It was a strange mockery of fate that had thrown Oran Delaney, wounded
and helpless, beneath the roof of the man whom he had injured, and who
had wounded him near unto death.
Yet so it was; and he was likely to remain there several weeks, for
the physician, who was summoned to attend him, declared that the wound
was a serious, if not fatal, one, and that it would be some time before
he could be moved with safety.
Mr. Rodney, who had been temporarily maddened by excitement last
night, had come to his senses now. He made no attempt to fly from the
consequences of his assault upon Oran Delaney. He went and delivered
himself up to the authorities, accusing himself of the crime.
They laughed at him at first--it was so strange for a man to accuse
himself of crime without even a witness to testify against him--but
he insisted that his statement was true; so they put him under bonds
to appear when Mr. Delaney was well enough to come into court, and
released him.
In a day or two, when he was well enough to be seen, he told Oran
Delaney what he had done.
“So that, whether you live or die, your wrong will be avenged,” he
said, grimly.
“I do not wish it so,” said Oran Delaney, gravely. “In any case, I
shall not appear against you. You only did what I, in your place, would
have done. No one can blame you.”
Mr. Rodney said to himself that if the man’s sense of honor was so
lively, he should not have acted as he did with regard to Aline. He
said nothing, however--only turned upon his heel and left the room. His
heart was on fire with anxiety, for he had heard no word of Aline since
that snowy eve when, finding that her secret was discovered, she had
fled from her home.
Neither had any trace been found of the escaped lunatic who had fired
Delaney House. Mrs. Griffin had been so suffocated by the smoke and
flame of the hall that she had been unable to prosecute her search far.
She had been forced to retreat before she had penetrated all the rooms.
It was the same way with the men who had gone to the rescue. The smoke
and flame had beaten them quickly back. So it was not certainly known
yet whether the dreadful creature had fallen a victim to the fury of
the fire her own hand had kindled, or if she had wandered out into the
stormy night and perished in some of the huge drifts of snow that the
wild wind had blown together in out-of-the-way places.
But the storm was over now, and the deep snow was melting away. It was
three days since Delaney House had been burned.
The hidden secret for whose keeping poor Aline Rodney had paid so dire
a penalty, belonged to the world now. Oran Delaney, in the troubles
that had crowded thickly upon him, had thrown pride to the winds and
revealed all.
Let us listen to him as he tells his own story to Mr. Rodney.
“I will tell you my story briefly now,” he said, “and then you will
understand why I have led such a strange, retired life. And,” he added,
with a dark-red flush creeping over his handsome face, “you will know,
too, that I have never harmed your beautiful young daughter as you
think. She is as innocent and pure as she is fair.”
Somehow the words carried conviction to Mr. Rodney’s heart. He waited
eagerly for the story Mr. Delaney had promised to tell him.
His first words filled him with horror and amazement.
“That poor, deformed maniac whom you saw in that upper room, who set
fire to Delaney House, was my wedded wife,” he said, with a shudder he
could not repress.
“Great Heavens, your wife! How could you wed that creature?” Mr. Rodney
cried out, startled.
“How, indeed!” echoed Mr. Delaney, with a groan. “But that is what I am
about to tell you. I was made the innocent victim of a terrible fraud.”
Mr. Rodney began to feel strangely interested in this man whom his
avenging bullet had laid low upon a bed of pain. He waited eagerly for
further disclosures.
“Who could have perpetrated such a monstrous fraud?” he exclaimed.