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diff --git a/4590-h/4590-h.htm b/4590-h/4590-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6273edc --- /dev/null +++ b/4590-h/4590-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11948 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of After the Storm, by T. S. 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Arthur + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: After the Storm + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #4590] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: March 13, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTER THE STORM *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +AFTER THE STORM. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +T. S. ARTHUR. +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +PHILADELPHIA: +<BR> +1868 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<H4> + CHAPTER I. <A HREF="#chap01">THE WAR OF THE ELEMENTS.</A><BR> + CHAPTER II. <A HREF="#chap02">THE LOVERS.</A><BR> + CHAPTER III. <A HREF="#chap03">THE CLOUD AND THE SIGN.</A><BR> + CHAPTER IV. <A HREF="#chap04">UNDER THE CLOUD.</A><BR> + CHAPTER V. <A HREF="#chap05">THE BURSTING OF THE STORM.</A><BR> + CHAPTER VI. <A HREF="#chap06">AFTER THE STORM.</A><BR> + CHAPTER VII. <A HREF="#chap07">THE LETTER.</A><BR> + CHAPTER VIII. <A HREF="#chap08">THE FLIGHT AND THE RETURN.</A><BR> + CHAPTER IX. <A HREF="#chap09">THE RECONCILIATION.</A><BR> + CHAPTER X. <A HREF="#chap10">AFTER THE STORM.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XI. <A HREF="#chap11">A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XII. <A HREF="#chap12">IN BONDS.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XIII. <A HREF="#chap13">THE REFORMERS.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XIV. <A HREF="#chap14">A STARTLING EXPERIENCE.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XV. <A HREF="#chap15">CAPTIVATED AGAIN.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XVI. <A HREF="#chap16">WEARY OF CONSTRAINT.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XVII. <A HREF="#chap17">GONE FOR EVER!</A><BR> + CHAPTER XVIII. <A HREF="#chap18">YOUNG, BUT WISE.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XIX. <A HREF="#chap19">THE SHIPWRECKED LIFE.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XX. <A HREF="#chap20">THE PALSIED HEART.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXI. <A HREF="#chap21">THE IRREVOCABLE DECREE.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXII. <A HREF="#chap22">STRUCK DOWN.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXIII. <A HREF="#chap23">THE HAUNTED VISION.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXIV. <A HREF="#chap24">THE MINISTERING ANGEL.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXV. <A HREF="#chap25">BORN FOR EACH OTHER.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXVI. <A HREF="#chap26">LOVE NEVER DIES.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXVII. <A HREF="#chap27">EFFECTS OF THE STORM.</A><BR> + CHAPTER XXVIII. <A HREF="#chap28">AFTER THE STORM.</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +AFTER THE STORM. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WAR OF THE ELEMENTS. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>NO</I> June day ever opened with a fairer promise. Not a single cloud +flecked the sky, and the sun coursed onward through the azure sea +until past meridian, without throwing to the earth a single shadow. +Then, low in the west, appeared something obscure and hazy, blending +the hill-tops with the horizon; an hour later, and three or four +small fleecy islands were seen, clearly outlined in the airy ocean, +and slowly ascending—avant-couriers of a coming storm. Following +these were mountain peaks, snow-capped and craggy, with desolate +valleys between. Then, over all this arctic panorama, fell a sudden +shadow. The white tops of the cloudy hills lost their clear, +gleaming outlines and their slumbrous stillness. The atmosphere was +in motion, and a white scud began to drive across the heavy, dark +masses of clouds that lay far back against the sky in mountain-like +repose. +</P> + +<P> +How grandly now began the onward march of the tempest, which had +already invaded the sun's domain and shrouded his face in the smoke +of approaching battle. Dark and heavy it lay along more than half +the visible horizon, while its crown invaded the zenith. +</P> + +<P> +As yet, all was silence and portentous gloom. Nature seemed to pause +and hold her breath in dread anticipation. Then came a muffled, +jarring sound, as of far distant artillery, which died away into an +oppressive stillness. Suddenly from zenith to horizon the cloud was +cut by a fiery stroke, an instant visible. Following this, a heavy +thunder-peal shook the solid earth, and rattled in booming echoes +along the hillsides and amid the cloudy caverns above. +</P> + +<P> +At last the storm came down on the wind's strong pinions, swooping +fiercely to the earth, like an eagle to its prey. For one wild hour +it raged as if the angel of destruction were abroad. +</P> + +<P> +At the window of a house standing picturesquely among the Hudson +Highlands, and looking down upon the river, stood a maiden and her +lover, gazing upon this wild war among the elements. Fear had +pressed her closely to his side, and he had drawn an arm around her +in assurance of safety. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the maiden clasped her hands over her face, cried out and +shuddered. The lightning had shivered a tree upon which her gaze was +fixed, rending it as she could have rent a willow wand. +</P> + +<P> +"God is in the storm," said the lover, bending to her ear. He spoke +reverently and in a voice that had in it no tremor of fear. +</P> + +<P> +The maiden withdrew her hands from before her shut eyes, and looking +up into his face, answered in a voice which she strove to make +steady: +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Hartley, for the words. Yes, God is present in the +storm, as in the sunshine." +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" exclaimed the young man, suddenly, pointing to the river. A +boat had just come in sight. It contained a man and a woman. The +former was striving with a pair of oars to keep the boat right in +the eye of the wind; but while the maiden and her lover still gazed +at them, a wild gust swept down upon the water and drove their frail +bark under. There was no hope in their case; the floods had +swallowed them, and would not give up their living prey. +</P> + +<P> +A moment afterward, and an elm, whose great arms had for nearly a +century spread themselves out in the sunshine tranquilly or battled +with the storms, fell crashing against the house, shaking it to the +very foundations. +</P> + +<P> +The maiden drew back from the window, overcome with terror. These +shocks were too much for her nerves. But her lover restrained her, +saying, with a covert chiding in his voice, +</P> + +<P> +"Stay, Irene! There is a wild delight in all this, and are you not +brave enough to share it with me?" +</P> + +<P> +But she struggled to release herself from his arm, replying with a +shade of impatience— +</P> + +<P> +"Let me go, Hartley! Let me go!" +</P> + +<P> +The flexed arm was instantly relaxed, and the maiden was free. She +went back, hastily, from the window, and, sitting down on a sofa, +buried her face in her hands. The young man did not follow her, but +remained standing by the window, gazing out upon Nature in her +strong convulsion. It may, however, be doubted whether his mind took +note of the wild images that were pictured in his eyes. A cloud was +in the horizon of his mind, dimming its heavenly azure. And the +maiden's sky was shadowed also. +</P> + +<P> +For two or three minutes the young man stood by the window, looking +out at the writhing trees and the rain pouring down an avalanche of +water, and then, with a movement that indicated a struggle and a +conquest, turned and walked toward the sofa on which the maiden +still sat with her face hidden from view. Sitting down beside her, +he took her hand. It lay passive in his. He pressed it gently; but +she gave back no returning pressure. There came a sharp, quick gleam +of lightning, followed by a crash that jarred the house. But Irene +did not start—we may question whether she even saw the one or heard +the other, except as something remote. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +She did not stir. +</P> + +<P> +The young man leaned closer, and said, in a tender voice— +</P> + +<P> +"Irene—darling—" +</P> + +<P> +Her hand moved in his—just moved—but did not return the pressure +of his own. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene." And now his arm stole around her. She yielded, and, +turning, laid her head upon his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +There had been a little storm in the maiden's heart, consequent upon +the slight restraint ventured on by her lover when she drew back +from the window; and it was only now subsiding. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not mean to offend you," said the young man, penitently. +</P> + +<P> +"Who said that I was offended?" She looked up, with a smile that +only half obliterated the shadow. "I was frightened, Hartley. It is +a fearful storm!" And she glanced toward the window. +</P> + +<P> +The lover accepted this affirmation, though he knew better in his +heart. He knew that his slight attempt at constraint had chafed her +naturally impatient spirit, and that it had taken her some time to +regain her lost self-control. +</P> + +<P> +Without, the wild rush of winds was subsiding, the lightning gleamed +out less frequently, and the thunder rolled at a farther distance. +Then came that deep stillness of nature which follows in the wake of +the tempest, and in its hush the lovers stood again at the window, +looking out upon the wrecks that were strewn in its path. They were +silent, for on both hearts was a shadow, which had not rested there +when they first stood by the window, although the sky was then more +deeply veiled. So slight was the cause on which these shadows +depended that memory scarcely retained its impression. He was +tender, and she was yielding; and each tried to atone by loving acts +for a moment of willfulness. +</P> + +<P> +The sun went down while yet the skirts of the storm were spread over +the western sky, and without a single glance at the ruins which +lightning, wind and rain had scattered over the earth's fair +surface. But he arose gloriously in the coming morning, and went +upward in his strength, consuming the vapors at a breath, and +drinking up every bright dewdrop that welcomed him with a quiver of +joy. The branches shook themselves in the gentle breezes his +presence had called forth to dally amid their foliage and sport with +the flowers; and every green thing put on a fresher beauty in +delight at his return; while from the bosom of the trees—from +hedgerow and from meadow—went up the melody of birds. +</P> + +<P> +In the brightness of this morning, the lovers went out to look at +the storm-wrecks that lay scattered around. Here a tree had been +twisted off where the tough wood measured by feet instead of inches; +there stood the white and shivered trunk of another sylvan lord, +blasted in an instant by a lightning stroke; and there lay, prone +upon the ground, giant limbs, which, but the day before, spread +themselves abroad in proud defiance of the storm. Vines were torn +from their fastenings; flower-beds destroyed; choice shrubbery, +tended with care for years, shorn of its beauty. Even the solid +earth had been invaded by floods of water, which ploughed deep +furrows along its surface. And, saddest of all, two human lives had +gone out while the mad tempest raged in uncontrollable fury. +</P> + +<P> +As the lover and maiden stood looking at the signs of violence so +thickly scattered around, the former said, in a cheerful tone— +</P> + +<P> +"For all his wild, desolating power, the tempest is vassal to the +sun and dew. He may spread his sad trophies around in brief, blind +rage; but they soon obliterate all traces of his path, and make +beautiful what he has scarred with wounds or disfigured by the tramp +of his iron heel." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so, my children," said the calm voice of the maiden's father, +to whose ears the remark had come. "Not so, my children. The sun and +dew never fully restore what the storm has broken and trampled upon. +They may hide disfiguring marks, and cover with new forms of life +and beauty the ruins which time can never restore. This is +something, and we may take the blessing thankfully, and try to +forget what is lost, or so changed as to be no longer desirable. +Look at this fallen and shattered elm, my children. Is there any +hope for that in the dew, the rain and sunshine? Can these build it +up again, and spread out its arms as of old, bringing back to me, as +it has done daily, the image of my early years? No, my children. +After every storm are ruins which can never be repaired. Is it not +so with that lightning-stricken oak? And what art can restore to its +exquisite loveliness this statue of Hope, thrown down by the +ruthless hand of the unsparing tempest? Moreover, is there human +vitality in the sunshine and fructifying dew? Can they put life into +the dead? +</P> + +<P> +"No—no—my children. And take the lesson to heart. Outward tempests +but typify and represent the fiercer tempests that too often +desolate the human soul. In either case something is lost that can +never be restored. Beware, then, of storms, for wreck and ruin +follow as surely as the passions rage." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LOVERS. