Well, it was all over now for Aline, and all over for him. He would not believe that she was dead. He could not fancy those violet eyes closed in the eternal sleep--those sweet lips silent forever! God would not be so cruel now when life was opening so fairly for her, the shadows all gone from her sky and her pathway bright with the sunshine. She would come home and be happy after he was dead. Deeper and deeper grew the shadows in the room. The fire sputtered and sparkled, and a cinder fell noisily from the grate. He had become so very nervous that even that little thing made him start and open his eyes. He opened them and glanced about the room. A cry broke from his lips. He was not alone! Just between him and the flickering firelight stood a girlish, graceful figure with loosely falling hair, and a lovely white face turned toward him. The blood around his heart seemed suddenly to turn to ice. “What was it? A lying trick of the brain? Yet I thought I saw her stand, A shadow, there, at my feet. High over the shadowing land. * * * * * The ghastly wraith of one that I know.” CHAPTER LXIII. After that one cry of surprise and wonder, Oran Delaney could not utter another word. He stared speechlessly at the fair vision that had arisen, as it were, between him and the flickering firelight. Until this moment he had had an abiding conviction that Aline Rodney was not dead. His conviction was staggered now. How else had she come there, a silent shadow in his room, save from the world of shadows? “She is not of us, as I divine; She comes from another stiller world of the dead.” He lay still and awe-stricken, gazing at the fair young face that shone so white in the dim light. It was turned fully toward him, and the large blue eyes were fixed upon his face in an intent gaze. He quivered under it, and keen arrows of pain shot along his nerves, but he could not turn his eyes from the vision. Not a feature, not a curve, not an outline escaped him. He noted how soft and long were the dark, curling tresses that fell in loose waves upon her shoulders, how gracefully the plain dark robe was fitted to the slender figure, how proudly her white throat rose from the dark folds. Death had not robbed her of that superlative beauty that charmed the eyes of all beholders. The frank, violet eyes, the arch red mouth, the adorable little nose, the cream-white skin, the dark waving hair all were here as of yore, and thrilled his heart again with a passion of love and despair. He gazed and gazed, his nerves strained to their utmost tension, and she stood there moveless, stirless, breathless, it almost seemed, for his own tense, heavy breathing drowned all other sounds in the room. At length with a great effort of will, he broke the bonds that held him, and cried out, hoarsely: “Aline, Aline, have you come back from the dead to reproach me?”