“Because I have grieved her so, I will speak no angry words to her father,” he said to himself. He turned to the angry man and said, with grave dignity: “I am quite willing to offer you all the reparation in my power, Mr. Rodney, for the injury I have done you and your daughter.” “I think you know that there are but two ways of settling our difficulty,” Mr. Rodney said, gazing sternly into the troubled eyes of his neighbor. “You mean--” “The first way would be to marry my daughter and give her the shelter of your name,” said Mr. Rodney. “And the second?” queried his neighbor. “Satisfaction at the sword’s point” the other answered, sharply. “A duel?” Mr. Delaney exclaimed. “Yes.” Then for a brief space they were silent, and gazed gravely at each other. The visitor was the first to break the deep, strange silence that reigned in the room. “You have your choice, sir. Which shall it be--a death or a bridal?” “Most unfortunately, I can have no choice in the matter,” Oran Delaney answered, in calm, repressed tones that showed no trace of fear or dread. “It must be the duel.” “You refuse to marry Aline--you prefer death rather than be the husband of my beautiful child!” Mr. Rodney exclaimed, in mingled anger and wonder. “I have already told you that I have no choice,” the other answered. “Of course you will allow me to doubt that assertion?” sneeringly. “I will allow _you_ to do so for your daughter’s sake: but it would not be safe for any other man to say so much before my face.” They gazed fixedly at each other. Mr. Rodney’s lips were just starting to speak, when the contemplated words were frozen on his lips by a terrible interruption. That terrible voice, which any one who had ever heard it never forgot, rang suddenly and startlingly through the house, waking all the sleeping echoes into awful life. Mr. Rodney’s blood tingled in his veins, every individual hair on his head seemed to stand erect with horror. He sprung forward and caught Mr. Delaney by the arm. “What is it?” he cried, hoarsely. His host did not answer for a moment. He stood still, listening to those ringing cries with a look like despair on his face. “What is it?” Mr. Rodney repeated. Then Mr. Delaney turned his tortured eyes on the other’s face. “It is the ghost of Delaney House,” he said, in a changed and hollow voice. “The ghost!” Mr. Rodney cried. “Yes,” Mr. Delaney answered, and then both were silent, while those shrill cries filled their ears with a horrible din. A pause, and then Mr. Delaney said, abruptly: “Do not think me inhospitable, but you had better go. Delaney House is no place for you or any one. It is haunted. It is the abode of unhappy spirits. Go now, and send some one to me in the morning on the business you propose.”