She had a very tender heart, this little willful heroine of ours,
and although she thought that she hated Oran Delaney she would not
willingly have seen him suffer. She saw that he was growing pale and
faint from loss of blood, and she could not keep from pitying him.
She cried out, hastily:
“Come here, Mr. Delaney. I will fasten the bandage for you.”
He looked surprised, but he came to the bed and held down his arm
within the reach of her little white hands. She drew the band tighter
and bound her handkerchief tightly around it. The blood ceased to flow,
but her own hands were stained with blood when she had finished.
“Does it frighten you much?” he asked. “You look very pale.”
“No, I am not frightened,” bravely. “Tell me--how did you come by your
wounds?”
“In much the same manner as you came by yours,” he replied, reservedly.
“Through that horrible--_something_?” she inquired, with a shudder.
“Yes.”
A gleam of intelligence flashed from Aline’s eyes.
“Ah, now I begin to understand,” she said. “You met it first. It was
your blood I saw upon the knife and the hands and the dress?”
“Yes.”
“And you did not run away from me to--to save yourself? I
thought--thought--” She paused and looked at him, half inquiringly.
“Well, what was it you thought?” he inquired.
“When you left me in the hall, you know,” she said, with some
embarrassment, “I believed that you had deserted me and fled like a
coward, leaving me to the mercies of that terrible creature. I was
mistaken, perhaps.”
He looked at her with a slow flush rising through the pallor of his
face.
“Every moment I am with you, Miss Rodney, I learn more and more how
contemptible I am in your eyes,” he said, with irrepressible chagrin.
“But I told you I was mistaken,” said the girl, with unconscious
repentance in her voice. “Was I right?”
“I met the danger first,” he answered, simply.
“Yes, I understand, and I am sorry I thought you a coward. I beg your
pardon,” she said, gently.
“You are freely forgiven,” Mr. Delaney replied, quietly, as he brought
a damp sponge and carefully removed the blood-stains from her delicate,
dimpled white hands.
She submitted quietly to the operation, though he had half expected
that she would snatch her hands away in petulant anger.
“I am a great deal better to-day, am I not, Mr. Delaney?” she inquired,
as he resumed his seat.
“I think so,” he replied. “Your wound was not serious. It was struck
too hastily. I hope you will soon recover now. You are bearing it very
bravely.”
“Thank you! And when are you going to let me go home?”
The wistful tone of the young voice struck him like a reproach. He
turned away his head as he answered:
“As soon as your wound is healed. That will be in a few weeks, I hope.”
“Can I say or do nothing that will induce you to let me go now?” she
entreated.
“That would be impossible. You are not able to be moved yet. The result
of such an imprudence might be most serious.”
“And you will not communicate with my friends?” she went on.
“I am sorry to be compelled to deny you that gratification,” he
replied, with decision.
“And in the meantime they must suffer all the pangs of doubt and
suspense. Oh, Mr. Delaney, is that right, is it just?” cried the
wounded captive.
“There are many things in this world, Miss Rodney, that are
neither right nor just,” he replied. “This may be one of them; but
circumstances will not admit of my acting otherwise. I am compelled to
keep you hidden here, unknown to any one, until you are well enough to
be returned to your home.”
“You have no pity for them, nor for me!” she cried, almost wildly.
“I cannot follow the bent of my feelings. I am compelled to pursue this
course,” replied the mysterious recluse.
“Do you not know,” she said, “that my friends will be very angry with
you for keeping me hidden away from them? What if I should die here in
this dreadful house?”
“They would never know what fate had overtaken their darling,” he
answered, gloomily.
Aline stared at him with wide, terrified blue eyes. Indignation was
rising within her again--indignation added to something like fear.