“Aline, you think me harsh and cold,” he said. “God knows no man ever had a harder task than mine. I do not think you understand what will follow upon this rash act of folly and this culpable silence of yours. Shall I tell you?” “If you please, papa,” answered Aline. CHAPTER XXII. She was regarding him with some little curiosity. It was quite plain to be seen that she had not the faintest idea of the nature of that cost at which he vaguely hinted. There was nothing but a perfectly blank wonder on the beautiful, girlish face. In the face of her utter innocence and ignorance it was all the harder to tell her the truth. He looked at her almost despairingly. “Aline, I almost wish now that we had not brought you up in such simplicity and innocence,” he said. “Perhaps, if you had known the world better, you might not have erred like this.” She looked at him attentively. “Papa, I cannot see that the world has anything to do with me, simple Aline Rodney,” she said. “It seems to me that nobody was harmed by my absence except mamma and the rest of you, to whom I belong!” He fairly groaned. “There is some one else who was harmed more than all the rest of us,” he answered. “Who was that, papa?” innocently. “Was ever such ignorance?” he asked himself, even while he answered, aloud: “You, Aline!” Her face brightened, comprehensively. “That is quite true,” she said, “I was harmed the most of all, for I not only had to bear the pain of my absence from you, but was tortured with remorse and anxiety. I was never away from home in all my life before, you know, papa, and when I was so ill, oh, how I longed for mamma and the rest of you. And then, I was so angry and so sorry because I could not send for you, and--and--” she paused, with a shocked exclamation, and put her hand over her lips. “So you really were ill--poor darling!” cried Effie. “I did not mean to say that,” cried Aline. “Oh, I am so thoughtless, I shall tell everything yet,” she sighed in dismay, and again the expression of anger clouded her father’s face. “Aline, you have quite misunderstood me,” he said. “I did not at all refer to your own sensations in your absence, but to a more serious matter. I will be plain with you, Aline. I meant solely what other people would think and say of your absence, and your refusal to explain it.” “_Other_ people, papa?” “Aline, why will you repeat my words in such a parrot-like and exasperating fashion?” he cried, sharply. Her lips quivered sensitively. “I beg your pardon,” she said, simply. “I cannot think what makes me so stupid.” She put her hand wearily to her brow for an instant. “My head aches. Perhaps that is the reason. Please bear with me, papa. I am sure I shall understand you presently.” He was touched inexpressibly by her childish humility. Something like softness and regret quivered in his voice, as he answered: