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.