The whole family were socially ostracized in less than a month. Each member came in for a share of the obloquy that had fallen on Aline’s head. The silence each was compelled to maintain was held in the light of crime. From being prominent members of the most select circles in Chester they were coolly dropped by all. No one left cards, no one sent invitations. Every one turned the cold shoulder. There was only one friend who remained faithful to the Rodneys in their troublous time. This was Effie’s noble and handsome lover, Dr. Anthony. While the town gossiped and sneered, his neat buggy was seen before the Rodneys’ door more frequently than ever. Effie, Aline, or Mrs. Rodney were often seen driving with him through the wide, pretty streets, and people were fain to acknowledge that “that girl,” as they contemptuously called her, was prettier than ever in spite of the cloud of mysterious disgrace that clung about her. She and Dr. Anthony had become great friends. He could not help admiring his betrothed’s young sister even while he deprecated the silence she maintained at so bitter a cost to herself and her friends. And while the weary days waned and faded, Aline was waiting with a breaking heart for some sign or token from Oran Delaney. It was many days now since the little white-winged prayer for mercy had fluttered from her hands down into the garden of Delaney House. She had watched and waited, she had hoped and prayed, but no answer had come to her frantic appeal. Yet she knew that he had found it and read it. She had been watching through a tiny rent in her curtain which she had made expressly for that purpose. She saw him tear it open and read it, then slowly walk away without even glancing up at her window. Days went and came. There was no day in which Aline did not watch that tall form pacing up and down, though sensitively shrinking from observation herself. She spent many hours alone in her room, and it became insensibly a fascinating occupation to watch for his appearance as he came out for his daily walk, which he did whether it was gloomy or bright. There was one thing which inspired her with a feeling of pique. It was that he never turned his eyes up to her window, never by any chance gave a sign or token that he was conscious of the wistful blue eyes watching him behind the white lace-bordered curtain. Of what was he thinking? Why did he so persistently ignore her prayer? Had he really forgotten her? She asked herself these questions over and over, but no answer came from the silent lips of Oran Delaney as he walked up and down his lonely garden. Aline grew half frantic sometimes watching him thus. A bitter rebellion grew up within her heart. Why did he not speak--why did he treat her with such silent contempt, for she interpreted his silence to mean nothing less! One day her father came home to dinner with a rather excited look upon his face.