But Dr. Anthony, who had been making a careful examination of the
patient, looked around at these words, and said, hurriedly:
“No, no, you are mistaken. I can detect some signs of life yet. It is
only a deep swoon. Let all leave the room except the nurse and myself,
and let the attending physician be sent for immediately.”
They all retired, and Aline went to her own room to strip off the
wedding finery. Then she locked herself in for the remainder of the day.
Mr. Lane came that day fresh from an unsuccessful quest after Aline,
and was amazed and delighted when he heard that she had come home, and
that she had been in Florida all the time with Dr. and Mrs. Anthony. He
grew red and pale by turns when he heard that Aline was married to Mr.
Delaney. She was the only woman he had ever loved. A swift pain tore
his heart as he realized that she was lost to him forever, for although
her husband was dying, she would be too far above him socially as the
wealthy widow of Oran Delaney for him to ever aspire to her hand.
He remained silent a few minutes fighting down his pain and
disappointment, and at length reason came to his aid and told him
it was better so. He was quite old enough to be Aline’s father, and
besides she was socially his superior. He put away his broken dream
from him with a suppressed sigh, and declared that he was glad that
all had turned out so well. All would be well with Aline now. Fate had
settled her future for her. No one would ever dare to asperse her now
when she bore the proud name of Delaney.
He would have liked to see her and congratulate her, but they told
him that she was locked into her room, refusing admittance to any, so
he went away, leaving his best wishes for her and her husband if he
ever rallied sufficiently to receive them. That night he went back to
New York, and in his busy life tried to forget the sweet, luring face
of the girl who had lured him into such a sweet, momentary dream of
domestic happiness. He never loved again, never wooed nor wedded. A
memory of Aline always remained with him, but it became in time only
a sweet and pleasant one, unmixed with pain. Several years after that
day of disappointment and pain, he met her in New York, and then he saw
the wisdom of his loss. She was far too brilliant and beautiful ever to
have linked her lot with his. He smiled and murmured to himself: “Fate
is above us all!”
Aline was very sweet and kind to him when they met. She had heard the
story of his attachment to herself long before that, and at first she
had been inclined to laugh at the old bachelor’s romance, but when she
heard how kind a motive had blended with his love, she felt more kindly
toward him. In her youth and beauty and perfect happiness she could
well spare a kindly thought to one who had loved her in vain.
She laid her round white arms fondly about the neck of him who had made
her life so bright and blessed.
“I am sorry for him, dear,” she said. “But I never could have loved any
one but you, my own, own darling one.”