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>IRENE DELANCY</I> was a girl of quick, strong feelings, and an +undisciplined will. Her mother died before she reached her tenth +year. From that time she was either at home under the care of +domestics, or within the scarcely more favorable surroundings of a +boarding-school. She grew up beautiful and accomplished, but +capricious and with a natural impatience of control, that unwise +reactions on the part of those who attempted to govern her in no +degree tempered. +</P> + +<P> +Hartley Emerson, as a boy, was self-willed and passionate, but +possessed many fine qualities. A weak mother yielded to his resolute +struggles to have his own way, and so he acquired, at an early age, +control over his own movements. He went to college, studied hard, +because he was ambitious, and graduated with honor. Law he chose as +a profession; and, in order to secure the highest advantages, +entered the office of a distinguished attorney in the city of New +York, and gave to its study the best efforts of a clear, acute and +logical mind. Self-reliant, proud, and in the habit of reaching his +ends by the nearest ways, he took his place at the bar with a +promise of success rarely exceeded. From his widowed mother, who +died before he reached his majority, Hartley Emerson inherited a +moderate fortune with which to begin the world. Few young men +started forward on their life-journey with so small a number of +vices, or with so spotless a moral character. The fine intellectual +cast of his mind, and his devotion to study, lifted him above the +baser allurements of sense and kept his garments pure. +</P> + +<P> +Such were Irene Delancy and Hartley Emerson—lovers and betrothed at +the time we present them to our readers. They met, two years before, +at Saratoga, and drew together by a mutual attraction. She was the +first to whom his heart had bowed in homage; and until she looked +upon him her pulse had never beat quicker at sight of a manly form. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Edmund Delancy, a gentleman of some wealth and advanced in +years, saw no reason to interpose objections. The family of Emerson +occupied a social position equal with his own; and the young man's +character and habits were blameless. So far, the course of love ran +smooth; and only three months intervened until the wedding-day. +</P> + +<P> +The closer relation into which the minds of the lovers came after +their betrothal and the removal of a degree of deference and +self-constraint, gave opportunity for the real character of each to +show itself. Irene could not always repress her willfulness and +impatience of another's control; nor her lover hold a firm hand on +quick-springing anger when anything checked his purpose. Pride and +adhesiveness of character, under such conditions of mind, were +dangerous foes to peace; and both were proud and tenacious. +</P> + +<P> +The little break in the harmonious flow of their lives, noticed as +occurring while the tempest raged, was one of many such incidents; +and it was in consequence of Mr. Delancy's observation of these +unpromising features in their intercourse that he spoke with so much +earnestness about the irreparable ruin that followed in the wake of +storms. +</P> + +<P> +At least once a week Emerson left the city, and his books and cases, +to spend a day with Irene in her tasteful home; and sometimes he +lingered there for two or three days at a time. It happened, almost +invariably, that some harsh notes jarred in the music of their lives +during these pleasant seasons, and left on both their hearts a +feeling of oppression, or, worse, a brooding sense of injustice. +Then there grew up between them an affected opposition and +indifference, and a kind of half-sportive, half-earnest wrangling +about trifles, which too often grew serious. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy saw this with a feeling of regret, and often interposed +to restore some broken links in the chain of harmony. +</P> + +<P> +"You must be more conciliating, Irene," he would often say to his +daughter. "Hartley is earnest and impulsive, and you should yield to +him gracefully, even when you do not always see and feel as he does. +This constant opposition and standing on your dignity about trifles +is fretting both of you, and bodes evil in the future." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you have me assent if he said black was white?" she answered +to her father's remonstrance one day, balancing her little head +firmly and setting her lips together in a resolute way. +</P> + +<P> +"It might be wiser to say nothing than to utter dissent, if, in so +doing, both were made unhappy," returned her father. +</P> + +<P> +"And so let him think me a passive fool?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; a prudent girl, shaming his unreasonableness by her +self-control." +</P> + +<P> +"I have read somewhere," said Irene, "that all men are self-willed +tyrants—the words do not apply to you, my father, and so there is +an exception to the rule." She smiled a tender smile as she looked +into the face of a parent who had ever been too indulgent. "But, +from my experience with a lover, I can well believe the sentiment +based in truth. Hartley must have me think just as he thinks, and do +what he wants me to do, or he gets ruffled. Now I don't expect, when +I am married, to sink into a mere nobody—to be my husband's echo +and shadow; and the quicker I can make Hartley comprehend this the +better will it be for both of us. A few rufflings of his feathers +now will teach him how to keep them smooth and glossy in the time to +come." +</P> + +<P> +"You are in error, my child," replied Mr. Delancy, speaking very +seriously. "Between those who love a cloud should never interpose; +and I pray you, Irene, as you value your peace and that of the man +who is about to become your husband, to be wise in the very +beginning, and dissolve with a smile of affection every vapor that +threatens a coming storm. Keep the sky always bright." +</P> + +<P> +"I will do everything that I can, father, to keep the sky of our +lives always bright, except give up my own freedom of thought and +independence of action. A wife should not sink her individuality in +that of her husband, any more than a husband should sink his +individuality in that of his wife. They are two equals, and should +be content to remain equals. There is no love in subordination." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy sighed deeply: "Is argument of any avail here? Can words +stir conviction in her mind?" He was silent for a time, and then +said— +</P> + +<P> +"Better, Irene, that you stop where you are, and go through life +alone, than venture upon marriage, in your state of feeling, with a +man like Hartley Emerson." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear father, you are altogether too serious!" exclaimed the +warm-hearted girl, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. +"Hartley and I love each other too well to be made very unhappy by +any little jar that takes place in the first reciprocal movement of +our lives. We shall soon come to understand each other, and then the +harmonies will be restored." +</P> + +<P> +"The harmonies should never be lost, my child," returned Mr. +Delancy. "In that lies the danger. When the enemy gets into the +citadel, who can say that he will ever be dislodged? There is no +safety but in keeping him out." +</P> + +<P> +"Still too serious, father," said Irene. "There is no danger to be +feared from any formidable enemy. All these are very little things." