The long, skinny, claw-like hand of the creature presented a yet more terrible aspect to her straining gaze, for the long white kid gloves that covered them were stained with crimson gore, and one hand grasped a slender, jewel-hilted dagger, from whose shining blade dripped human blood! The wild instinct of self-preservation blazed up in Aline’s heart. She thought of the beautiful, sunny world outside this horrible haunted house, and the fierce desire for life flamed up within her. Should she die here like some wild thing caught in a trap, without one effort for escape? She sprung to her feet and made a desperate rush past that horrible creature toward the door, but the footsteps of hate were swifter even than those of fear. Even as she tore open the door she felt the sharp clutch of cruel fingers on her arm, she was whirled violently backward, and the murderous dagger, already red with human gore, flashed in the creature’s hand, and the next instant sheathed itself in Aline’s breast. She fell across the door-sill, and lay motionless in a pool of her own spurting life blood. CHAPTER V. The town-clock of Chester clanged the midnight hour out heavily from its hoarse, brazen throat--twelve! Aline opened her blue eyes languidly--they were heavy, as if weighed down with lead--and looked about her. They fell upon a scene utterly new and strange to her. She was lying on a downy, rosewood couch, with draperies of pale blue silk and snowy lace, in the center of a large and high-ceiled room hung with azure silk, the elegant rosewood furniture being upholstered in the same lovely material. Everything about her breathed of unlimited wealth and taste, and the sweet aroma of flowers floated delightfully through the beautiful apartment from the delicate vases on the mantel, which had been filled with the choicest wealth of the garden by a lavish and unsparing hand. “She revives, doctor,” said a woman’s voice. Aline lifted her eyes quickly. An elderly grave-faced woman had come forward to the bedside, and was bending curiously over her. She was dressed in a nurse’s cap and apron, and had a kind, though homely looking face. “Who are you, and where am I?” asked Aline, gazing at this strange face in bewilderment. “Hush, my dear! You are sick, and must not talk,” answered the nurse with a slight frown. She moved aside, and Aline saw two men behind her. A cry of fear broke from her lips. Both wore masks upon their faces; but, in the tall, well-knit figure of the foremost one, she recognized Oran Delaney. He came forward and bent over Aline, whispering, hurriedly: “Miss Rodney, I beg you, as a special favor, to keep silence a little while. Say nothing to this stranger of how you came by your wound.”