credulity; besides, I was weighted down by the solemnity of my oath to +the dying. I could not forsake poor Julie Sanson, even though I had +been so horribly duped and deceived. I had sworn to devote my life to +her; and, in his letter of confession to me, Monsieur Sanson again +committed his daughter solemnly to my care, urging that, as he had once +saved my life, it was but right that I should devote it to the daughter +left so helpless and forlorn by his sinful death.” + +“He had much better have let you die, than saved your life to such a +horrible end!” exclaimed Mr. Rodney. + +“Much better,” sighed Oran Delaney. “But, as it was, I accepted his +dying charge. I brought Julie Sanson to America, and confided her to +the care of my old nurse, Mrs. Griffin. I have lived at Delaney House +in seclusion for years, shunning my kind, because in my morbid pride, +I had sworn that the carping, censorious world should never know my +dreadful secret. Mrs. Griffin has been most faithful in her trust. + +“We lived on quietly there, and poor Julie’s mania developed itself +in two forms. She had a fierce thirst for human blood, and a most +inordinate love for finery, delighting to array her dreadful form in +the richest robes and most brilliant jewels. In the hope of subduing +her bloodthirsty mania, I humored the harmless taste for dress to a +great extent. I constantly made additions to her wardrobe, of the most +gorgeous and dazzling apparel, and I provided her with a jewel-box of +splendid paste imitations of diamonds. She never wearied of decking +herself in these things, and would be quiet and docile for weeks +together in placid enjoyment of them. Again her mania for shedding +blood would seize upon her, and she would fly at me and at Mrs. +Griffin in a fury of rage, with murder flashing from her eyes. On one +occasion she accidentally got out of her room, possessed herself of a +tiny jeweled dagger, and flew through the house like a raging lioness +seeking her prey. On that occasion she wounded me first, and then your +beautiful Aline!” + +As if overcome with horror, he groaned aloud and buried his face in the +pillow. + +“Much as I would like to hear the remainder of your story, I must +refuse to listen to you longer now, for I can see that you are +completely exhausted,” said the lawyer. “I shall leave you now to +repose. To-morrow, if you are better, you may continue your story.” + +“But I am so anxious to clear Aline in your eyes that I am too +impatient to postpone my story,” said Oran Delaney feebly, for it was +quite true that he was exhausted by the efforts he had made. + +“Nevertheless, I shall refuse to hear any more to-day,” answered the +lawyer, with a smile. “I am going out now, and I shall send Mrs. +Griffin in to take charge of you.” + +He left the room, and the old nurse came in and installed herself by +his pillow. The next morning, after the refreshment of a sound night’s +sleep, he continued his story to Mr. Rodney. + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + + +“I would sooner have died than have wronged your willful, innocent +child, Mr. Rodney,” he said. “When she came into the garden that day I +had no thought but her pleasure. She seemed but a child to me, and I +saw no harm in her going into Delaney House with me to share my lunch. +I had been so long secluded from the world that I did not remember its +hard rules. I was pleased with the beautiful, happy girl, and I thought +that her people had treated her unfairly, in leaving her at home, +while they went away to enjoy themselves. In a languid, careless way I +allowed her to enjoy herself. It seemed very easy to her to do so.” + +“She had a sunny, happy temper when all went well with her,” said Mr. +Rodney, with a heavy sigh to the memory of his self-exiled daughter. + +“Yes, I thought so,” said Oran Delaney, echoing the sigh. “I saw that +she was willful and a trifle wild, but I thought nothing of it. She was +too young and fair to be worldly-wise. Poor child, would that she had +been! She had never then entered the fatal portals of Delaney House.” + +“Fatal indeed!” groaned the afflicted father. + +“I blame myself that I let her enter there,” said Oran Delaney. “The +child must have charmed me, for I forgot my usual prudence and allowed +myself to be pleased in her happiness. She ate her lunch with me, then, +frightened at the flight of time, left me and ran out into the hall to +go home. It was then that the accident happened to her.” + +Mr. Rodney listened with painful interest. + +“While she was going though the hall,” continued Mr. Delaney, “a series +of horrible shrieks saluted our ears from the upper hall. Horrified at +my carelessness I bade Aline fly home, and I rushed up the stairs to +confront the dangerous maniac. I met her in the upper hall, arrayed in +all the splendor of her wedding-robes, with a flashing dagger in her +hand and fury flashing from her eyes. She rushed at me with a murderous +shriek, and before I could disarm her she had thrust the keen point of +her dagger into the fleshy part of my arm. The keen pain threw me off +my guard a moment, and in that moment the would-be murderess escaped +me and flew down the stairs. Heedless of my wounded arm, I followed +her, but was just one minute too late. Just as I reached her, she had +pursued Aline through the deserted parlor, and the poor girl fell +across the threshold wounded in the breast by the maniac’s dagger. I +came up to them just in time to arrest the second descent of the blade. +Mrs. Griffin came to my assistance, and together we disarmed Julie, and +locked her into her room again.” + +He paused, drew a heavy sigh, and then continued: + +“Then my folly and selfishness began. I knew that I ought at once to +apprise Aline’s parents of her accident, and yet I also knew that to +do so must be to disclose the hidden secret of my deformed and maniac +bride to the world. My morbid self-consciousness shrunk from it. I felt +that I could not endure the ordeal. Hastily, and without counting the +cost to the victim of Julie’s dreadful mania, I decided upon my course. +I removed Aline to a comfortable chamber, and Mrs. Griffin attended +upon her faithfully. I went to Maywood and brought Doctor Anthony to +see her. He did not consider the wound dangerous, so I did not have him +renew the visit. I considered it too hazardous to my secret. You may +well look at me reproachfully, Mr. Rodney. I can understand now how +culpably I acted, but then my conscience was deadened within me by my +sensitive horror of the world’s finding out my bitter secret.” + +Mr. Rodney had no words to answer him. He sat listening in painful +silence. + +“Aline was very angry, when she recovered consciousness and found that +I was determined not to apprise her parents of her situation. I told +her that she should never leave Delaney House until she swore solemnly +never to divulge the secret of her whereabouts and the manner in which +she came by her wound. She refused in the bitterest terms at first, +declaring that she would never keep the secret from her parents. I +told her that she should never even see them again until she obeyed my +dictation.” + +“My poor girl!” sighed Aline’s father. + +“I was hard and cruel; I recognize it now, although I did not then +comprehend the enormity of what I was doing,” said Oran Delaney. “Aline +was bitterly angry. She declared that she would never submit to such +injustice; and she worked herself up into such a state that she became +dangerously ill. There were six weeks when we nursed her night and day, +scarcely believing that she would live from one day to another.” + +“And yet you would not let us know! I do not believe that I can ever +forgive you,” cried Mr. Rodney. + +“I can never forgive myself,” Mr. Delaney answered, sadly. “But I was +willfully blind; I never once realized the full enormity of my offense +against you and your daughter--my selfish misery made me desperate. I +was agonized by her sufferings, but I never once relented. When she at +length convalesced and renewed her entreaties to go home, I steadily +refused to allow her to do so until she had bound herself to solemn +silence. She was as obdurate as I was, at first. She affirmed that +she would never do so. But, at the end of three months, her girlish +patience gave way, and, in her anxiety to see her dear ones again, she +weakened and solemnly bound herself to all that I asked her. Then, +after telling me, in a gush of girlish passion, that she hated me, she +went home.” + +He paused, and there was a deep silence in the room. He was thinking +of the night when the graceful young figure had flitted out from the +doors of Delaney House, leaving it darker and more gloomy than ever. +He recalled the last moment of her stay, when, with her small hand +clinched in bitter, impotent wrath, she had said, scathingly: + +“I hate you, Oran Delaney, for all that you have made me suffer!” + +The words had pierced his heart like a sword point. They had remained +with him ever since, growing harder to bear day by day. He could not +bear that those frank blue eyes should rest on him with hate and scorn. +It was like a wound in his heart. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + + +Mr. Rodney was thinking too. He remembered the night that Aline had +come home. All that was strange in her manner then was explained away +now. He remembered how hard and stern he had been with her; how he had +been goaded to desperation by the fear that she was a miserable sinner. +A weight of care was lifted from his mind by Oran Delaney’s revelation. + +“God, I thank Thee!” he cried, lifting his hands involuntarily to +heaven, “that my beloved daughter is proved innocent of all the evil +laid to her charge.” + +“She is innocent as an angel,” said Oran Delaney. “I do not ask you to +believe my unsupported testimony. Mrs. Griffin will confirm all that I +have told you.” + +He was silent for a moment, then added, gravely: + +“I wish you to make public to the world all that I have told you, Mr. +Rodney. It is my dearest wish, whether I live or die, to have Aline’s +memory cleared from all stain. Let all my folly and shame be known, all +my pride and weakness, so that she be proven innocent and deserving.” + +“It is hard upon you, but it is only just to Aline and her family,” +said Aline’s father. + +“It is just, and I deserve it,” said Oran Delaney. “The world will +censure me; but let it do so, I am ready to bear it. Indeed, it will be +a relief to my mind to have the truth known. I am weary of evasion and +concealment, even if concealment were possible any longer.” + +A look of grave anxiety was on his pale, drawn face. + +“There is a weight upon my heart that nothing can shake off,” he said. +“Poor Julie Sanson--she whom I swore to the dying never to leave nor +forsake--oh, what has been her terrible fate? Is she dead in the ruins +of Delaney House, or in the drifts of snow?” + +“Whichever has been her fate, it is a most