“It is a falsehood! I do not believe you!” Mr. Rodney cried out, beside himself with fury, and for a moment there reigned an ominous silence. The hot blood leaped to Oran Delaney’s dark face, his black eyes blazed. “I come of a race that does not brook such words as those, Mr. Rodney,” he said, coldly and sharply. “Clear yourself of the imputation, then, by proving your innocence,” the other retorted. “My word is my proof,” Mr. Delaney replied, proudly, and again there was a short silence. Mr. Rodney, goaded to madness by his wrongs, raised his head and regarded his foe fixedly. “I do not take your words as proof,” he said, angrily. “I demand the right to search this house. Do you allow it?” “No!” thundered Mr. Delaney, fiercely. “Then I shall do so without your consent!” exclaimed Mr. Rodney, advancing and attempting to thrust him aside. Oran Delaney firmly barred his further progress by placing himself between him and the stairway. “You dare thwart a wronged and maddened father!” cried Mr. Rodney, in almost maniacal wrath. “You thus bring down doom upon your own head! Thus do I avenge poor Aline’s wrongs!” A pistol gleamed in his upraised hand; there was a sharp report, a flash of fire, a cloud of thick smoke. Oran Delaney fell forward on his face, and lay there motionless. CHAPTER LII. Mr. Rodney did not pause to see the result of his maddened deed. He threw the smoking pistol far from him, sprung over the body of his prostrate victim, and rushed up the stairs, two at a time, in his eagerness to find his runaway daughter. At the head of the stairway he found himself in another long, wide hall, richly carpeted and dimly lighted by a large swinging lamp. On either side stretched a row of closed doors, and as he gazed at them irresolutely one on the left opened hurriedly, and a woman rushed out and came running down the hall toward him. His heart leaped into his mouth. Could that be Aline? But as she came quickly up to him, he saw that he was mistaken. It was not Aline. It was an old woman in a cap and glasses. She ran up to him and caught him quickly by the arm, and then he saw that there had been a mutual mistake, for when she saw his face she recoiled from him in terror. “My God!” she said, “I thought that it was Mr. Delaney. What are you doing here, sir?” “I am seeking my daughter. Bring her to me, woman,” he cried, wildly, catching her by the sleeve as she was about to rush away from him. “You are Mr. Rodney,” she said, looking curiously into the strange face with its wild, excited eyes. “Yes, I am Mr. Rodney,” he answered, in hoarse, strained accents. “I am the father of the wickedest girl that ever cursed a father’s life. Woman, woman, where is my Aline? Bring her here to me, that I may curse her for her sins!” “O, Mr. Rodney, she is not here,” cried Mrs. Griffin, regarding his wild strange visage tearfully. “It is false. I _know_ that she is here,” he thundered at her.