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.