He tried clumsily to draw the crimson bandage tighter about the wound, but he was very awkward with his left hand, and he did not succeed. Aline could not help being sorry for him. CHAPTER IX. She had a very tender heart, this little willful heroine of ours, and although she thought that she hated Oran Delaney she would not willingly have seen him suffer. She saw that he was growing pale and faint from loss of blood, and she could not keep from pitying him. She cried out, hastily: “Come here, Mr. Delaney. I will fasten the bandage for you.” He looked surprised, but he came to the bed and held down his arm within the reach of her little white hands. She drew the band tighter and bound her handkerchief tightly around it. The blood ceased to flow, but her own hands were stained with blood when she had finished. “Does it frighten you much?” he asked. “You look very pale.” “No, I am not frightened,” bravely. “Tell me--how did you come by your wounds?” “In much the same manner as you came by yours,” he replied, reservedly. “Through that horrible--_something_?” she inquired, with a shudder. “Yes.” A gleam of intelligence flashed from Aline’s eyes. “Ah, now I begin to understand,” she said. “You met it first. It was your blood I saw upon the knife and the hands and the dress?” “Yes.” “And you did not run away from me to--to save yourself? I thought--thought--” She paused and looked at him, half inquiringly. “Well, what was it you thought?” he inquired. “When you left me in the hall, you know,” she said, with some embarrassment, “I believed that you had deserted me and fled like a coward, leaving me to the mercies of that terrible creature. I was mistaken, perhaps.” He looked at her with a slow flush rising through the pallor of his face. “Every moment I am with you, Miss Rodney, I learn more and more how contemptible I am in your eyes,” he said, with irrepressible chagrin. “But I told you I was mistaken,” said the girl, with unconscious repentance in her voice. “Was I right?” “I met the danger first,” he answered, simply. “Yes, I understand, and I am sorry I thought you a coward. I beg your pardon,” she said, gently. “You are freely forgiven,” Mr. Delaney replied, quietly, as he brought a damp sponge and carefully removed the blood-stains from her delicate, dimpled white hands. She submitted quietly to the operation, though he had half expected that she would snatch her hands away in petulant anger. “I am a great deal better to-day, am I not, Mr. Delaney?” she inquired, as he resumed his seat. “I think so,” he replied. “Your wound was not serious. It was struck too hastily. I hope you will soon recover now. You are bearing it very bravely.” “Thank you! And when are you going to let me go home?” The wistful tone of the young voice struck him like a reproach. He turned away his head as he answered: “As soon as your wound is healed. That will be in a few weeks, I hope.”