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the little foxes that spoil the tender grapes, my daughter," +Mr. Delancy replied; "and if the tender grapes are spoiled, what +hope is there in the time of vintage? Alas for us if in the later +years the wine of life shall fail!" +</P> + +<P> +There was so sad a tone in her father's voice, and so sad an +expression on his face, that Irene was touched with a new feeling +toward him. She again put her arms around his neck and kissed him +tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not fear for us," she replied. "These are only little summer +showers, that make the earth greener and the flowers more beautiful. +The sky is of a more heavenly azure when they pass away, and the sun +shines more gloriously than before." +</P> + +<P> +But the father could not be satisfied, and answered— +</P> + +<P> +"Beware of even summer showers, my darling. I have known fearful +ravages to follow in their path—seen many a goodly tree go down. +After every storm, though the sky may be clearer, the earth upon +which it fell has suffered some loss which is a loss for ever. +Begin, then, by conciliation and forbearance. Look past the +external, which may seem at times too exacting or imperative, and +see only the true heart pulsing beneath—the true, brave heart, that +would give to every muscle the strength of steel for your protection +if danger threatened. Can you not be satisfied with knowing that you +are loved—deeply, truly, tenderly? What more can a woman ask? Can +you not wait until this love puts on its rightly-adjusted exterior, +as it assuredly will. It is yet mingled with self-love, and its +action modified by impulse and habit. Wait—wait—wait, my daughter. +Bear and forbear for a time, as you value peace on earth and +happiness in heaven." +</P> + +<P> +"I will try, father, for your sake, to guard myself," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, Irene. Not for my sake, but for the sake of right," +returned Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +They were sitting in the vine-covered portico that looked down, over +a sloping lawn toward the river. +</P> + +<P> +"There is Hartley now!" exclaimed Irene, as the form of her lover +came suddenly into view, moving forward along the road that +approached from the landing, and she sprung forward and went rapidly +down to meet him. There an ardent kiss, a twining of arms, warmly +spoken words and earnest gestures. Mr. Delancy looked at them as +they stood fondly together, and sighed. He could not help it, for he +knew there was trouble before them. After standing and talking for a +short time, they began moving toward the house, but paused at every +few paces—sometimes to admire a picturesque view—sometimes to +listen one to the other and respond to pleasant sentiments—and +sometimes in fond dispute. This was Mr. Delancy's reading of their +actions and gestures, as he sat looking at and observing them +closely. +</P> + +<P> +A little way from the path by which they were advancing toward the +house was a rustic arbor, so placed as to command a fine sweep of +river from one line of view and West Point from another. Irene +paused and made a motion of her hand toward this arbor, as if she +wished to go there; but Hartley looked to the house and plainly +signified a wish to go there first. At this Irene pulled him gently +toward the arbor; he resisted, and she drew upon his arm more +resolutely, when, planting his feet firmly, he stood like a rock. +Still she urged and still he declined going in that direction. It +was play at first, but Mr. Delancy saw that it was growing to be +earnest. A few moments longer, and he saw Irene separate from +Hartley and move toward the arbor; at the same time the young man +came forward in the direction of the house. Mr. Delancy, as he +stepped from the portico to meet him, noticed that his color was +heightened and his eyes unusually bright. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with that self-willed girl of mine?" he asked, as +he took the hand of Emerson, affecting a lightness of tone that did +not correspond with his real feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothing serious," the young man replied. "She's only in a +little pet because I wouldn't go with her to the arbor before I paid +my respects to you." +</P> + +<P> +"She's a spoiled little puss," said the father, in a fond yet +serious way, "and you'll have to humor her a little at first, +Hartley. She never had the wise discipline of a mother, and so has +grown up unused to that salutary control which is so necessary for +young persons. But she has a warm, true heart and pure principles; +and these are the foundation-stones on which to build the temple of +happiness." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't fear but that it will be all right between us. I love her too +well to let any flitting humors affect me." +</P> + +<P> +He stepped upon the portico as he spoke and sat down. Irene had +before this reached the arbor and taken a seat there. Mr. Delancy +could do no less than resume the chair from which he had arisen on +the young man's approach. In looking into Hartley's face he noticed +a resolute expression about his mouth. For nearly ten minutes they +sat and talked, Irene remaining alone in the arbor. Mr. Delancy then +said, in a pleasant off-handed way, +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Hartley, you have punished her long enough. I don't like to +see you even play at disagreement." +</P> + +<P> +He did not seem to notice the remark, but started a subject of +conversation that it was almost impossible to dismiss for the next +ten minutes. Then he stepped down from the portico, and was moving +leisurely toward the arbor when he perceived that Irene had already +left it and was returning by another path. So he came back and +seated himself again, to await her approach. But, instead of joining +him, she passed round the house and entered on the opposite side. +For several minutes he sat, expecting every instant to see her come +out on the portico, but she did not make her appearance. +</P> + +<P> +It was early in the afternoon. Hartley, affecting not to notice the +absence of Irene, kept up an animated conversation with Mr. Delancy. +A whole hour went by, and still the young lady was absent. Suddenly +starting, up, at the end of this time, Hartley exclaimed— +</P> + +<P> +"As I live, there comes the boat! and I must be in New York +to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Stay," said Mr. Delancy, "until I call Irene." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't linger for a moment, sir. It will take quick walking to +reach the landing by the time the boat is there." The young man +spoke hurriedly, shook hands with Mr. Delancy, and then sprung away, +moving at a rapid pace. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter, father? Where is Hartley going?" exclaimed +Irene, coming out into the portico and grasping her father's arm. +Her face was pale and her lips trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"He is going to New York," relied Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +"To New York!" She looked almost frightened. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. The boat is coming, and he says that he must be in the city +to-night." +</P> + +<P> +Irene sat down, looking pale and troubled. +</P> + +<P> +"Why have you remained away from Hartley ever since his arrival?" +asked Mr. Delancy, fixing his eyes upon Irene and evincing some +displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not answer, but her father saw the color coming back to +her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I think, from his manner, that he was hurt by your singular +treatment. What possessed you to do so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I was not pleased with him," said Irene. Her voice was now +steady. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wished him to go to the arbor." +</P> + +<P> +"He was your guest, and, in simple courtesy, if there was no other +motive, you should have let his wishes govern your movements," Mr. +Delancy replied. +</P> + +<P> +"He is always opposing me!" said Irene, giving way to a flood of +tears and weeping for a time bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not at all unlikely, my daughter," replied Mr. Delancy, after +the tears began to flow less freely, "that Hartley is now saying the +same thing of you, and treasuring up bitter things in his heart. I +have no idea that any business calls him to New York to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I. He takes this means to punish me," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't take that for granted. Your conduct has blinded him, and he +is acting now from blind impulse. Before he is half-way to New York +he will regret this hasty step as sincerely as I trust you are +already regretting its occasion." +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not think," he resumed, "that my late earnest remonstrance +would have so soon received an illustration like this. But it may be +as well. Trifles light as air have many times proved the beginning +of life-longs separations between friends and lovers who possessed +all the substantial qualities for a life-long and happy +companionship. Oh, my daughter, beware! beware of these little +beginnings of discord. How easy would it have been for you to have +yielded to Hartley's wishes!—how hard will it to endure the pain +that must now be suffered! And remember that you do not suffer +alone; your conduct has made him an equal sufferer. He came up all +the way from the city full of sweet anticipations. It was for your +sake that he came; and love pictured you as embodying all +attractions. But how has he found you? Ah, my daughter, your caprice +has wounded the heart that turned to you for love. He came in joy, +but goes back in sorrow." +</P> + +<P> +Irene went up to her chamber, feeling sadder than she had ever felt +in her life; yet, mingling, with her sadness and self-reproaches, +were complaining thoughts of her lover. For a little half-playful +pettishness was she to be visited with a punishment like this? If he +had really loved her—so she queried—would he have flung himself +away after this hasty fashion? Pride came to her aid in the conflict +of feeling, and gave her self-control and endurance. At tea-time she +met her father, and surprised him with her calm, almost cheerful, +aspect. But his glance was too keen not to penetrate the disguise. +After tea, she sat reading—or at least affecting to read—in the +portico, until the evening shadows came down, and then she retired +to her chamber. +</P> + +<P> +Not many hours of sleep brought forgetfulness of suffering through +the night that followed. Sometimes the unhappy girl heaped mountains +of reproaches upon her own head; and sometimes pride and +indignation, gaining rule in her heart, would whisper +self-justification, and throw the weight of responsibility upon her +lover. +</P> + +<P> +Her pale face and troubled eyes revealed too plainly, on the next +morning, the conflict through which she had passed. +</P> + +<P> +"Write him a letter of apology or explanation," said Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +But Irene was not in a state of mind for this. Pride came whispering +too many humiliating objections in her ear. Morning passed, and in +the early hours of the afternoon, when the New York boat usually +came up the river, she was out on the portico watching for its +appearance. Hope whispered that, repenting of his hasty return on +the day before, her lover was now hurrying back to meet her. At last +the white hull of the boat came gliding into view, and in less than +half an hour it was at the landing. Then it moved on its course +again. Almost to a second of time had Irene learned to calculate the +minutes it required for Hartley to make the distance between the +landing and the nearest point in the road where his form could meet +her view. She held her breath in eager expectation as that moment of +time approached. It came—it passed; the white spot in the road, +where his dark form first revealed itself, was touched by no +obscuring shadow. For more than ten minutes Irene sat motionless, +gazing still toward that point; then, sighing deeply, she arose and +went up to her room, from which she did not come down until summoned +to join her father at tea. +</P> + +<P> +The next day passed as this had done, and so did the next. Hartley +neither came nor sent a message of any kind. The maiden's heart +began to fail. Grief and fear took the place of accusation and +self-reproach. What if he had left her for ever! The thought made +her heart shiver as if an icy wind had passed over it. Two or three +times she took up her pen to write him a few words and entreat him +to come back to her again. But she could form no sentences against +which pride did not come with strong objection; and so she suffered +on, and made no sign. +</P> + +<P> +A whole week at last intervened. Then the enduring heart began to +grow stronger to bear, and, in self-protection, to put on sterner +moods. Hers was not a spirit to yield weakly in any struggle. She +was formed for endurance, pride and self-reliance giving her +strength above common natures. But this did not really lessen her +suffering, for she was not only capable of deep affection, but +really loved Hartley almost as her own life; and the thought of +losing him, whenever it grew distinct, filled her with terrible +anguish. +</P> + +<P> +With pain her father saw the color leave her cheeks, her eyes grow +fixed and dreamy, and her lips shrink from their full outline. +</P> + +<P> +"Write to Hartley," he said to her one day, after a week had passed. +</P> + +<P> +"Never!" was her quick, firm, almost sharply uttered response; "I +would die first!" +</P> + +<P> +"But, my daughter—" +</P> + +<P> +"Father," she interrupted him, two bright spots suddenly burning on +her cheeks, "don't, I pray you, urge me on this point. I have +courage enough to break, but I will not bend. I gave him no offence. +What right has he to assume that I was not engaged in domestic +duties while he sat talking with you? He said that he had an +engagement in New York. Very well; there was a sufficient reason for +his sudden departure; and I accept the reason. But why does he +remain away? If simply because I preferred a seat in the arbor to +one in the portico, why, the whole thing is so unmanly, that I can +have no patience with it. Write to him, and humor a whim like this! +No, no—Irene Delancy is not made of the right stuff. He went from +me, and he must return again. I cannot go to him. Maiden modesty and +pride forbid. And so I shall remain silent and passive, if my heart +breaks." +</P> + +<P> +It was in the afternoon, and they were sitting in the portico, +where, at this hour, Irene might have been found every day for the +past week. The boat from New York came in sight as she closed the +last sentence. She saw it—for her eyes were on the