“I am going,” she answered, with a proud bitterness, as she tore the door open and rushed from the room. She ran along the hall, down the stairway, flew through the hall and the kitchen, pausing not until she found herself again out in the dark, starless night, with the soft, swift flakes of snow still falling steadily, and wrapping old Mother Earth in a pure white winding sheet. “I shall never go home again--never!” said the girl, lifting a white, desperate face in the wintery darkness. “May God pity and guide me in my wretched exile!” CHAPTER XLIX. Oran Delaney drew a long breath of relief as the door closed behind the slender form of Aline. He had been face to face with a great temptation, and he had mastered it by the strength of an indomitable will. But the great drops of sweat beaded his white brow as he sunk into a chair and gazed blankly at the carved oaken door that had shut Aline out from his sight. “She thinks me cold, cruel, heartless,” he muttered. “But, oh, my God, what if I had taken her at her word? Ah, no, no, better let her go pure and innocent, though miserable, than such a fate as that, poor child.” He remained silent a few moments, then rose from his chair and began to pace restlessly up and down the floor. “Ah, Heaven, if only I knew what to do!” he cried. “It is a shame that her pure, sweet life should be sacrificed to the keeping of my bitter secret. Ah, if only I could beat down my wretched pride and confess the truth! Aline, Aline, I would give uncounted gold if only I had never seen your face.” His distracted thoughts received a sudden and startling interruption. A sound he had not heard for years echoed loudly through the house. It was the peal of the long-unused door-bell. Once, twice, thrice, it echoed through the house, loudly and harshly, as if grasped by a hasty and authoritative hand. Mrs. Griffin came flying into the room and met her master coming out. “Oh, sir, the door-bell,” she gasped, breathlessly. “Go back and guard her,” he answered. “I will answer the bell myself.” He went with slow steps along the hall. Something told him what was coming. He was not surprised when he opened the door and saw his neighbor on the threshold. “Mr. Rodney!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Delaney!” replied the other as he stepped deliberately into the wide, dimly-lighted hall. And then they stood gazing at each other in silence a moment. Mr. Rodney spoke first in low, deep voice of concentrated bitterness and repressed fury. “I have come for my daughter,” he said. “She is not here,” Mr. Delaney answered, steadily. Mr. Rodney’s hand clinched itself as it hung by his side, until the sharp nails were buried in the tender flesh. “Do not answer me with falsehoods,” he said, fiercely. “She has fled from her home, and I am quite sure that she is here.” “I repeat that she is not here,” answered the master of Delaney House, with a forced calmness. “She was here but a little while ago, but she went away again.”