Chapter XLII

A moment of utter silence ensued upon Mr. Rodney’s excited declaration.

Mrs. Rodney had fallen into a chair like one stunned at her husband’s dreadful words. She stared alternately from his face to Aline’s in hopeless bewilderment.

But although she was in a maze of wonder, her bewilderment did not by any means equal that of her daughter.

Aline had attempted to rise from her seat, but her extreme weakness forced her to grasp the back of her chair with both hands. She clung to it tightly, leaning against it while she regarded her father with startled, wide-open eyes, and slightly parted, tremulous lips. As he gazed at the fair, wondering, innocent face, he was suddenly reminded of her childish days. Just so the beautiful face had looked many a time when, as a willful child, she had been reprimanded and blamed innocently for many pranks that she had not done; just so the dew of unshed tears had seemed to glitter on the dark, curling fringe of her lashes. The appealing innocence of that look cut him to the heart for a moment, and then he was angry with himself for his weakness. How dare she look so pure and true when she was such a sinner?

In a moment she spoke--gently, almost appealingly.

“Papa, there must be some mistake. You said you knew my secret?”

“Yes, to my sorrow,” he replied, bitterly.

“But, papa,” she spoke in a slow, grieved tone, “if you know it, as you say, why, then, do you talk of shame to me? It you know that secret you say you know, you must be aware that I have done nothing to blush for. Why should I fall down dead at my mother’s feet when I have done no wrong?”

“Aline, why do you try to keep up that wretched farce?” he exclaimed, hoarsely, while his eyes flashed luridly. “My God, you, the child we loved so dearly, the child we thought so innocent and true, you have been the falsest-hearted girl that ever a mother bore! Even while we were searching for you in anguish of soul, deeming you lost or dead, you were heartlessly hiding yourself away in the house of the rich man yonder. You were living with him in terrible shame. Say, is this not true?”

“As God is my judge, papa, you accuse me falsely!” she answered, lifting her white hand solemnly to heaven, while her beautiful face flushed a vivid burning scarlet.

“You deny that you were at Delaney House?” he asked.

“I cannot answer that question, papa; but I _can_ deny, and I do deny, your other accusation.”

“Your word does not signify much in this case,” he said. “I already have the proofs that you stayed, during the three months of your absence, at Delaney House.”

The beautiful blush seemed to burn deeper on the fair young face.

“Papa, who is my accuser?” she inquired, in wonder.

“You shall know by and by,” he answered. “I am going to ask you some questions now. Mind that you answer them truly. There is no longer any need to keep back the answer to anything I may ask you. All is known.”

“All?” she echoed, faintly, and with palpable wonder.

“Yes, all,” he replied. “And first you were at Delaney House, during the whole three months of your absence. It is too late to deny it. You must confess all.”

“But my oath,” she said, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“Is of no avail, since I have found out the truth without your agency,” he replied. “The secret is a secret no longer. You may answer freely all that I ask you.”

She looked at him dubiously with those beautiful eyes that seemed to mirror her soul’s purity.

“I should be glad to answer you, papa, if I thought it were quite right,” she said.

“You can take your papa’s word for that,” interposed Mrs. Rodney, rather peevishly. “He has never deceived you in anything, has he, Aline?”

“No, mamma,” she replied.

“Then tell him what he asks you,” said her mother.

Aline turned her eyes back to the pale, stern face of her father.

“Papa, I admit that I was at Delaney House those three months,” she said, simply.

“And you were dangerously wounded in the beginning of your stay there,” he said. “Don’t deny that either, Aline. You bear the scar on your bosom in witness of the fact.”

“I admit the wound,” she replied, in the same gentle, obedient way as before.

“I must now require you to tell me how you received it,” said Mr. Rodney, watching her closely.

She started, and looked earnestly at him.

“You said that you knew all, papa,” she replied, with a touch of vague reproach in her tone.

He could not conceal the embarrassment her words caused him. His eyelids fell and he stood silent a moment gazing down at the floor.

“You said that you knew all, papa,” Aline repeated, reproachfully.

“I know the most and worst,” he replied, looking up at her. “There are some trifling details with which I am unacquainted. I depend on you to make me acquainted with them.”

“But, papa--” she said, and paused, tremblingly.

“Well?” he said.

“You know, papa, it would be wrong for me to tell you anything about that fatal absence of mine. It would be breaking my oath of silence,” she replied.

He stifled an impatient exclamation between his mustached lips.

“But, my child,” he said, in a softer tone than he had yet used, “did you not promise just now to answer all of my questions?”

The blue eyes dilated in innocent surprise.

“Oh, no, papa,” she replied. “I thought it could do no harm to admit anything that you already knew; so I did not hesitate to own that I had been at Delaney House, and that I received my wound there. But of the manner in which I received my hurt I cannot tell you since you do not know. I am bound to silence. I cannot break my word of honor.”