look-out—the +moment it turned the distant point of land that hid the river +beyond. Mr. Delancy also observed the boat. Its appearance was an +incident of sufficient importance, taking things as they were, to +check the conversation, which was far from being satisfactory on +either side. +</P> + +<P> +The figure of Irene was half buried in a deep cushioned chair, which +had been wheeled out upon the portico, and now her small, slender +form seemed to shrink farther back among the cushions, and she sat +as motionless as one asleep. Steadily onward came the boat, throwing +backward her dusky trail and lashing with her great revolving wheels +the quiet waters into foamy turbulence—onward, until the dark crowd +of human forms could be seen upon her decks; then, turning sharply, +she was lost to view behind a bank of forest trees. Ten minutes +more, and the shriek of escaping steam was heard as she stopped her +ponderous machinery at the landing. +</P> + +<P> +From that time Irene almost held her breath, as so she counted the +moments that must elapse before Hartley could reach the point of +view in the road that led up from the river, should he have been a +passenger in the steamboat. The number was fully told, but it was +to-day as yesterday. There was no sign of his coming. And so the +eyelids, weary with vain expectation, drooped heavily over the +dimming eyes. But she had not stirred, nor shown a sign of feeling. +A little while she sat with her long lashes shading her pale cheeks; +then she slowly raised them and looked out toward the river again. +What a quick start she gave! Did her eyes deceive her? No, it was +Hartley, just in the spot she had looked to see him only a minute or +two before. But how slowly he moved, and with what a weary step! +and, even at this long distance, his face looked white against the +wavy masses of his dark-brown hair. +</P> + +<P> +Irene started up with an exclamation, stood as if in doubt for a +moment, then, springing from the portico, she went flying to meet +him, as swiftly as if moving on winged feet. All the forces of her +ardent, impulsive nature were bearing her forward. There was no +remembrance of coldness or imagined wrong—pride did not even +struggle to lift its head—love conquered everything. The young man +stood still, from weariness or surprise, ere she reached him. As she +drew near, Irene saw that his face was not only pale, but thin and +wasted. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Hartley! dear Hartley!" came almost wildly from her lips, as +she flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him over and over +again, on lips, cheeks and brow, with an ardor and tenderness that +no maiden delicacy could restrain. "Have you been sick, or hurt? Why +are you so pale, darling?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have been ill for a week—ever since I was last here," the young +man replied, speaking in a slow, tremulous voice. +</P> + +<P> +"And I knew it not!" Tears were glittering in her eyes and pressing +out in great pearly beads from between the fringing lashes. "Why did +you not send for me, Hartley?" +</P> + +<P> +And she laid her small hands upon each side of his face, as you have +seen a mother press the cheeks of her child, and looked up tenderly +into his love-beaming eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"But come, dear," she added, removing her hands from his face and +drawing her arm within his—not to lean on, but to offer support. +"My father, who has, with me, suffered great anxiety on your +account, is waiting your arrival at the house." +</P> + +<P> +Then, with slow steps, they moved along the upward sloping way, +crowding the moments with loving words. +</P> + +<P> +And so the storm passed, and the sun came out again in the firmament +of their souls. But looked he down on no tempest-marks? Had not the +ruthless tread of passion marred the earth's fair surface? Were no +goodly trees uptorn, or clinging vines wrenched from their support? +Alas! was there ever a storm that did not leave some ruined hope +behind? ever a storm that did not strew the sea with wrecks or mar +the earth's fair beauty? +</P> + +<P> +As when the pain of a crushed limb ceases there comes to the +sufferer a sense of delicious ease, so, after the storm had passed, +the lovers sat in the warm sunshine and dreamed of unclouded +happiness in the future. But in the week that Hartley spent with his +betrothed were revealed to their eyes, many times, desolate places +where flowers had been; and their hearts grew sad as they turned +their eyes away, and sighed for hopes departed, faith shaken, and +untroubled confidence in each other for the future before them, for +ever gone. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE CLOUD AND THE SIGN. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>IN</I> alternate storm and sunshine their lives passed on, until the +appointed day arrived that was to see them bound, not by the +graceful true-lovers' knot, which either might untie, but by a chain +light as downy fetters if borne in mutual love, and galling as +ponderous iron links, if heart answered not heart and the chafing +spirit struggled to get free. +</P> + +<P> +Hartley Emerson loved truly the beautiful, talented and +affectionate, but badly-disciplined, quick-tempered, self-willed +girl he had chosen for a wife; and Irene Delancy would have gone to +prison and to death for the sake of the man to whom she had yielded +up the rich treasures of her young heart. In both cases the great +drawback to happiness was the absence of self-discipline, +self-denial and self-conquest. They could overcome difficulties, +brave danger, set the world at defiance, if need be, for each other, +and not a coward nerve give way; but when pride and passion came +between them, each was a child in weakness and blind self-will. +Unfortunately, persistence of character was strong in both. They +were of such stuff as martyrs were made of in the fiery times of +power and persecution. +</P> + +<P> +A brighter, purer morning than that on which their marriage vows +were said the year had not given to the smiling earth. Clear and +softly blue as the eye of childhood bent the summer sky above them. +There was not a cloud in all the tranquil heavens to give suggestion +of dreary days to come or to wave a sign of warning. The blithe +birds sung their matins amid the branches that hung their leafy +drapery around and above Irene's windows, in seeming echoes to the +songs love was singing in her heart. Nature put on the loveliest +attire in all her ample wardrobe, and decked herself with coronals +and wreaths of flowers that loaded the air with sweetness. +</P> + +<P> +"May your lives flow together like two pure streams that meet in the +same valley, and as bright a sky bend always over you as gives its +serene promise for to-day." +</P> + +<P> +Thus spoke the minister as the ceremonials closed that wrought the +external bond of union between them. His words were uttered with +feeling and solemnity; for marriage, in his eyes, was no light +thing. He had seen too many sad hearts struggling in chains that +only death could break, ever to regard marriage with other than +sober thoughts that went questioning away into the future. +</P> + +<P> +The "amen" of Mr. Delancy was not audibly