And then the dark head fell and the eyes closed. For a minute they all thought that he was dead, for no breath or pulsation could be detected. Mr. Rodney was in despair. “Oh, this is too dreadful!” he cried. “I had hoped that he would rally, that God would spare his life, and that I might be saved the wretchedness of knowing myself a murderer. And you, too, my poor child, are a widow in the hour of your bridal!” CHAPTER LXVIII. But Dr. Anthony, who had been making a careful examination of the patient, looked around at these words, and said, hurriedly: “No, no, you are mistaken. I can detect some signs of life yet. It is only a deep swoon. Let all leave the room except the nurse and myself, and let the attending physician be sent for immediately.” They all retired, and Aline went to her own room to strip off the wedding finery. Then she locked herself in for the remainder of the day. Mr. Lane came that day fresh from an unsuccessful quest after Aline, and was amazed and delighted when he heard that she had come home, and that she had been in Florida all the time with Dr. and Mrs. Anthony. He grew red and pale by turns when he heard that Aline was married to Mr. Delaney. She was the only woman he had ever loved. A swift pain tore his heart as he realized that she was lost to him forever, for although her husband was dying, she would be too far above him socially as the wealthy widow of Oran Delaney for him to ever aspire to her hand. He remained silent a few minutes fighting down his pain and disappointment, and at length reason came to his aid and told him it was better so. He was quite old enough to be Aline’s father, and besides she was socially his superior. He put away his broken dream from him with a suppressed sigh, and declared that he was glad that all had turned out so well. All would be well with Aline now. Fate had settled her future for her. No one would ever dare to asperse her now when she bore the proud name of Delaney. He would have liked to see her and congratulate her, but they told him that she was locked into her room, refusing admittance to any, so he went away, leaving his best wishes for her and her husband if he ever rallied sufficiently to receive them. That night he went back to New York, and in his busy life tried to forget the sweet, luring face of the girl who had lured him into such a sweet, momentary dream of domestic happiness. He never loved again, never wooed nor wedded. A memory of Aline always remained with him, but it became in time only a sweet and pleasant one, unmixed with pain. Several years after that day of disappointment and pain, he met her in New York, and then he saw the wisdom of his loss. She was far too brilliant and beautiful ever to have linked her lot with his. He smiled and murmured to himself: “Fate is above us all!”