happy release for her +imprisoned soul,” said Mr. Rodney. “You cannot regret her!” + +“No; only the horrible manner of her death, if, indeed she be dead,” +Mr. Delaney answered. + +“I do not believe that there can be any doubt as to that,” said Mr. +Rodney. “If she had lived, we must have heard of it. My own opinion is +that she never escaped from the burning house.” + +“It is most unlikely,” said Mr. Delaney, and then he lay silent, musing +deeply: “Was Julie Sanson, the poor, deformed lunatic dead, indeed? Was +he free, indeed? Free--his heart gave a great throb of almost painful +rapture at the thought--to marry Aline Rodney if she would give herself +to him?” + +“Tell me one thing,” said Mr. Rodney, breaking in, abruptly, on his +musing mood. “Why did Aline come to you that night when I found out her +secret?” + +They looked at each other, steadfastly. A hot, red flush mounted to +Oran Delaney’s face. + +“She wished me to save the honor of her name by linking it with mine,” +he said, in a low, pained voice. + +“And you?” said Mr. Rodney, anxiously. + +“I was not free, you know. I was bound to Julie Sanson by that wretched +farce,” answered the other. + +“You refused her request?” + +“I could do no less,” Oran Delaney answered, in a low, tortured voice. + +“My God, then, the child has been driven desperate! Who would have +dreamed that my fury that night would have driven her to such a step! +I shall never see her again. She has gone away and died of shame for +her thoughtlessness,” cried Mr. Rodney, wringing his hands in impotent +despair. + +“No, no, it was not thoughtlessness, it was the act of an angel,” +cried Oran Delaney. “It was to save me from the threatened duel. She +had no thought of self at all! And I, oh, my God, if she had not been +an angel, I should have taken her at her word, for the temptation was +almost too great for human endurance. For I love her, Mr. Rodney, with +all the madness of a first, great love. Guess how cruelly hard it was +to me to hear her sweet voice pleading for that which would have been +Heaven itself to me, and to be forced to put her away from me!” + + + + +CHAPTER LIX + + +There was a moment’s silence and Mr. Rodney gazed steadily at the +flushed face and sparkling eyes of the man who thus avowed his love for +beautiful Aline. + +“I love her,” he repeated. “She won my heart in the three months while +she stayed in Delaney House. At first I thought her a spoiled willful +child, whose sharp tongue and determined obstinacy excited my anger, +but as I grew to know her better, when I found out what a warm and +tender little heart beat under all her brusqueries and waywardness, +she stole into my heart, unconsciously to myself. I would have given +all the world for the power to make her my wife. But, alas! even as I +love her, she hates me, and justly, too, I own, for she has been most +deeply wronged by my cowardly silence: I cannot blame her if she never +forgives me for my fault.” + +Mrs. Griffin came in with some tea and toast. While she was arranging +it Mr. Delaney asked, suddenly: + +“Will you tell me now, Mr. Rodney, how you became possessed of the +secret of Aline’s whereabouts?” + +The lawyer glanced with a smile at Mrs. Griffin. + +“If I should tell you that your good nurse there is the traitor, would +you believe me?” he said. + +Mrs. Griffin looked at him, red with indignation. + +“Indeed, sir, you need not charge it on me,” she said, quickly. “Mr. +Delaney knows that no one is more faithful to his interests than I am. +Why, sir, I carried him in these arms when he was a baby, and do you +think any one could make him believe I could betray anything he wanted +kept secret?” + +The humorous twinkle in Mr. Rodney’s blue eyes deepened. He waited +until the old woman had arranged the invalid’s repast to his +satisfaction, and then said slyly: + +“Your new lace cap is very becoming, Mrs. Griffin. I should like to +know where you bought it?” + +It was very fortunate that the nurse had put down the tea-tray, for +otherwise she must certainly have dropped it, such a start she gave +at those words. She stared at Mr. Rodney, her complexion turning to a +brilliant crimson. + +“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Rodney?” she gasped amazedly. + +“Have you forgotten Cheap Jane?” he asked, smiling. + +Instantly Mrs. Griffin’s mind went back to that snowy eve when, in +her loneliness, she had been overpowered by the temptation to admit +the female peddler within the tabooed precincts of Delaney House. The +guilty red of her cheeks grew brighter. She glanced apprehensively at +her master. He was gazing at her in wonder. + +“What does he mean?” Oran Delaney asked her. + +She shook her head, and glanced inquiringly at Mr. Rodney. + +“Yes, I remember Cheap Jane,” she said. “But what has that to do with +Miss Rodney and my master?” + +“If you will tell Mr. Delaney all that you know about Cheap Jane, I +will show you the connection,” he replied. + +Mrs. Griffin was heartily ashamed at the thought of her adventure with +Cheap Jane being exposed; but she saw that it was too late to attempt +concealment. She made a virtue of necessity, and related the story to +Mr. Delaney, frankly apologizing for her fault. + +“I know I did wrong,” she said, turning to Mr. Rodney; “but still I +cannot see what harm was done by my imprudence. The old creature only +stayed a little while.” + +“That is where you are mistaken,” said Mr. Rodney. “Cheap Jane spent +the night in Delaney House.” + +“Spent the night?” she echoed, staring at him stupidly: + +“Yes,” he replied. + +“But how could that be?” exclaimed Oran Delaney, looking up from his +untasted toast. He was too much excited to eat. + +“It happened in this way,” said the lawyer. “When Mrs. Griffin went +to answer your bell, the peddler slipped into a deserted room, and +hid herself and her basket of potions in an unused closet. She thus +remained in Delaney House all night.” + +Mrs. Griffin wrung her plump hands, and cried out, dejectedly, “The +wretch!” + +But Oran Delaney did not utter one word; he only gazed inquiringly into +the face of the lawyer. + +“She remained at Delaney House all night,” repeated Mr. Rodney. “After +the inmates were locked in unsuspecting slumber, the hidden peddler +came forth and prowled through the house. You were sick that night, +Mr. Delaney. In your fever and unrest you talked to the walls in your +room--you revealed the secret of Aline’s stay in your house.” + +“Great Heaven!” he cried. + +“It is strange, but true,” said the lawyer. “And your uninvited guest, +the peddler, who had stolen into your house like a thief by night, +heard all. It was from him I learned all I knew--namely, that Aline had +been a wounded prisoner in Delaney House.” + +“You said ‘from him’--yet I understood that the peddler was a woman,” +exclaimed Oran Delaney, quickly. + +“A man in disguise,” explained the lawyer. + +“Then it was no common person--the plan was a deep-laid one,” said Oran +Delaney, with an inquiring look into the other’s face. + +Mr. Rodney shook his head. + +“No, it was not I,” he said. “It was a detective whom I employed last +summer to trace Aline. He failed at first, but when she came back to us +and refused to reveal the secret of her absence, he set himself to work +to ferret out the truth.” + +“And succeeded,” said Oran Delaney, with bitter sadness. “And where is +your clever detective now?” + +“He is again on the track of my missing daughter. I have for the second +time employed him to find her.” + +“He shall be richly rewarded if he succeeds,” exclaimed Oran Delaney, +earnestly. + +He lay silent for a moment, and then added gravely and thoughtfully: + +“I can bear no resentment against your clever detective, Mr. Rodney. I +am glad now that the truth has been found out. A burden is lifted from +my heart.” + +“You are not angry with Mr. Lane for his bold invasion of your house, +and his betrayal of your secret?” exclaimed Mr. Rodney. + +“No, I am not angry. I am glad that the truth has been revealed. I feel +quite curious to see your Mr. Lane.” + +“Perhaps you will permit me to bring him to see you?” said the lawyer. + +“Willingly,” answered Oran Delaney. + +He did so the next day, after he had told Mr. Delaney’s story to him, +and the good-looking detective spent an hour with the wounded man. Mr. +Delaney was most anxious that Aline should be found. + +“Only find her,” he said, earnestly, to Mr. Lane, “and you shall name +your own reward.” + +A strange expression gleamed in the eyes of the detective. + +“I shall make every effort to find her,” he said. “But I tell you +frankly, Mr. Delaney, I am not working up this case for money.” + +“Of course you have a professional interest and reputation at stake,” +said Mr. Delaney. + +“It is not that, either,” said the detective. + +They gazed steadily into each other’s eyes. + +“I will tell you the truth, Mr. Delaney,” said Mr. Lane. “I find that +my early professional interest in this case has merged into a romantic +one. People call me a woman-hater where I am best known, and I confess +that female society has hitherto had no charms for me. But the beauty +and sweetness of Miss Rodney have won my heart. If I find her I shall +ask no reward from her father except her hand, if she will give it to +me.” + +Mr. Lane paused and waited for a reply. He did not dream what an +agonizing pang tore through Oran Delaney’s heart in that moment. + +“Do you think she loves you, Mr. Lane?” he faltered then, in a hollow +voice. + +“Scarcely; for I have had no chance to woo her,” said Mr. Lane. “And +yet it is so much better that she should marry that perhaps she will +waive that consideration. Afterward I could teach her to love me.” + +Again that fierce, jealous pang tore through Oran Delaney’s heart. A +vision came over him of the beautiful young face and the violet eyes +with their shady lashes of deepest jet. How much more beautiful it +would be when the woman’s heart was awakened in her. How that charming +face would be glorified by love! + +“Ah, Heaven, only to call her mine!” he groaned to himself. “It is +cruel, cruel, that this man should take advantage of her trouble to try +to win her. He has no right to her. She is far above him. Her beauty +and sweetness make her the peer of any one in the land.” + +He silently repeated some lines to himself: + + “A king might lay his scepter down, + But I am poor and naught; + The brow should wear a golden crown + That wears her in its thought.” + +He looked fixedly at Mr. Lane. + +“Why do you say that it will be better for Miss Rodney to marry?” he +asked, slowly. + +“Surely, you know that her long stay in Delaney House has so damaged +her maiden fame that she can never take her proper place in the world +until sheltered by some good man’s name,” said the detective. + +“You forget that I have explained everything, and that Miss Rodney’s +reputation is cleared from every shadow of blame,” exclaimed Mr. +Delaney. + +“No, I do not forget it. But I know that the world is censorious and +cruel, and I am not sure whether it will accept your statement as true. +At any rate, I am prepared to help Miss Rodney all that I can. I am +rich and prosperous. I will marry her and take her away forever from +this place where she has suffered so much if she will have me.” + +He paused a moment, and then added: + +“Of course if you were not already married, Mr. Delaney, you would be +the most proper husband for Miss Rodney, but, as it is, I feel myself +quite free to woo and wed her if I can, and to save her from all the +troubles she would be likely to endure, unmarried.” + +He went out and left Mr. Delaney to some bitter reflections. