And after a moment’s hesitation, he abruptly left the room. Aline remained sitting wearily in her chair, gazing into the leaping flames of the bright coal fire with sad blue eyes that could scarcely see for the thick mist of tears that filled them. Her heart ached drearily in her breast. Something like despair thrilled through her as she sat there with her small hands folded on her lap. “It were better if I had died yesterday--ay, it were better if I never had been born,” she murmured to herself, with a sudden passionate bitterness. CHAPTER XLVI. While Aline sat gazing drearily into the fire that winter eve, the grave, taciturn master of Delaney House lay languidly on a silken couch in his quiet library. The dark, handsome face had a worn and weary expression. It was pale, too, and the dark eyes were dim and heavy. His head rested wearily on a crimson satin cushion, and one hand was pressed against his brow, as if in pain. There was a light tap at the door, and then Mrs. Griffin entered and replenished the fire, that had commenced to burn low behind the steel bars of the grate. Then she stood looking at him anxiously a moment. “Your head aches?” she asked, questioningly. “Slightly,” he replied, indifferently. “Can I do nothing for you?” the old woman questioned, kindly. “No; it does not matter. The pain will wear itself out by and by.” She looked at him wistfully a moment, then went out quietly, leaving him to silence and repose again. The fire crackled merrily in the grate, the clock ticked softly on the marble mantel. Outside, the noiseless flakes of snow fell lightly against the window-pane. Gradually the twilight began to fall, and shadows gathered in the room. Mr. Delaney lay very still and quiet, with half-closed eyes shaded by his hand, his fine features grave even to sadness. In the gathering obscurity a heavy sigh drifted over his lips. Mrs. Griffin came back, lighted the library lamp, then paused and regarded him with a strange expression. He removed his hand and looked at her with his heavy eyes. “What is it?” he asked. “Oh, Mr. Delaney, there’s some one to see you!” she exclaimed. He started up, all his gravity and calmness stirred by angry displeasure. “Some one to see me? Have you forgotten my orders to admit no one?” he exclaimed. “No, sir, I have not forgotten,” she answered. “But she did not knock. She came slipping in so softly, like a ghost, that I was frightened.” “She? Whom?” he exclaimed, hoarsely. “Miss Rodney, sir.” “Miss Rodney--Aline--here in this house? My God!” he cried, abruptly. “Yes, sir, down in the kitchen, waiting to see you,” said Mrs. Griffin. “You see, I forgot to lock the door, and just at dark the knob turned soft like, and she came gliding in, still as a ghost and pale as one, too, sir. And she says to me, weak and nervous-like, ‘I _must_ see Mr. Delaney, quick. Go and ask him to give me an interview.’” He could only stare at her in blank astonishment.