But all in vain. The devouring element had obtained too deadly a headway. It was impossible to beat back the swiftly encroaching flames. They leaped into the air like hydra-headed serpents, coiling and twisting in mad delight over their doomed prey; they lighted the darkness of the snowy night into fierce and lurid grandeur; they licked up at a breath the beautiful articles of _virtu_ that generations of dead and gone Delaneys had gathered in their ancestral home at the cost of many thousands of dollars. They spared naught that came in their way, and when the gray dawn looked with dim eyes at the scene of desolation, nothing remained of the Delaney House but a huge black pile of smoking ruins. CHAPTER LIV. It was a strange mockery of fate that had thrown Oran Delaney, wounded and helpless, beneath the roof of the man whom he had injured, and who had wounded him near unto death. Yet so it was; and he was likely to remain there several weeks, for the physician, who was summoned to attend him, declared that the wound was a serious, if not fatal, one, and that it would be some time before he could be moved with safety. Mr. Rodney, who had been temporarily maddened by excitement last night, had come to his senses now. He made no attempt to fly from the consequences of his assault upon Oran Delaney. He went and delivered himself up to the authorities, accusing himself of the crime. They laughed at him at first--it was so strange for a man to accuse himself of crime without even a witness to testify against him--but he insisted that his statement was true; so they put him under bonds to appear when Mr. Delaney was well enough to come into court, and released him. In a day or two, when he was well enough to be seen, he told Oran Delaney what he had done. “So that, whether you live or die, your wrong will be avenged,” he said, grimly. “I do not wish it so,” said Oran Delaney, gravely. “In any case, I shall not appear against you. You only did what I, in your place, would have done. No one can blame you.” Mr. Rodney said to himself that if the man’s sense of honor was so lively, he should not have acted as he did with regard to Aline. He said nothing, however--only turned upon his heel and left the room. His heart was on fire with anxiety, for he had heard no word of Aline since that snowy eve when, finding that her secret was discovered, she had fled from her home.