spoken, but it was +deep-voiced in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +There was to be a wedding-tour of a few weeks, and then the young +couple were to take possession of a new home in the city, Which Mr. +Emerson had prepared for his bride. The earliest boat that came up +from New York was to bears the party to Albany, Saratoga being the +first point of their destination. +</P> + +<P> +After the closing of the marriage ceremony some two or three hours +passed before the time of departure came. The warm congratulations +were followed by a gay, festive scene, in which glad young hearts +had a merry-making time. How beautiful the bride looked! and how +proudly the gaze of her newly-installed husband turned ever and ever +toward her, move which way she would among her maidens, as if she +were a magnet to his eyes. He was standing in the portico that +looked out upon the distant river, about an hour after the wedding, +talking with one of the bridesmaids, when the latter, pointing to +the sky, said, laughing— +</P> + +<P> +"There comes your fate." +</P> + +<P> +Emerson's eyes followed the direction of her finger. +</P> + +<P> +"You speak in riddles," he replied, looking back into the maiden's +face. "What do you see?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little white blemish on the deepening azure," was answered. +"There it lies, just over that stately horse-chestnut, whose +branches arch themselves into the outline of a great cathedral +window." +</P> + +<P> +"A scarcely perceptible cloud?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, no bigger than a hand; and just below it is another." +</P> + +<P> +"I see; and yet you still propound a riddle. What has that cloud to +do with my fate?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know the old superstition connected with wedding-days?" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"That as the aspect of the day is, so will the wedded life be." +</P> + +<P> +"Ours, then, is full of promise. There has been no fairer day than +this," said the young man. +</P> + +<P> +"Yet many a day that opened as bright and cloudless has sobbed +itself away in tears." +</P> + +<P> +"True; and it may be so again. But I am no believer in signs." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," said the young lady, again laughing. +</P> + +<P> +The bride came up at this moment and, hearing the remark of her +young husband, said, as she drew her arm within his— +</P> + +<P> +"What about signs, Hartley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Carman has just reminded me of the superstition about +wedding-days, as typical of life." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, I remember," said Irene, smiling. "If the day opens clear, +then becomes cloudy, and goes out in storm, there will be happiness +in the beginning, but sorrow at the close; but if clouds and rain +herald its awakening, then pass over and leave the sky blue and +sunny, there will be trouble at first, but smiling peace as life +progresses and declines. Our sky is bright as heart could wish." And +the bride looked up into the deep blue ether. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Carman laid one hand upon her arm and with the other pointed +lower down, almost upon the horizon's edge, saying, in a tone of +mock solemnity— +</P> + +<P> +"As I said to Mr. Emerson, so I now say to you—There comes our +fate." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't call that the herald of an approaching storm?" +</P> + +<P> +"Weatherwise people say," answered the maiden, "that a sky without a +cloud is soon followed by stormy weather. Since morning until now +there has not a cloud been seen."' +</P> + +<P> +"Weatherwise people and almanac-makers speak very oracularly, but +the day of auguries and signs is over," replied Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Philosophy," said Mr. Emerson, "is beginning to find reasons in the +nature of things for results that once seemed only accidental, yet +followed with remarkable certainty the same phenomena. It discovers +a relation of cause and effect where ignorance only recognizes some +power working in the dark." +</P> + +<P> +"So you pass me over to the side of ignorance!" Irene spoke in a +tone that Hartley's ear recognized too well. His remark had touched +her pride. +</P> + +<P> +"Not by any means," he answered quickly, eager to do away the +impression. "Not by any means," he repeated. "The day of mere +auguries, omens and signs is over. Whatever natural phenomena appear +are dependent on natural causes, and men of science are beginning to +study the so-called superstitions of farmers and seamen, to find +out, if possible, the philosophical elucidation. Already a number of +curious results have followed investigation in this field." +</P> + +<P> +Irene leaned on his arm still, but she did not respond. A little +cloud had come up and lay just upon the verge of her soul's horizon. +Her husband knew that it was there; and this knowledge caused a +cloud to dim also the clear azure of his mind. There was a singular +correspondence between their mental sky and the fair cerulean +without. +</P> + +<P> +Fearing to pursue the theme on which they were conversing, lest some +unwitting words might shadow still further the mind of Irene, +Emerson changed the subject, and was, to all appearance, successful +in dispelling the little cloud. +</P> + +<P> +The hour came, at length, when the bridal party must leave. After a +tender, tearful partings with her father, Irene turned her steps +away from the home of her childhood into a new path, that would lead +her out into the world, where so many thousands upon thousands, who +saw only a way of velvet softness before them, have cut their tended +feet upon flinty rocks, even to the verve end of their tearful +journey. Tightly and long did Mr. Delancy hold his child to his +heart, and when his last kiss was given and his fervent "God give +you a happy life, my daughter!" said, he gazed after her departing +form with eyes front which manly firmness could not hold back the +tears. +</P> + +<P> +No one knew better than Mr. Delancy the perils that lay before his +daughter. That storms would darken her sky and desolate her heart, +he had too good reason to fear. His hope for her lay beyond the +summer-time of life, when, chastened by suffering and subdued by +experience, a tranquil autumn would crown her soul with blessings +that might have been earlier enjoyed. He was not superstitious, and +yet it was with a feeling of concern that he saw the white and +golden clouds gathering like enchanted land along the horizon, and +piling themselves up, one above another, as if in sport, building +castles and towers that soon dissolved, changing away into fantastic +forms, in which the eye could see no meaning; and when, at last, his +ear caught a far-distant sound that jarred the air, a sudden pain +shot through his heart. +</P> + +<P> +"On any other day but this!" he sighed to himself, turning from the +window at which he was standing and walking restlessly the floor for +several minutes, lost in a sad, dreamy reverie. +</P> + +<P> +Like something instinct with life the stately steamer, quivering +with every stroke of her iron heart, swept along the gleaming river +on her upward passage, bearing to their destination her freight of +human souls. Among theme was our bridal party, which, as the day was +so clear and beautiful, was gathered upon the upper deck. As Irene's +eyes turned from the closing vision of her father's beautiful home, +where the first cycle of her life had recorded its golden hours, she +said, with a sigh, speaking to one of her companions— +</P> + +<P> +"Farewell, Ivy Cliff! I shall return to you again, but not the same +being I was when I left your pleasant scenes this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"A happier being I trust," replied Miss Carman, one of her +bridemaids. +</P> + +<P> +Rose Carman was a young friend, residing in the neighborhood of her +father, to whom Irene was tenderly attached. +</P> + +<P> +"Something here says no." And Irene, bending toward Miss Carman, +pressed one of her hands against her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"The weakness of an hour like this," answered her friend with an +assuring smile. "It will pass away like the morning cloud and the +early dew." