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.