“Can I say or do nothing that will induce you to let me go now?” she entreated. “That would be impossible. You are not able to be moved yet. The result of such an imprudence might be most serious.” “And you will not communicate with my friends?” she went on. “I am sorry to be compelled to deny you that gratification,” he replied, with decision. “And in the meantime they must suffer all the pangs of doubt and suspense. Oh, Mr. Delaney, is that right, is it just?” cried the wounded captive. “There are many things in this world, Miss Rodney, that are neither right nor just,” he replied. “This may be one of them; but circumstances will not admit of my acting otherwise. I am compelled to keep you hidden here, unknown to any one, until you are well enough to be returned to your home.” “You have no pity for them, nor for me!” she cried, almost wildly. “I cannot follow the bent of my feelings. I am compelled to pursue this course,” replied the mysterious recluse. “Do you not know,” she said, “that my friends will be very angry with you for keeping me hidden away from them? What if I should die here in this dreadful house?” “They would never know what fate had overtaken their darling,” he answered, gloomily. Aline stared at him with wide, terrified blue eyes. Indignation was rising within her again--indignation added to something like fear. CHAPTER X. “Mr. Delaney, I cannot understand you,” she said. “You talk strangely. I am tempted to believe that you cannot be sane, that you are not in your right mind.” He looked at her steadily with his grave, dark eyes. “Do I look like a lunatic, Miss Rodney?” he inquired. “No, but you talk like one,” she cried out, petulantly. “Do you really imagine that you can keep my presence here a secret from my own people? Do you not know that they will search for me until they find me?” “They are already searching for you, but I am quite sure they will never find you,” he replied. “The last place where Mr. Rodney would think of looking for you would be here in his neighbor’s house.” She knew that it was true. Her heart sunk heavily, but she cried out, spiritedly: “But when I go home and tell him--what then? Are you not afraid of his anger when he knows the truth?” “He will never know,” Oran Delaney replied, strangely. The pale face on the snowy, lace-fringed pillow grew paler still, the blue eyes darkened with agitation. “Not know?” she cried out, passionately. “Why, what can you mean?” “You will not tell him,” he replied. “Now I am quite, quite sure that you are mad,” said Aline. “Do you think I shall not tell them all when I go home?” “I am quite sure you will not!” Aline could not speak for a moment. She was mystified by Mr. Delaney’s words and manner. She almost began to believe him mad indeed. To what did his strange talk tend? While she puzzled within herself he drew his chair nearer to the bedside--near enough indeed to touch her pulse with his cool fingers.