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.”