“Oh, sir, you are mistaken. Miss Rodney is not here,” she answered. “But I heard the sound of a shot. What was it? My master--” “Yes, I have murdered your master. He stole my pure darling from me, and now he has paid for the sin with his life. He lies down there in his own hall, shot to the heart by an avenging father,” cried Mr. Rodney, with a harsh laugh, of satiated hate and revenge. Mrs. Griffin did not wait to hear another word. She pushed him from her, with a piercing cry of grief and terror, and ran headlong down the stairway. Mr. Rodney, released from her detaining presence, set about his search for his missing daughter. Outside, the soft, cruel snow still fell with slow regularity, and the rising wind tossed it into deep, treacherous drifts. He dreamed not that while he sought her amid the gloomy splendor of Delaney House, his fair and tender Aline was wandering in all the perils of that winter night. He did not believe the combined assertions of Oran Delaney and his housekeeper that Aline was not in the house. Where could she be but here? he thought, and in his heart he vowed that if he found her he would kill her, too--the wicked girl who had broken her father’s heart and made him a wretched murderer. In his horror at her sin, he was fast becoming a monomaniac. The blood upon his hands only whetted his thirst for more. In his madness, it seemed to him that the horror of her sin could only be wiped out in her blood, shed as an expiation. He had vaguely noticed that the door from whence Mrs. Griffin had issued had been left slightly ajar. Perhaps she was in there, he thought. He would go and see. He crept softly along the hall toward the door of that room. He vaguely wondered if this was the hidden blue room of Dr. Anthony’s story. Would his sight be blasted by the sight of her, his little Aline, who had been the pet and darling of his life, sitting there contentedly in splendid sin, mistress of the vile wretch whom he had slain in his anger? He crept softly to the door and peered in through the narrow crevice made by the slight opening of the unlatched door. He peered into the room, and it was with difficulty that he repressed a cry of horror. Heavens! Was this a fiend that his straining gaze encountered? It was a large, splendidly furnished room into which he gazed, all purple and gold, with soft, luxurious couches and chairs, large, fine pictures on the walls, and everything that could please the eye save and except the many little objects of delicate _bric-à-brac_ in which feminine eyes and tastes delight. The room was utterly void of such trifles. It was splendidly, even garishly furnished, but everything was strong and substantial. There was nothing light and airy in the large, lofty apartment, with its large, white lamp swung from the ceiling out of reach, and the glowing fire before which a wire guard had been carefully placed.