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + + +When Mr. Delaney’s physician came next day he declared that his patient +was not as well as he had expected to find him. He looked apprehensive +over him. + +“What have they been doing to you?” he asked, brusquely. + +“I have had the best of care, doctor,” Mr. Delaney answered. + +The old physician looked at him, curiously. The dark, handsome face was +grave, and there was a settled sadness on it. But the tone, more than +the words, struck the physician. A heartache ran drearily through it. + +“You are fretting over something,” he said. “Come, Delaney, this will +not do. You will never get well at this rate.” + +Oran Delaney only smiled, but he said to himself that he did not +greatly care. He had long been tired of his life. What matter how soon +the end came. There would be no one to grieve for him, except his +faithful old nurse. He thought of Mr. Rodney, but he said to himself +that no jury in this southern land would convict him even if his victim +died. All would think him justified in avenging his daughter. + +That day Mr. Delaney made his will. He left Mrs. Griffin a comfortable +legacy, left a large sum of money to take care of the maniac, Julie +Sanson, if she was ever found, and the residue of his large fortune he +bequeathed unconditionally to Aline Rodney. + +And then he said to himself that he was ready to die. He had provided +the best he could for the future of the girl whom he loved, and he had +no more left to live for. His life had been ruined in its prime by a +bad man’s treachery. Hope, love, happiness, henceforth could be only +names to him. He did not care to live. + +A great despair had fallen upon him. He had wakened up to the one +grand passion of his life, and it was utterly hopeless. He loved Aline +Rodney, but she hated him for the sorrow he had brought into her young +life. She would marry Mr. Lane, perhaps, when she came home again, and +Oran Delaney said to himself, with a pang of the bitterest despair, +that he would rather be dead than live to see the fair young creature +he loved the wife of another. + +Days went and came, and he lay there wearily and hopelessly, and the +physician went and came daily, growing more and more puzzled over him. + +“He goes down hill every day, and yet, the case was very favorable at +first,” he said to Mr. Rodney. “I am puzzled over him. I am afraid it +is the mind wearing out the body. What do you think about it?” + +“I have the same opinion as you,” the lawyer answered. “It is not the +wound I gave him, it is mental trouble that is killing him. It is the +old fable of the sword wearing out the scabbard.” + +“Can nothing be done?” asked the old physician, who had become deeply +interested in his new patient. + +“Nothing, I am quite sure,” Mr. Rodney answered, for he knew now all +the pain and sorrow and remorse that were killing Oran Delaney. + +“Then he must die. All my medical skill can avail nothing to save him,” +answered the physician, regretfully. + +In the meantime Mr. Rodney had followed out Mr. Delaney’s wishes. He +had made public all that strange secret, whose keeping had cast that +black shadow over Aline’s life. + +Chester was all agog with curiosity and excitement. It was a nine days’ +wonder. + +As often happens in such cases, there was a complete revulsion of +feeling. The great wave of public sentiment rolled toward Aline in +a gush of pity and sympathy. The world was not as bad as Mr. Lane +had believed it. No one was found to doubt the story Mr. Delaney had +told on what all believed to be his death-bed. It was so strange and +romantic, it appealed so powerfully to that love of the wonderful and +mysterious inherent in all hearts, that every one believed it. If Aline +had been at home society would have made her the heroine of the hour. +It would have taken her to its heart of hearts, and worshiped her as +blindly as it had wronged her. It would have made atonement for its +hasty judgment, but pity and regret were now alike too late. Aline had +vanished out of her old life as utterly as if she were dead and buried. +The places that had known her knew her now no more. In her home they +mourned her as one dead. + +In the stress of her trouble and anxiety, poor Mrs. Rodney had taken +down to her sick-bed again. The pretty, self-possessed, dignified lady +was completely broken down. She blamed herself as the author of all her +beautiful daughter’s sorrow. + +“I was too harsh, too strict with her. Her faults were only those of +youth and inexperience, united to high spirits. Her punishments were +too severe, and I am rightly punished for my hardness of heart,” wept +and sighed the poor mother, in the long winter nights, while she +tossed upon her sleepless bed, tormented with remorse and misery over +the treatment she had given Aline. + +A month passed away, and it was time for the return of Dr. Anthony and +Effie from their bridal tour. They were to settle down to housekeeping +in a pretty house the doctor owned at Maywood. + +Mrs. Rodney yearned for Effie’s return. She longed to pour into her +sympathizing ears all her sorrow and despair at the loss, for the +second time, of her beautiful Aline. + +The cottage was a most dreary place for sunny-tempered Max Rodney, +in those days. He missed his beautiful sisters, the gentle, graceful +Effie, and the light-hearted, volatile Aline. His mother was always +in tears, now, and seldom left her room. Besides, there was a real +invalid in the house, and the enforced quiet was most irksome to the +high spirited lad whose gay voice, blending with his younger sister’s, +had been wont to waken joyous echoes from garret to cellar of the roomy +cottage. In despair, Max took to spending the most of his time from +home, unreproved by his grief-stricken parents, who had become almost +apathetic in their dumb, agonizing sorrow for their lost daughter. + +And one day, when the sun was shining brightly, and the winter snows +that had lain for weeks upon the frozen earth were melting under its +genial glow, Max came home from a long excursion with “the boys,” and +burst into his mother’s room like a small cyclone or tornado. + +“Mamma,” he cried, all in a flurry, “may I go into Mr. Delaney’s room? +I have something to tell him.” + +Mrs. Rodney looked curiously at the flushed cheeks and sparkling blue +eyes of her handsome boy. + +“Why, what is it, my dear?” she asked. “You know the doctor wishes to +keep Mr. Delaney very quiet. He is very low now, and we must do all +that we can to make him well; for if he died, people would look upon +your dear papa as a murderer!” + +She shuddered; but the boy’s eyes flashed, and he cried out, proudly: + +“No one would call papa a murderer, mamma, even if Mr. Delaney died. He +was right to shoot Mr. Delaney if he thought he had my sister shut up +in his house. I have heard a lot of people say so. If I had been a man, +I should have shot him myself.” + +“But you are not a man, Max, so you must not talk so boldly. What is +this that you have to tell Mr. Delaney?” + +“A bit of news that will please him, I dare say,” said the boy. + +“Oh, Max, is it news of Aline?” quivered the poor mother. + +“No, no, mamma; for of course I would tell you that first,” said the +boy. + +“Then what can it be? You know we must not excite Mr. Delaney, dear. It +might be his death. You must tell me what you have heard, and then I +can decide better if you may be allowed to tell him.” + +“Oh, mamma, I wanted to be the first to tell him,” objected the boy. + +“I am sorry; but we must not run the risk, indeed,” Mrs. Rodney said. + +Max looked disappointed. + +“Well, then, I cannot keep it any longer!” he burst out. “We--that is, +the boys and me--we have found Mr. Delaney’s crazy wife--” + +“Impossible!” Mrs. Rodney exclaimed. + +“Under a melted snow-drift,” continued Max. “She must have been dead +a long time--ever since that night she set fire to Delaney House, I +guess--for she is in a very bad state; but we are perfectly certain +that she is the one. She is dressed just as papa described her, in the +finery and the jewels. Do you think that Mr. Delaney will be glad, +mamma?” + +“Glad that the poor creature is dead, Max?” she cried, quite shocked. + +“Yes, mamma,” he replied, undauntedly. “Everybody should be glad, for +what pleasure could that poor, afflicted creature have in her life, and +why should one wish her to live? Mr. Delaney will be glad, I know, and +no one can blame him!” + +“Hush, dear, you do not know what you are saying,” said his mother, +“and, besides, this is all surmise on your part. It may not be the +woman at all.” + +“Very well, mamma, we shall soon know, for they have sent me to bring +Mrs. Griffin to identity her,” he said. + +It all turned out as the little lad had said. The poor creature who +had lain for long weeks under the frozen snow-drifts proved to be +Julie Sanson, indeed. The mystery of her fate was solved at last. She +had not perished in the fiery flames that consumed Delaney House. She +had wandered out into the dark and stormy night and met her death in +the cold, white, drifting snow that wrapped the earth like a ghostly +winding sheet. + +It came upon Oran Delaney with a shock that the deformed maniac was +dead. It pained him that death had come to her in such horrible shape. +Indeed, the very existence of such a creature upon the earth had always +seemed to him something for which one might almost arraign Divine +Providence. Why was it permitted? + +“I cannot understand it,” he said. “And it pains me that she died +so hard a death. Yet I cannot be sorry that she is dead. She was a +horrible burden upon my life, and her existence was a joyless one. I +thank God that having done my duty by her, I am free at last.” + +They buried her quietly and simply, but the circumstances were so well +known that a large number of people attended the burial. Every one +rejoiced that Oran Delaney was free at last from the horrible fetters +that had bound him. He had become quite a hero in these few days. + +When his strange story became well known it excited the greatest +sympathy and pity. Many of the townspeople would have liked to call +upon him to express their feelings, but this was strictly forbidden +by the physician, who prescribed the strictest quiet for his patient. +Every one was very sorry for him, although under the peculiar +circumstances of the case no one ever blamed Mr. Rodney for what he had +done. Every father sympathized with him, and declared that with the +same provocation they would have done the same. + +Effie came at last. Dr. Anthony drove over from Maywood with her the +morning after their return. There was a most affecting meeting between +mother and daughter. Mrs. Rodney fell on the bride’s neck in tears. +Effie listened to her story of Aline’s disappearance, with a strange +look upon her beautiful, happy face. + +“And he is here, Effie, Mr. Delaney is here,” she said. “It is stranger +than a novel, is it not? Aline lay wounded and ill in his house once, +and now here he is in ours, wounded and dying.