They wished now that Aline’s hasty words had not driven Dr. Anthony away, for her swoon was a long and deep one. All their efforts failed to rouse her. She remained cold and white, with scarcely any discernible pulse, and the most slow and muffled heart-beats. Her limbs seemed to grow more rigid and deathly every minute. They removed her to her own little chamber, and laid her on her little white bed. No one guessed that, from the tower window of Delaney House, a pair of eyes had been watching anxiously for hours to see the light flashing from the little end window so long darkened by its owner’s absence. When it appeared, shedding a glow of light upon the dying foliage of the garden, and Oran Delaney saw the moving figures behind the white curtain, he experienced a sensation of relief. The child was at home again, surrounded by those dear ones for whom she had pined. She would soon forget the brief shadow he had thrown over her life for a little while. They had taken her home and forgiven her, and all would go on as before in his neighbor’s house. The thought lifted a burden from his heart. He gave a sigh of relief, and threw himself down upon his couch to seek refuge from his haunting thoughts in uneasy slumbers. Meanwhile, Aline lay locked in that deep trance of unconsciousness. They tried every method of rousing her, but their efforts did not meet with the least success. She lay mute and pale before them like one dead. The dark lashes lay all stirless upon the marble-white cheeks; her lips did not unclose to repeat those sorrowful words whose bitterness seemed to have broken her heart. She seemed to have passed away without a regret from that world in which henceforth she had no part save sorrow: and her father, as he gazed upon the pale and rigid face almost wished that it were so. She was so sweet and beautiful and he had had such great hopes for her. How could he bear to see her live with this great shadow of silence and mystery upon her life? How could he bear that the cold, carping eyes of her little world should rest upon her in suspicion and distrust? And for himself; he was very proud; how could he endure to be pointed at as the father of a girl whose willful silence most probably concealed terrible disgrace. “I wish that she had never been born!” he cried out, in the bitterness of his heart, and then when his own heart reproached him, he made excuses to it. “She can have no happiness in life, no respect, no confiding love, no domestic bliss, no peace. There will always be a shadow on her life. She had better be dead, or never have been born.” He remembered those wild words of the Spanish student: