Forgetful of her anger against Mr. Delaney in her fear and terror, Aline clung nervously to his arm with one trembling little hand. “Oh! Mr. Delaney, what is it--that terrible creature I saw yesterday?” she cried out fearfully. His dark face was strangely agitated as he turned it upon her wistful face. “Then you really _saw_ it?” he said, almost as if speaking to himself. “Yes, I saw it. Did you suppose it struck me that murderous blow _invisibly?_” she questioned, with something like awe. “I had hoped--” he began, then paused, after his abrupt fashion of leaving sentences unfinished. “Answer me,” exclaimed Aline, in her sharp, imperious young voice. “What was it that struck me with that blood-stained dagger yesterday? What was it I heard shrieking like a lost soul to-day? Tell me!” “It was a ghost,” he answered, turning his head away. “I do not believe you,” cried Aline. “It was not a ghost. It was something warmed by the breath of life. It clutched me with warm, living fingers. It was strong and swift. Oh, Heaven, how terrible it was!” she shuddered. “Was it really a human being?” “It was a ghost--a mystery! I can tell you no more,” repeated Oran Delaney. And then, with that strong will, which Aline already began to subtly recognize, he changed the subject of the conversation. “Have you forgiven me for my rudeness of last night?” he inquired, with a touch of gentleness in his voice. “No,” Aline answered, tartly. “I have brought you these beautiful flowers as a peace offering,” he continued, unruffled by her childish resentment. “You cannot refuse them, for I know that you love flowers very dearly.” “I shall never love them again,” she replied, obstinately. “I shall always remember that my fondness for flowers brought down all this trouble upon my head.” “I beg your pardon; it was your fondness for peaches,” he retorted, with a slight gleam of mirth. “If you had not come into my house to take luncheon with me, nothing would have happened.” “I should never have come into your garden even but for the flowers,” she replied, offended that he should remind her of her appetite for peaches. He smiled, and then a subtle sigh drove the evanescent gleam away. “Well, we will not quarrel over the cause,” he said. “The result is the same. I am sorry you will not have my poor flowers. I hoped they would beguile some of the tedium of your illness.” He put the basket on a stand near her and sat down. “Mrs. Griffin has sent me to take care of you during her absence,” he said. “But if my presence is disagreeable, Miss Rodney, you can send me away at any moment.” Aline inwardly wished that she was brave enough to do so, but she was too nervous and frightened to take him at his word. There was a sense of protection in his presence that she could not forego even to gratify her spite at him.