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + + +Dr. Anthony was most anxious to meet Oran Delaney when they told him +the story of all that had transpired while he and Effie were absent +upon their bridal tour. + +Mr. Rodney undertook to ask Mr. Delaney’s permission to present his +son-in-law to him. He felt rather dubious over it. He was not at all +sure that he would care to meet Dr. Anthony under the new conditions in +which he found himself. + +To his surprise Mr. Delaney was willing and eager to meet the +young physician whom he had treated so cavalierly on that +long-to-be-remembered night. He declared that it would not excite him +at all. On the contrary, it would be a relief to see him and ask his +pardon for his rudeness. + +Dr. Anthony was surprised when he entered the room and saw the man whom +he remembered so vividly, although he had never seen his face. He now +beheld one of the handsomest men he had ever seen in his life in spite +of the pallor and emaciation of illness and hopelessness. He thought he +had never seen such splendid, fathomless dark eyes as those that now +turned upon his face with something that was almost humility in their +sad gaze as he extended his hand. + +“Dr. Anthony, I do not know how to ask you to forgive me for the way +I treated you,” he said. “But I was half maddened with fears for Miss +Rodney. That must be my excuse.” + +“I am not at all angry with you,” said Dr. Anthony, with his frank +smile. “I can find it in my heart to excuse your rashness, considering +the circumstances of the case.” + +And after that the two men were good friends always. The genial, +handsome young doctor, who was so happy with his fair young bride, +had a great fund of pity and sympathy for the man who, while but a +few years older than himself, had had his whole life blasted by the +treachery of one whom he believed his friend. + +“You cannot know how I regret it all,” said Oran Delaney, unburdening +his heart to this new friend as men do sometimes on rare occasions to +one another. “If I could go back to that day and undo all the harm I +caused Miss Rodney by my stubborn pride, I would give all that I own, +my poor life into the bargain. I was mad and blind. I had brooded over +my secret until it assumed such gigantic proportions of shame and +sorrow that I grew morbid over it. I would have risked anything rather +than have it revealed to the world. I was frantic with fear when that +poor lunatic attempted Miss Rodney’s life. I believed that the poor +girl would surely betray my secret if I let her go free. So I bound her +by that cruel oath--how cruel I did not know; for I did not think of +the dreadful consequences to her.” + +“Dreadful, indeed!” assented Dr. Anthony. + +“And now, if by the sacrifice of my life I could bring her back to +her friends, I would most gladly die,” said Oran Delaney, with an +earnestness that carried conviction to the hearer’s heart. “I pray +daily to God that Mr. Lane will succeed in finding her.” + +“I do not believe that he will ever do so,” said Dr. Anthony with +_empressement_. + +“You do not surely believe that she is dead!” cried Oran Delaney, with +horror and despair in his face and voice. + +Dr. Anthony looked pityingly at the pale, handsome face lying on the +white pillow with the ruddy blaze of the firelight casting a sort of +false glow on its deep pallor. He saw that Oran Delaney’s remorse and +despair and grief were most genuine. + +“You do not surely believe that she is dead?” he cried in the utmost +despair, and Dr. Anthony answered, sadly: + +“Why not? No tidings have come to you of her fate. Is it not most +probable that she has perished in the cruel snow-drifts even as poor +Julie Sanson did?” + +Mr. Delaney shuddered, and put up his thin, white hands before his face. + +“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, do not name Aline, in the same breath with that +creature!” he cried. “No, no, I cannot believe that she is dead! Heaven +would not be so cruel! She will come back, my beautiful darling, even +if it is not until the cold earth is heaped upon my breast!” + +Then with a great effort he threw off the terrible agitation that +possessed him; he looked at Dr. Anthony and said, sadly: + +“In my weakness I have revealed my secret to you, Doctor Anthony. I +love Aline--have loved her ever since she was an inmate of my home. My +shame and sorrow and remorse for all that I have done are killing me by +inches. If she does not come back soon I shall never see her. I shall +be dead--killed by my love and sorrow!” + +“I am sorry for you!” cried Dr. Anthony, melted by the exceeding grief +of the other. “But indeed you must not agitate yourself like this. It +is very hurtful to you.” + +He hastened to feel the patient’s pulse, and seeing that he was +considerably agitated, administered the composing draught that stood +ready upon the little table, and went out to seek his wife, who was +with her mother. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + + +The early winter eve was falling drearily when Dr. Anthony went out of +the room, and left Oran Delaney alone, watching the dark shadows that +already began to creep about the corners--fantastic shadows cast by the +leaping blue and yellow flames of the fire. + +He lay still and watched the eerie darkness closing in with strange +feelings. Just so was his life ebbing to a close, just so the shadows +of eternity were falling around him. Life’s brief day was almost +ended. It seemed to him that already he felt the chill of the grave in +which he would soon be lying. + +“When I am dead she will come back,” he said to himself. “She will be +here again in her old home, with all the shadows lifted from her, and +she will be happy. Poor little wronged Aline! I should like to see her +just once more to ask her to forgive me for my fault. To the dying all +things are forgiven.” + +He closed his eyes and lay thinking of the time when he had first met +her, a lovely, volatile creature, who half vexed and half amused him. +He did not dream then that she would be his fate. Now memory went back +and recalled her to his mind as the fairest vision that ever blessed +man’s eyes. + +He hardly knew how love had come to him first. He could recall the +time when he had been most angry with her, when he would have liked, +above all things, to give her a hard shaking for her petulance, her +unreasonableness, her childishness. He thought it must have been in +those days when she lay ill and unconscious, and he had hung above her +in an agony of fear lest she should die there away from all who loved +her and grieved for her. He had fancied that the blue eyes dwelt upon +him wistfully, and followed him even in the wildness of delirium with a +strange half recognition. Then in the long, slow days of convalescence, +when she was helpless as a child, the sweet, pale, reproachful face had +crept into his heart. When in her anger she would tell him that she +would stay at Delaney House and die there before she would take the +cruel oath required of her, he was conscious that his heart had beat +half gladly at the thought of her staying beneath the same roof with +him and his misery. But he put the thought away from him as selfish, +and tried to be glad when she broke down at last, and pledged herself +to the silence he required of her. + +That night when she went back to the cottage he had spent in a +miserable vigil watching her window with haggard, anxious eyes, yet +little dreaming of all that was transpiring behind it, or how bitterly +the girl would have to suffer for her silence. Man-like, he had not +thought of the world’s busy tongues, always wagging in cruel despite. + +Well, it was all over now for Aline, and all over for him. He would not +believe that she was dead. He could not fancy those violet eyes closed +in the eternal sleep--those sweet lips silent forever! God would not be +so cruel now when life was opening so fairly for her, the shadows all +gone from her sky and her pathway bright with the sunshine. She would +come home and be happy after he was dead. + +Deeper and deeper grew the shadows in the room. The fire sputtered and +sparkled, and a cinder fell noisily from the grate. He had become so +very nervous that even that little thing made him start and open his +eyes. + +He opened them and glanced about the room. A cry broke from his lips. +He was not alone! + +Just between him and the flickering firelight stood a girlish, graceful +figure with loosely falling hair, and a lovely white face turned +toward him. The blood around his heart seemed suddenly to turn to ice. + + “What was it? A lying trick of the brain? + Yet I thought I saw her stand, + A shadow, there, at my feet. + High over the shadowing land. + + * * * * * + + The ghastly wraith of one that I know.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + + +After that one cry of surprise and wonder, Oran Delaney could not +utter another word. He stared speechlessly at the fair vision that had +arisen, as it were, between him and the flickering firelight. + +Until this moment he had had an abiding conviction that Aline Rodney +was not dead. His conviction was staggered now. How else had she come +there, a silent shadow in his room, save from the world of shadows? + + “She is not of us, as I divine; + She comes from another stiller world of the dead.” + +He lay still and awe-stricken, gazing at the fair young face that shone +so white in the dim light. It was turned fully toward him, and the +large blue eyes were fixed upon his face in an intent gaze. He quivered +under it, and keen arrows of pain shot along his nerves, but he could +not turn his eyes from the vision. Not a feature, not a curve, not an +outline escaped him. He noted how soft and long were the dark, curling +tresses that fell in loose waves upon her shoulders, how gracefully the +plain dark robe was fitted to the slender figure, how proudly her white +throat rose from the dark folds. + +Death had not robbed her of that superlative beauty that charmed the +eyes of all beholders. The frank, violet eyes, the arch red mouth, the +adorable little nose, the cream-white skin, the dark waving hair all +were here as of yore, and thrilled his heart again with a passion of +love and despair. + +He gazed and gazed, his nerves strained to their utmost tension, and +she stood there moveless, stirless, breathless, it almost seemed, for +his own tense, heavy breathing drowned all other sounds in the room. + +At length with a great effort of will, he broke the bonds that held +him, and cried out, hoarsely: + +“Aline, Aline, have you come back from the dead to reproach me?” + +It was like an electric shock galvanizing the seeming ghost into life. +The girl started and made a step forward. She came nearer and nearer +until she was leaning toward him, and her sweet, warm breath floating +over his cheek. This was no ghost, but a living, breathing, sentient +woman! + +“Oh, Mr. Delaney,” she cried, with something like awe in her voice, “is +it possible that you take me for a ghost?” + +He could not speak for joy. His brain reeled deliriously. Could it be +Aline Rodney in the flesh? Aline Rodney, come back to him before he +died, looking at him kindly, speaking to him gently? Should he not +awaken presently and find it all a delusive dream? + +He put out his wasted hand and touched her warm, white wrist. + +“Let me touch you, for I cannot believe my eyes,” he said, wistfully. +“Is it really you, Aline, or only the blessedest dream that ever dazed +a man’s senses?” + +She did not repulse him. She let him hold her hand in his a moment that +he might assure himself of the reality of this vision. + +“Yes, it is really I,” she said, reassuringly, and then she added, +curiously, “Why did you take me for a ghost? Did any one tell you I was +dead?” + +“No, no, it was only my fancy. I was dazed when I opened my eyes and +saw you there. I had not heard a sound except the cinders falling from +the grate. What could I think but that you were a ghostly visitant from +another world?” + +She stood gazing down at him, seeming to forget that her hand still lay +lightly in the clasp of his. + +“They told me to come in softly,” she said. “They thought that you +might be asleep. So I turned the knob softly and came in. But when I +saw that your eyes were closed I was just going away quietly again when +you awakened.” + +“It was very good of you to come,” he said, softly pressing the warm, +white hand that lay passive in his. “I did not deserve it. I thought +that you would hate and scorn me too bitterly ever to speak to me +again. Thank you a thousand times for coming.” + +Something came into the wistful face into which he was anxiously +gazing--kindness, pity, almost sadness. + +“Yes, I have been very angry with you,” she said, with a curious catch +in her breath. “I meant that you should never, never see my face again. +But they told me that you were--were ill, and then I came. You know we +forgive all things to the dying.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + + +He had felt that he was slowly dying; he knew that the physician and +all the others thought so, too. He had not cared for it. He had rather +exulted in the thought, for he had grown weary of his ruined life. + +But when Aline Rodney in those few frank words told him that he was +dying, it touched a chord in his heart that thrilled with the keenest +pain. There came to him a pang that was like despair at the thought of +leaving the world with her in it. + +For the first time since that horrible night that had freed him from +the hated fetters that bound him to the deformed maniac, he recalled +his freedom with a vague, wild rush of happiness at all that was +possible to him now, if only--if only that gaunt, black shadow of death +had not stretched out its dark wings over him. + +The pang was sharp and bitter. He loved her, and to his fancy it seemed +as if fate had created this beautiful woman to be his wife. They had +been at war with each other, and yet his heart had gone out to her +with its whole freight of manly love and devotion. Must he die now and +leave her for some other happy man--Mr. Lane, perhaps, of whom he was +morbidly jealous? + +A great longing for life took possession of him. Oh, if only he had +battled harder to save this existence, which now he prized so much! He +hated himself when he remembered that the physician had said that he +had recklessly flung away his life by his despondency and hopelessness. + +He pressed closer in his the little hand, and looked yearningly into +the sweet girl-face with his hollow, burning, dark eyes. + +“So you forgive me all?” he said, and she answered, gravely, “Yes, all!” + +“Forgiveness is the boon we grant to death,” he said, mournfully. “But +if I were going to live, Aline, would you be less kind? Would you +refuse to forgive me then?” + +He waited anxiously to hear what she would say, though he knew that +it could not greatly matter now whether she answered him yea or not. +It was too late now. He was drifting too near to the borders of the +Shadow-Land. + +She looked at him with a faint, almost tender smile on her exquisite +red mouth. + +“I would forgive you if you lived just as freely as I forgive you +dying,” she answered. “You have made all the atonement you could, and I +thank you and bless you for it.” + +“You know all; they have told you all,” he said, with a faint flush +creeping into his wan cheeks. + +“Yes. I have heard all. It was very hard for you, Mr. Delaney. You must +have been half mad with your trouble; so I forgive you now all that you +have made me suffer. Perhaps it will make your dying-bed easier,” said +Aline, with the wonderful pity and forgiveness of a true woman’s heart. + +“Easier!” he repeated, with a groan, and she did not know that it only +made it harder. “For if I lived, and she forgave me, I might win her +yet,” he said to himself. “Oh, how hard it is to die knowing all this!” + +The door opened softly, and the nurse entered with the inevitable tea +and toast. She laid fresh coal on the fire and lighted the lamp. Then +she nodded at Miss Rodney, with a smile. + +“He will get well, now that you have come back and forgiven him,” she +said. + +“I hope that he may,” Aline answered, with frank simplicity. + +And again she did not know how much harder these words of hers made it +for the man who knew that he was sinking daily in the Valley of the +Shadow of Death. + +“What would I not give to live?” he inwardly groaned. + +“I must go back to mamma now,” said Aline moving to the door. + +His dark eyes followed her entreatingly. + +“Do not go so soon,” he pleaded. “You have not told me yet where you +have been and how you came back, and I am so anxious to hear.” + +“Do stay a little longer, Miss Rodney,” pleaded Mrs. Griffin, and Aline +readily consented to do so. + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + + +It looked very pleasant and cozy in the sick-room, with the curtains +drawn and the bright fire. Aline sat down in the easy-chair Mrs. +Griffin wheeled forward for her, and was quite unconscious what a +picture of fair, girlish beauty she made sitting there, in her pretty +dark blue dress with her dark hair falling over her slight, pretty +figure. + +“Do you know,” she said, looking at the nurse, “that this reminds me of +the time when I was at Delaney House?--only that it was I who was ill +then, and not Mr. Delaney.” + +“Can you recall those times without being angry with me, Aline?” +inquired Mr. Delaney, half fearfully. + +“I told you I had forgiven you all, Mr. Delaney,” answered Aline, as if +that implied everything. + +“Thank you,” he answered, dropping his head back, with a sigh, upon the +pillow. + +Mrs. Griffin busied herself in preparing the little table by the +bedside, which she now wheeled forward with the simple repast neatly +arranged upon it. + +“Do you know that I could not swallow a mouthful now?” he said, looking +at her with a slight smile. “I am so impatient to hear Aline’s story, +that I can think of nothing else.” + +“But he must keep up his strength, mustn’t he, Miss Rodney?” said Mrs. +Griffin, anxiously. + +“Most certainly! And I shall not begin the telling of my story until +after he has eaten every bite of his toast and swallowed every +mouthful of his tea,” answered that young person, with her usual cruel +directness. + +He looked at her imploringly. + +“Do you not know that I am far too much excited to eat?” he said. + +“If that is the case, I am very sorry that I came,” exclaimed Miss +Rodney. “I was told, particularly, that you must not be excited. So I +will take myself off at once.” + +“Do not go, Miss Rodney,” pleaded the nurse, while the invalid cried +out, anxiously: + +“Stay, Aline, and I will at once proceed to devour every morsel on the +plate.” + +“Very well. In that case I may permit myself to remain awhile longer,” +she replied. + +She sat down again and watched him taking his tea. There was a very +sober, grave expression on her face while she did so. + +She was shocked at the change that had taken place in Mr. Delaney since +that snowy night, barely five weeks agone, when she had asked him to +marry her and he had refused her request. + +Then he had been tall, strong, handsome, full of life and health. Now +how pale, how wan, how shadowy, appeared the wasted face in which the +great burning black eyes appeared so large and solemn. + +“Poor fellow! he will not be here long. How dreadful to think that my +papa should be the cause of his death,” said the girl to herself, with +a great wave of pity and regret sweeping over her heart. + +He finished his toast and looked at her with a wan smile. + +“Now, Aline, you will tell me where you went when you left me that +night,” he said, pleadingly. + +A wave of crimson swept over her face. She recalled the mission upon +which she had gone to him that time. + +“I know what you are thinking of,” he said. “But it was a noble +motive that prompted you that night. You would have saved me from the +consequences of your father’s wrath. Ah, Aline, I was horribly tempted +to take you at your word; but if I had done so I should but have done +you deeper wrong.” + +“Yes, I know now, and I thank you for what seemed cruel then,” she +answered, simply, but the blush still burned her face. She could not +recall that hasty, impulsive action without the deepest shame. + +He gazed at her with sorrowful eyes and an aching heart. Ah, how soon +the grave would hide him from the sight of those sweet, blue orbs! + +While the blush still burned her fair face she said to him with a half +smile: + +“Did you think I should be rendered so desperate by your refusal that +night, that I should go away and drown myself?” + +“I thought you would go back home, and I was horrified when I found +that you had not done so,” he replied. + +“No, I was too wretched to go back,” she said. “I was in a fever of +unrest and trouble when I came to you that night. My brain was on fire. +I had not stopped to think or to reason. I acted on impulse wholly. But +your sarcasm, your sternness, stunned me, cooled me. When I staggered +out of Delaney House I was almost dead with shame and