“Yes, papa, I swear before Heaven that I am as pure as when I went away,” she replied. Then there was silence for a moment. Mrs. Rodney had fallen down upon the bed, weeping bitter, but quiet tears. Mr. Rodney walked over to the window, and stood looking out again at the gloomy outlines of his neighbor’s house. It had acquired a strange fascination for him since he had learned that his daughter had been hidden there so long “I wonder,” he broke out, abruptly, “what I have ever done to Oran Delaney that he should have done this thing to me?” Aline had sunk wearily into her chair again. She looked around at him now, earnestly. “Papa, I am sure you have done nothing,” she said. “There are reasons relating to himself that compel him to wish the story of my presence in his house unknown.” “One thing I must know, Aline. This man who has so cruelly blighted all your prospects in life, does he love you?” “No, papa,” she replied, with something like wonder at his question. “Yet yesterday he risked his life to save yours.” “I think he meant that in some sort as a reparation,” she said, timidly. “Then it was he that sent you the ten thousand dollars?” interrogated her father, quickly. “It was he,” she replied. “Then you were right not to accept it,” he exclaimed. “Oran Delaney must make you a greater reparation than that for the ill you have sustained at his hands.” “He will not reveal the secret--we need not hope for it,” Aline said, despondently. “A thousand revealed secrets could not clear the stain from your name, my poor child,” he answered “You are irretrievably compromised by your stay in his house. There is but one atonement he can make you, and I, as the guardian of your honor, shall force him to that if it be at the point of the sword.” “Would you murder Mr. Delaney?” she exclaimed, in horror. “I will meet him on the field of honor and fight him until one or both of us be dead,” Mr. Rodney answered, so resolutely that Aline shuddered. A vision of the scene he threatened rushed over her mind. Oh, what a terrible price she was paying for the willful folly of that summer day long past! “Papa, you said there was one atonement he could make,” she said, timidly. “Will you tell me what you meant?” “He must make you his wife, Aline. He must give you the shelter of his proud, honorable name to wash away the stain he has cast upon your own. In no other way can he make atonement for his fault,” Mr. Rodney exclaimed. CHAPTER XLV. Mr. Rodney’s firm and decisive declaration had the effect of frightening his fair young daughter. She looked at him, piteously. “But, papa, I do not want to be married,” she exclaimed, with such a childish air of dismay and surprise that he could have laughed if he had not been so miserable. “I do not want to be married, I should not like to be married,” Aline repeated, forlornly. “But, my dear, all women marry,” said her father.