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.