despair for what +I had done.” + +She put up her hand a moment to hide the sensitive quiver of her lips, +then resumed: + +“My first thought was to get away from my home. I longed to break loose +from old associations and hide myself from all who knew me. I turned my +steps away from Delaney House, and staggered along in the snow until +my sense of physical discomfort cooled my reckless mood. I began to +think that I must stop somewhere or I should perish in the cold. Then I +remembered my sister Effie, who had gone South on a bridal tour.” + +She looked from him to Mrs. Griffin, with a smile in her blue eyes. + +“You were expecting to hear something tragic, but my story is the most +prosaic one imaginable. I was not meant for a heroine at all; I am +too afraid of discomfort and trouble,” she said, with a soft little +laugh. “When I started I was quite desperate; I did not care where I +went. But when the snow beat into my face and chilled my feet, I became +discouraged. I did not want to go back, but I longed intensely to be +with some one who loved me, and to be warm and comfortable.” + +“Poor dear!” sighed Mrs. Griffin, sympathetically. + +“I had some money in my pocket,” continued Aline. “Papa had given it +me to buy a black silk dress. I walked to the next station from here, +bought a ticket to Florida, and went to Effie and Dr. Anthony. You +see, Mr. Delaney, there was nothing remarkable at all in my second +disappearance from home,” she said. + +“You should have written to your parents,” he said. + +“I am ashamed to say that I would not do so,” she answered. “I thought +that if I let them all think that I was dead, my father would drop +the subject of the threatened duel. I did not want him to be killed, +neither did I want you to be hurt, for, angry as I was, I shrunk from +the thought of bloodshed. So I would not write myself, nor would I +suffer Effie to write.” + +“You would have spared us all much unhappiness had you done so,” he +said. + +“I came home to Maywood with them at last,” she said. “By that time +they had argued me into a more reasonable mood. I was willing to return +home; but that morning they came over to Chester I did not come with +them. I sent them before me as _avant couriers_, with the caution not +to tell them unless they were very anxious over me. They brought back +such news that I was stunned. Delaney House burned to the ground; the +deformed maniac dead; you wounded by my father’s hand and your whole +story revealed; my own name cleared from obloquy, and my friends all +ready to crave my pardon for their unkindness. It took my breath away.” + +He smiled in spite of his pain as he saw the sudden joy-light flash +over her face. What mattered all that had happened to him so that she +was saved, this fair sweet girl who had suffered so unjustly. + +“You must be very angry with papa, aren’t you, Mr. Delaney?” she asked, +wistfully. + +“Angry? No! I have never blamed him. In his place I should have acted +the same, no doubt,” he replied, calmly. + +“But I am very sorry, and so is papa. I came over this morning, and it +was one of the first things he told me. He would give anything in the +world to undo what he has done!” exclaimed Aline. + +“Anything?” he repeated. + +“Anything!” she reiterated, earnestly. + +“And you, Aline?” he questioned. + +“I feel worse than papa over it,” said the girl in her frank, innocent +way. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + + +Mrs. Griffin had slipped out of the room quietly with her tray of empty +dishes a moment before. They were alone. Aline shivered a little. He +looked so wan and ill, what if he should die here alone with her? + +She half rose from her seat, trembling with agitation, and made a step +toward the door. + +“Are you going so soon?” he asked wistfully. + +It flashed over her that it was cowardly to leave him alone because she +was afraid to see him die. When he held out his hand to her she went up +bravely to his side. + +“I will try not to be afraid,” she said to herself. + +“You are going before I have said all that I wish to say to you,” he +said. + +A sudden light flashed over her face. + +“Oh, and there is something I must say to you--I had nearly forgotten!” +she exclaimed. + +“Well,” he asked, looking up into the wide blue eyes regarding him +attentively. + +“They told me you had made a will--that you had left me a great +fortune. Oh, Mr. Delaney, that must not be! I cannot take it!” she +cried, earnestly. + +“You must, Aline. It is but a small reparation for all the sorrow I +have caused you,” he said. + +“But I do not wish to do so. I refuse to accept it!” she cried. + +“You are a rash and foolish child, or you would not refuse to accept a +fortune, Aline,” he said. + +“No matter. I will not have it,” she said, resolutely. + +“You do not know what pleasures it will procure you,” he argued. + +“I shall not care for them,” she replied. “You must leave your fortune +to some one else, Mr. Delaney.” + +“To whom?” he asked. + +“I do not know. Any one you wish,” she replied, indifferently. + +All in a moment he caught her hand with a strength she had not deemed +him possessed of, and drew her toward him. + +“Aline, darling,” he whispered, with his lips very near to her cheek, +“will you not let me leave the fortune to my wife?” + +She staggered back from him, the color flowing out of her cheeks. + +“Your wife?” she faltered. + +“Yes, my wife,” he said. “Oh, Aline, do not turn away from me so +coldly. I love you, my darling, and I could die happy if I could call +you my wife, if but once before that great final hour. Oh, Aline, will +you give yourself to me for the little while I have to live? I do not +deserve such happiness, I know, but it will be such a boon to me that +you cannot refuse. It is only for a little while, you know, only to +soothe a dying hour!” + +She gazed at him, bewildered by his eloquence, her face growing deadly +white. + +“Do you hear me, Aline?” he asked. “I am asking you to be my wife. I +love you devotedly. I have loved you ever since I first met you. Will +you not grant my request?” + +“I do not want to be married, Mr. Delaney, and--and--you are only +asking me because--of--that--night,” she said, slowly, with downcast +eyes. + +“On my honor, no, Aline. I am asking you because you won my heart long +before that dreadful night, and because it would make me happy in dying +to know that I had left you my fortune and my proud old name. It is a +most honorable name. Aline, even you, so beautiful and sweet, need not +disdain it,” he said. + +She did not answer a word. She seemed like one dazed by the suddenness +of all this. + +“You said you would do anything to atone for your father’s sin, Aline,” +he said, earnestly. “Will you do this? Would it be very irksome to be +my wife a few days or hours, as the case might be? It would only be a +little while, remember.” + +She raised her large, earnest eyes to his face. + +“It would be only a little while--that is true,” she said reflectively. +“I wonder what my father would wish me to do?” + +“Will you let me ask him?” said Oran Delaney, eagerly. + +“Yes, you may ask him, and I will do just what he tells me. I owe him +that much obedience in return for all the sorrow I have caused him,” +said Aline, with her pretty, childish directness. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + + +“I will do just what papa tells me,” said Aline, trustingly, and an +eager light of joy gleamed in Oran Delaney’s eyes. He fancied that Mr. +Rodney would be kind to him--that he would give him the boon he craved. + +He was right in his surmise. The lawyer was disposed to be very kind +to the man whom he had wounded near unto death. Now that the truth +had come to light, now that his beautiful daughter was safe at home +again, he was sorely repentant for what he had done. He was haunted by +remorse. He would have given anything in his power to undo the deed he +had done in his bitter wrath. + +And now when Oran Delaney told him in a few frank words that his +descent into the dark grave would be soothed if he might call Aline +his bride before he died, he was most eager to grant him this boon. +Aline, touched with a strange awe at the nearing presence of death, and +willing to atone for her father’s sin, consented at once to give her +hand to the man who at best could claim it but a few short hours. + +Every one of the household was quite willing for this strange marriage. +They argued that it did not matter, even although Aline did not love +him, as it was for such a very little while. + +So the very next morning there was a strange and quiet marriage in +the sick-room. Aline, arrayed in all the wedding finery of Effie, and +lovely as a dream in the new gravity and dignity that had settled +upon her, stood by the sick-bed with her hand in Oran Delaney’s and +responded to the solemn marriage service that made her his own until +Death should part them--Death, that stood silent and unseen in the room +even now, fearful of being robbed of his prey. + +Oran Delaney’s voice rang clear and steady in the beautiful responses. +Aline’s was low and firm. As in a dream, she felt the wedding-ring +slipped on her finger, she heard the clergyman’s blessing. There was +a little stir about her, and then mamma and Effie were kissing and +crying over her, her father and Dr. Anthony were pressing her hand. +She shook herself free from them all presently, and tried to realize +what had happened to her. She, Aline Rodney, who, such a little, little +while ago had been a willful, thoughtless child, was married! She was +no longer Miss Rodney--she was Mrs. Delaney, and in a short while she +would be a widow. How strange, how dream-like it all seemed. + +She turned suddenly and looked at her bridegroom. He was regarding her +with a wistful yearning in his beautiful dark eyes. At the same moment +Effie whispered in her ear: + +“Your husband would like to kiss you, darling.” + +She went to his side and bent her head so that he might kiss her +cheek. He pressed his mustached lips softly against it, whispering, +fondly: + +“Thank you, and God bless you, my wife.” + +And then the dark head fell and the eyes closed. For a minute they all +thought that he was dead, for no breath or pulsation could be detected. +Mr. Rodney was in despair. + +“Oh, this is too dreadful!” he cried. “I had hoped that he would +rally, that God would spare his life, and that I might be saved the +wretchedness of knowing myself a murderer. And you, too, my poor child, +are a widow in the hour of your bridal!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + + +But Dr. Anthony, who had been making a careful examination of the +patient, looked around at these words, and said, hurriedly: + +“No, no, you are mistaken. I can detect some signs of life yet. It is +only a deep swoon. Let all leave the room except the nurse and myself, +and let the attending physician be sent for immediately.” + +They all retired, and Aline went to her own room to strip off the +wedding finery. Then she locked herself in for the remainder of the day. + +Mr. Lane came that day fresh from an unsuccessful quest after Aline, +and was amazed and delighted when he heard that she had come home, and +that she had been in Florida all the time with Dr. and Mrs. Anthony. He +grew red and pale by turns when he heard that Aline was married to Mr. +Delaney. She was the only woman he had ever loved. A swift pain tore +his heart as he realized that she was lost to him forever, for although +her husband was dying, she would be too far above him socially as the +wealthy widow of Oran Delaney for him to ever aspire to her hand. + +He remained silent a few minutes fighting down his pain and +disappointment, and at length reason came to his aid and told him +it was better so. He was quite old enough to be Aline’s father, and +besides she was socially his superior. He put away his broken dream +from him with a suppressed sigh, and declared that he was glad that +all had turned out so well. All would be well with Aline now. Fate had +settled her future for her. No one would ever dare to asperse her now +when she bore the proud name of Delaney. + +He would have liked to see her and congratulate her, but they told +him that she was locked into her room, refusing admittance to any, so +he went away, leaving his best wishes for her and her husband if he +ever rallied sufficiently to receive them. That night he went back to +New York, and in his busy life tried to forget the sweet, luring face +of the girl who had lured him into such a sweet, momentary dream of +domestic happiness. He never loved again, never wooed nor wedded. A +memory of Aline always remained with him, but it became in time only +a sweet and pleasant one, unmixed with pain. Several years after that +day of disappointment and pain, he met her in New York, and then he saw +the wisdom of his loss. She was far too brilliant and beautiful ever to +have linked her lot with his. He smiled and murmured to himself: “Fate +is above us all!” + +Aline was very sweet and kind to him when they met. She had heard the +story of his attachment to herself long before that, and at first she +had been inclined to laugh at the old bachelor’s romance, but when she +heard how kind a motive had blended with his love, she felt more kindly +toward him. In her youth and beauty and perfect happiness she could +well spare a kindly thought to one who had loved her in vain. + +She laid her round white arms fondly about the neck of him who had made +her life so bright and blessed. + +“I am sorry for him, dear,” she said. “But I never could have loved any +one but you, my own, own darling one.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + + +Aline’s momentous bridal day waned slowly to its close. + +The physicians remained with Mr. Delaney all day, then left him to Mrs. +Griffin’s care and went away. He was better, they said, but he must +have careful nursing. + +The wintery day was fading into darkness. Mrs. Griffin had slipped +out for the tea and toast again, and Mr. Delaney lay among his snowy +pillows, gazing thoughtfully into the bright fire. His lips moved, and +he murmured, sadly: + +“She will hate me, perhaps.” + +The door opened softly. His bride of a day came gliding in, clad in her +simple dark-blue dress, the loose curls falling on her shoulders. + +“You are better?” she said, coming up to him. “Ah, I thought you were +dead this morning!” + +She sat down in a low chair by the side of the bed, very close to him. +His heart beat with sudden rapture. + +“Yes, I thought that I was dying, too,” he said. “You remember that +moment when I kissed your cheek? Well, just then I had a sensation as +of falling from a great height. I thought it was the last of earth, +that I had looked my last on your beloved face, that I was surely +dying!” + +“We all thought so,” she replied, calmly and gravely. + +He reached out and took her hand in both his own. + +“Aline, will you look at me?” he asked. + +She lifted the shyly drooping lashes from her violet eyes and gazed +into his face, frankly and steadily. + +“Aline, do you realize that you are really my wife?--that you belong +wholly to me?” he asked her. + +“Yes,” she answered quietly. + +“Is there any sorrow, any regret, any repulsion in the thought?” he +inquired, and she answered in a low voice: + +“No.” + +“I have something to tell you,” he said, “but oh, Aline, I am afraid.” + +She grew very pale at those words from his lips. She looked at him +anxiously. + +“You need not be afraid to tell me. Go on. I will try to bear it,” she +said, with a falter in her voice. + +“But, Aline, my own, my darling, you must not hate me for this,” he +said, passionately. “Indeed I did not know! I believed I was surely +doomed! And, now, now if only you could forgive me for my unconscious +deception, I should be the happiest man in the world.” + +She bent her blue eyes on him full of reproach and pain. + +“Happy--at dying? Happy--at leaving _me_?” she said, in a low, strange, +bewildered voice. + +And for a moment they gazed wonderingly at each other. Then he +spoke--almost incredulously: + +“Aline, have you misunderstood me? I have been trying to tell you that +the doubt is over. I have rallied from my illness! Love and joy have +wrought a miracle! _I shall live!_” + +“You--will--live?” she gasped, and stared at him, speechless. + +“Oh, my dear, are you so sorry? Do you regret that you gave yourself +to me? Oh, I would far sooner have died than this!” cried out Oran +Delaney, in a passion of despair. + +But she caught the hand he threw out in his frenzy of despair and +pressed her lips upon it. + +“Ah, Heaven, how glad I am!” she cried; and he answered, wonderingly: + +“And you are not sorry--you do not hate me, Aline?” + +“No, no, I love you,” she answered, hiding her face against his hands. +“I think I must have loved you long, but I did not know it until I +believed you dying. Oh, I thank Heaven that it has so kindly granted my +prayer!” + +“Your prayer, darling?” he said, gathering her in both arms tightly, as +if he never meant to let her go again. + +She whispered, with her lips against his cheek: + +“I have been locked into my room all day, Oran, praying, praying, on my +knees, that your life might be spared to me. And Heaven has granted my +prayer. You will live for me, my husband!” + + +THE END. + + + + +“Look it up in the Dream Book.” + +THE MASCOT DREAM BOOK, + +FORTUNE-TELLER AND HOROSCOPE. + +WITH + +COMBINATION NUMBERS. + +Price 10 Cents. + + +Nothing which is natural in entirely useless. Dreams must be intended +for some purpose. About one third of our existence is passed in sleep; +and during sleep we often dream. Why is this? Does the mind naturally +and irresistibly act in a certain way, while we sleep, and this without +any possible useful purpose? Certainly not. Common sense, philosophy, +and history will contradict this supposition. Mankind, in all ages +and countries, have agreed in believing that dreams have a spiritual +origin, and, to a certain extent, a useful purpose. + +In this little book the interpretation of dreams is reduced to a +system. If the reader can not assent to the interpretations of dreams +as here set forth, at least a great deal of entertainment will be found +in reading them. + + +IN ADDITION TO + +THE MASCOT DREAM BOOK + +THIS LITTLE MANUAL ALSO CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING: + + Divination by Cards--To Know Whether a Woman will Have the Man She + Wishes--To Know Whether a Person will be Married--Concerning Children + Born on any Day in the Week--Fortunate Days, Months, and Years--To + Cast Your Nativity--The Way to Get Rich, and Live Happy in the + Marriage State--Curious and Instructive Information on Physiognomy, + etc. + + +The Mascot Dream Book is of pocket size, and it can be carried without +inconvenience. + +For sale by all newsdealers, or sent by mail, on receipt of 10 cents, +by the publishers. Address + + GEORGE MUNRO’S SONS, PUBLISHERS, + + (P. O. Box 1781.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. + + + + +THE SWEETHEART SERIES. + + + PRICE 15 CENTS PER COPY. + + TWO COPIES FOR 25 CENTS. + + +These books are printed on good paper, in large type, and are bound in +handsome photogravure covers of different designs. A complete list of +CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME’S works is published in this series. + + + Charlotte M. Braeme. + + 22 His Perfect Trust. + 24 The Heiress of Hilldrop. + 25 For Another’s Sin. + 26 Set in Diamonds. + 27 The World Between Them. + 28 A Passion Flower. + 29 A True Magdalen. + 30 A Woman’s Error. + 32 At War with Herself. + 33 The Belle of Lynn. + 34 The Shadow of a Sin. + 35 Claribel’s Love Story. + 36 A Woman’s War. + 38 Hilary’s Folly. + 39 From Gloom to Sunlight. + 40 A Haunted Life. + 41 The Mystery of Colde Fell; or, Not Proven. + 42 A Dark Marriage Morn. + 43 The Duke’s Secret. + 44 His Wife’s Judgment. + 45 A Thorn in Her Heart. + 46 A Nameless Sin. + 47 A Mad Love. + 48 Irene’s Vow. + 49 Signa’s Sweetheart. + 51 A Fiery Ordeal. + 52 Between Two Loves. + 53 Beyond Pardon. + 54 A Bitter Atonement. + 55 A Broken Wedding-Ring. + 56 Dora Thorne. + 57 The Earl’s Atonement. + 58 Evelyn’s Folly. + 59 A Golden Heart. + 60 Her Martyrdom. + 61 Her Second Love. + 62 Lady Damer’s Secret. + 63 Lady Hutton’s Ward. + 64 Lord Lisle’s Daughter. + 66 Lord Lynne’s Choice. + 67 Love Works Wonders. + 68 Prince Charlie’s Daughter. + 69 Put Asunder; or, Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce. + 70 Repented at Leisure. + 71 A Struggle for a Ring. + 72 Sunshine and Roses. + 73 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. + 77 Under a Shadow; or, A Shadowed Life. + 78 Weaker Than a Woman. + 79 Wedded and Parted. + 80 Which Loved Him Best? + 81 Wife in Name Only. + 82 A Woman’s Temptation. + 83 A Queen Amongst Women. + 84 Madolin’s Lover. + 87 The Sin of a Lifetime. + 88 Love’s Warfare. + 89 ’Twixt Smile and Tear. + 90 Sweet Cymbeline. + 93 The Squire’s Darling. + 94 The Gambler’s Wife. + 95 A Fatal Dower. + 96 Her Mother’s Sin. + 97 Romance of a Black Veil. + 98 A Rose in Thorns. + 99 Lord Elesmere’s Wife. + 291 Queen of the Lilies. Sequel to Lord Elesmere’s Wife. + 103 The Mystery of Woodleigh Grange. + 185 A Willful Maid. + 186 A Woman’s Love Story. + 194 Bonnie Doon. + 212 Lady Latimer’s Escape, and A Fatal Temptation. + 213 My Poor Wife. + 214 Jessie. + 215 Phyllis’s Probation. + 216 Betwixt My Love and Me. + 217 Suzanne. + 218 Prince Charming. + 222 The Ducie Diamonds. + 223 Lady Muriel’s Secret. + 224 “For a Dream’s Sake.” + 225 Under a Ban. + 226 “So Near, and Yet So Far.” + 227 A Great Mistake. + 228 The Wife’s Secret. + 229 For Life and Love. + 230 The Fatal Lilies. + 231 A Gilded Sin. + 232 Ingledew House. + 238 In Cupid’s Net. + 234 A Dead Heart. + 235 A Golden Dawn. + 236 Two Kisses. + 237 The White Witch. + 238 At Any Cost. + 239 A Bitter Reckoning. + 240 My Sister Kate. + 241 His Wedded Wife. + 242 Thrown on the World. + 243 Between Two Sins. + 244 The Hidden Sin. + 245 James Gordon’s Wife. + 246 A Coquette’s Conquest. + 247 A Fair Mystery. + 292 The Perils of Beauty. Sequel to “A Fair Mystery.” + 248 Wedded Hands. + 249 Griselda. + 250 Margery Daw. + 251 In Shallow Waters. + 252 Society’s Verdict. + 253 If Love Be Love. + 254 The Actor’s Ward. + 255 A Willful Young Woman. + 256 Marjorie. + 257 Lady Diana’s Pride. + 258 A Hidden Terror. + 259 A Struggle for the Right. + 260 Blossom and Fruit. + 261 On Her Wedding Morn. + 262 The Shattered Idol. + 263 The Earl’s Error. + 264 An Unnatural Bondage. + 265 Golden Gates. + 266 A Modern Cinderella. + 267 Lured Away. + 268 Beauty’s Marriage. + 269 Guelda. + 270 Dumaresq’s Temptation. + 271 Jenny. + 272 The Star of Love. + 273 A Woman’s Vengeance. + 274 Dream Faces. + 275 The Story of an Error. + 276 The Queen of the County. + 277 Her Only Sin. + 278 A Fatal Wedding. + 279 Under the Holly Berries, and Coralie. + 282 Redeemed by Love. + 286 Lady Ethel’s Whim, and My Mother’s Rival. + 287 Daphne Vernon, and An Alluring Young Woman. + 289 Love’s Surrender, and Marion Arleigh’s Penance. + 309 A Woman’s Honor. + + +Robert Buchanan. + + 220 The Master of the Mine. + 221 The Heir of Linne. + + +Rosa Nouchette Carey. + + 50 Not Like Other Girls. + 85 Only the Governess. + + +Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. + + 107 Ivan, the Serf. + 108 The Queen’s Revenge. + + +Mrs. E. Burke Collins. + + 161 Lillian’s Vow. + 162 Sold for Gold. + + +Marie Corelli. + + 20 The Song of Miriam. + 92 Vendetta! + + +Jean Corey. + + 148 The Dance of Death. + 163 A Heart of Fire. + + +Victoria Cross. + + 144 A Girl of the Klondike. + 145 Paula. A Sketch from Life. + + +Dora Delmar. + + 152 Cast Up by the Tide. + 153 The Scent of the Roses. + + +A. Conan Doyle. + + 65 A Study in Scarlet. + 143 The Sherlock Holmes Detective Stories. + + +“The Duchess.” + + 74 The Honorable Mrs. Vereker. + 75 Under-Currents. + 76 A Born Coquette. + 91 April’s Lady. + + +Alexander Dumas. + + 86 Camille. + 281 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. + + +May Agnes Fleming. + + 135 The Heiress of Glen Gower. + 136 Magdalen’s Vow. + 137 Who Wins? + 138 Lady Evelyn. + 139 Estella’s Husband. + 140 The Baronet’s Bride. + 141 The Unseen Bridegroom. + + +Charles Garvice. + + 1 The Marquis. + 5 A Wasted Love (On Love’s Altar). + 7 Leslie’s Loyalty (His Love So True). + 9 Elaine. + 11 Claire (The Mistress of Court Regna). + 13 Her Heart’s Desire (An Innocent Girl). + 15 Her Ransom (Paid For). + 17 A Coronet of Shame. + 21 Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold. + 124 She Loved Him. + 207 Only a Girl’s Love. + 208 Leola Dale’s Fortune. + 209 Only One Love. + 210 His Guardian Angel. + 288 Farmer Holt’s Daughter, and Woven on Fate’s Loom. + 293 The Earl’s Heir (Lady Norah). + 294 For an Earldom (Love’s Dilemma). + 295 The Lady of Darracourt (Lucille). + 296 The Heir of Vering. + 297 The Gipsy Peer (The Usurper). + 298 Jeanne (Barriers Between). + 299 So Nearly Lost (The Springtime of Love). + 300 So Fair, So False (The Beauty of the Season). + 301 My Lady Pride (Floris). + 302 Staunch as a Woman (A Maiden’s Sacrifice). + 303 The Spider and the Fly (Violet). + 304 For Her Only (Diana). + 305 Under the Shadow (Iris). + 306 A Woman’s Soul (Behind the Footlights). + 307 It Was For Her Sake (Olivia). + 308 Staunch of Heart (Adrian Leroy). + 310 My Lady of Snow, and other stories. + 311 Leave Love to Itself, and other stories. + 312 The Woman Decides, and other stories. + + +Wenona Gilman. + + 154 Hearts and Lives. + 155 Blind Dan’s Daughter. + 156 Val, the Tomboy. + 157 My Little Princess. + + +Mrs. Sumner Hayden. + + 8 The Midnight Marriage. + 118 Little Goldie. + + +Mary J. Holmes. + + 111 Tempest and Sunshine. + 112 The Homestead on the Hillside. + 118 The English Orphans. + 122 ’Lena Rivers. + 126 Meadow Brook. + 201 Dora Deane. + 202 Old Hagar’s Secret. + + +Rudyard Kipling. + + 115 Ballads and Other Verses. + 116 Drums of the Fore and Aft. + + +Laura Jean Libbey. + + 2 Beautiful Ione’s Lover. + 4 All For Love of a Fair Face. + 6 Daisy Brooks. + 8 Little Rosebud’s Lovers. + 10 A Struggle for a Heart. + 12 Junie’s Love-Test. + 14 Leonie Locke. + 16 Madolin Rivers. + 18 The Heiress of Cameron Hall. + 285 Beautiful Victorine’s Folly. + + +Henry Seton Merriman. + + 130 The Phantom Future. + 131 Prisoners and Captives. + 142 Young Mistley. + + +Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. + + 165 Lady Gay’s Pride. + 166 Lancaster’s Choice. + 167 Tiger-Lily. + 168 The Pearl and the Ruby. + 169 Eric Braddon’s Love. + 170 Little Sweetheart. + 171 Flower and Jewel. + 172 Little Nobody. + + +Oliver Optic. + + 114 The Boat Club. + 120 All Aboard! + 121 Now or Never. + + +Effie Adelaide Rowlands. + + 149 A Charity Girl. + 150 Husband and Foe. + 151 Little Lady Charles. + 178 The Man She Loved. + 184 One Man’s Evil. + 205 Carla. + 283 Beneath a Spell. + 284 Her Punishment; or, With Heart So True. + + +Charlotte M. Stanley. + + 174 Her Second Choice. + 175 His Country Cousin. + 176 Frou-Frou. + 197 Sybil’s Secret. + + +Count Lyof Tolstoi. + + 101 The Kreutzer Sonata. + 102 Anna Karénine. + + +E. Werner. + + 105 His Word of Honor: or, What the Spring Brought. + 106 She Fell in Love with Her Husband; or, “Good Luck;” or, Success, and How He Won It. + 109 The Price He Paid. + 110 The Master of Ettersberg. + +Miscellaneous. + + 19 Woman Against Woman. + Mrs. M. A. Holmes. + + 23 Addie’s Husband. + By the Author of “Jessie.” + + 31 Leonie, the Sweet Street Singer. By the Author of “For Mother’s Sake.” + + 37 Lady Audley’s Secret. + Miss M. E. Braddon. + + 100 The Dolly Dialogues. + Anthony Hope. + + 104 Martha; or, The Story of a Clergyman’s Daughter. + W. Heimburg. + + 117 The Royal Chase. + Amédée Achard. + + 119 Inez: A Tale of the Alamo. + Augusta J. Evans. + + 123 Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám. + + 125 In His Steps. “What Would Jesus Do?” + Rev. Charles M. Sheldon. + + 127 The Iron Pirate. + Max Pemberton. + + 128 The Hypocrite. + + 129 Dead Man’s Rock. + “Q” (Arthur T. Quiller-Couch). + + 132 A Parisian Romance. + Octave Feuillet. + + 133 Carmen: The Power of Love. + Prosper Merimée. + + 134 Prue and I. + George William Curtis. + + 146 Sappho. Alphonse Daudet. + + 147 Manon Lescaut. + L’Abbé Prévost. + + 158 The Banker’s Daughter. + Magdalen Barrett. + + 159 The Depth of Love. + Hannah Blomgren. + + 160 His Legal Wife. + Mary E. Bryan. + + 164 Shadow and Sunshine. + Adna H. Lightner. + + 173 Under Five Lakes. + “M. Quad.” + + 177 The Little Light-House Lass. + Elizabeth Stiles. + + 179 An Impossible Thing. + Katharine Wynne. + + 180 Woman, the Mystery. + Henry Herman. + + 181 Christie Johnstone. + Charles Reade. + + 182 The Blithedale Romance. + Nathaniel Hawthorne. + + 183 Through Green Glasses. + F. M. Allen. + + 187 Black Rock. Ralph Connor. + + 188 The Type-Writer Girl. + Olive Pratt Rayner. + + 189 The Story of L’Aiglon. + “Carolus.” + + 190 An Englishwoman’s Love-Letters. + + 191 Elizabeth and Her German Garden. + + 192 The Queen’s Book. + Queen Victoria. + + 193 The Best Policy. + Katharine Wynne. + + 195 The Danvers Jewels. + Mary Cholmondeley. + + 196 Madame Sans-Gene. + Edmond Lepelletier. + + 198 Love’s Martyr. + Laurence A. Tadema. + + 199 A Crimson Stain. + Annie Bradshaw. + + 200 Miss Kate. “Rita.” + + 203 “By the Waters of Babylon.” John B. Hopkins. + + 204 A Fortnight at the Dead Lake. Paul Heyse. + + 205 Mrs. Austen. + Margaret Veley. + + 211 Peg Woffington. + Charles Reade. + + 219 The Woman of Fire. + Adolphe Belot. + + 280 May Blossom. + Margaret Lee. + + 290 Wee Macgreegor. J. J. B. + + +The foregoing books are for sale by all newsdealers, or they will be +sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of 15 cents per copy, or 2 copies +for 25 cents, by the publishers. Address + + GEORGE MUNRO’S SONS, Publishers, + + (P. O. Box 1781.) 17 to 27 Vandewater St., New York. + + + + +GOOD FORM: + +A BOOK OF EVERY DAY ETIQUETTE. + +BY MRS. ARMSTRONG. + +WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. + +PRICE 10 CENTS. + + +No one aspiring to the manners of a lady or gentleman can afford to +be without a copy of this invaluable book, which is certain to spare +its possessor many embarrassments incidental to the novice in forms of +etiquette. + + +MUNRO’S STAR RECITATIONS. + +Compiled and Edited by MRS. MARY E. BRYAN. + +⁂ WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER ⁂ + +PRICE 10 CENTS. + +An entirely new, choice and entertaining collection of humorous, comic, +tragic, sentimental, and narrative poems for recitation. + + Suitable for Parlor Entertainments, Summer Hotel Entertainments, + School Exhibitions, Exercise in Elocution, Evenings at Home, etc., + etc. + +The whole carefully revised, innocently amusing, instructive and +entertaining, forming a delightful reading book of poetical selections +from the best authors. + + +THE + +ART OF HOUSEKEEPING. + +By Mary Stuart Smith. + +WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. + +PRICE 10 CENTS. + +A thoroughly practical book on housekeeping by an experienced and +celebrated housekeeper. Mrs. Smith is a capable and distinguished +writer upon all subjects connected with the kitchen and household. + +The foregoing works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to +any address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publishers. + + Address GEORGE MUNRO’S SONS, + MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, + 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. + + + + +A PRACTICAL GUIDE + +To the Acquisition of the + +SPANISH LANGUAGE. + +BY LUCIEN OUDIN, A.M. + +Price 10 Cents. + + +MUNRO’S FRENCH SERIES. + +No. 1: + +An Elementary Grammar of the French Language. + +BY ILLION COSTELLANO. + +Price 10 Cents. + + +MUNRO’S FRENCH SERIES. + +Nos. 2 and 3: + +Practical Guides to the French Language. + +BY LUCIEN OUDIN, A.M. + +Price 10 Cents Each. + + +MUNRO’S GERMAN SERIES. + +(TWO VOLUMES) + +A METHOD OF Learning German on a New and Easy Plan. + +BY EDWARD CHAMIER. + + +The above books afford a cheap and easy means of learning the Spanish, +French, and German languages. They have had a large sale, and have +invariably given entire satisfaction. + +For sale by all newsdealers, or sent by mail, on receipt of the price, +10 cents each, by the publishers. + + Address GEORGE MUNRO’S SONS, + MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, + (P. O. Box 1781.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes: + + +This novel first appeared as a serial in the _Fireside Companion_ story +paper from October 1, 1883 to February 4, 1884. + +Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. + +Some inconsistent hyphenation (childlike vs. child-like) was retained +from the original. +Table of contents has been added and placed into the public domain by +the transcriber. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77775 *** |