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson noticed the shade upon the face of his bride, and +drawing near to her, said, tenderly— +</P> + +<P> +"I can forgive you a sigh for the past, Irene. Ivy Cliff is a lovely +spot, and your home has been all that a maiden's heart could desire. +It would be strange, indeed, if the chords that have so long bound +you there did not pull at your heart in parting." +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not answer, but let her eyes turn backward with a pensive +almost longing glance toward the spot where lay hidden among the +distant trees the home of her early years. A deep shadow had +suddenly fallen upon her spirits. Whence it came she knew not and +asked not; but with the shadow was a dim foreboding of evil. +</P> + +<P> +There was tact and delicacy enough in the companions of Irene to +lead them to withdraw observation and to withhold further remarks +until she could recover the self-possession she had lost. This came +back in a little while, when, with an effort, she put on the light, +easy manner so natural to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Looking at the signs?" said one of the party, half an hour +afterward, as she saw the eyes of Irene ranging along the sky, where +clouds were now seen towering up in steep masses, like distant +mountains. +</P> + +<P> +"If I were a believer of signs," replied Irene, placing her arm +within that of the maiden who had addressed her, and drawing her +partly aside, "I might feel sober at this portent. But I am not. +Still, sign or no sign, I trust we are not going to have a storm. It +would greatly mar our pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +But long ere the boat reached Albany, rain began to fall, +accompanied by lightning and thunder; and soon the clouds were +dissolving in a mimic deluge. Hour after hour, the wind and rain and +lightning held fierce revelry, and not until near the completion of +the voyage did the clouds hold back their watery treasures, and the +sunbeams force themselves through the storm's dark barriers. +</P> + +<P> +When the stars came out that evening, studding the heavens with +light, there was no obscuring spot on all the o'erarching sky. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +UNDER THE CLOUD. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>THE</I> wedding party was to spend a week at Saratoga, and it was now +the third day since its arrival. The time had passed pleasantly, or +wearily, according to the state of mind or social habits and +resources of the individual. The bride, it was remarked by some of +the party, seemed dull; and Rose Carman, who knew her friend better, +perhaps, than any other individual in the company, and kept her +under close observation, was concerned to notice an occasional +curtness of manner toward her husband, that was evidently not +relished. Something had already transpired to jar the chords so +lately attuned to harmony. +</P> + +<P> +After dinner a ride was proposed by one of the company. Emerson +responded favorably, but Irene was indifferent. He urged her, and +she gave an evidently reluctant consent. While the gentlemen went to +make arrangement for carriages, the ladies retired to their rooms. +Miss Carman accompanied the bride. She had noticed her manner, and +felt slightly troubled at her state of mind, knowing, as she did, +her impulsive character and blind self-will when excited by +opposition. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to ride to-day!" exclaimed Irene, throwing herself +into a chair as soon as she had entered her room; "and Hartley knows +that I do not." +</P> + +<P> +Her cheeks burned and her eyes sparkled. +</P> + +<P> +"If it will give him pleasure to ride out," said Rose, in a gentle +soothing manner, "you cannot but have the same feeling in +accompanying him." +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon!" replied Irene, briskly. "If I don't want to +ride, no company can make the act agreeable. Why can't people learn +to leave others in freedom? If Hartley had shown the same +unwillingness to join this riding party that I manifested, do you +think I would have uttered a second word in favor of going? No. I am +provoked at his persistence." +</P> + +<P> +"There, there, Irene!" said Miss Carman, drawing an arm tenderly +around the neck of her friend; "don't trust such sentences on your +lips. I can't bear to hear you talk so. It isn't my sweet friend +speaking." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a dear, good girl, Rose," replied Irene, smiling faintly, +"and I only wish that I had a portion of your calm, gentle spirit. +But I am as I am, and must act out if I act at all. I must be myself +or nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"You can be as considerate of others as of yourself?" said Rose. +</P> + +<P> +Irene looked at her companion inquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean," added Rose, "that you can exercise the virtue of +self-denial in order to give pleasure to another—especially if that +other one be an object very dear to you. As in the present case, +seeing that your husband wants to join this riding party, you can, +for his sake, lay aside your indifference, and enter, with a hearty +good-will, into the proposed pastime." +</P> + +<P> +"And why cannot he, seeing that I do not care to ride, deny himself +a little for my sake, and not drag me out against my will? Is all +the yielding and concession to be on my side? Must his will rule in +everything? I can tell you what it is, Rose, this will never suit +me. There will be open war between us before the honeymoon has waxed +and waned, if he goes on as he has begun." +</P> + +<P> +"Hush! hush, Irene!" said her friend, in a tone of deprecation. "The +lightest sense of wrong gains undue magnitude the moment we begin to +complain. We see almost anything to be of greater importance when +from the obscurity of thought we bring it out into the daylight of +speech." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be just as I say, and saying it will not make it any more +so," was Irene's almost sullen response to this. "I have my own +ideas of things and my own individuality, and neither of these do I +mean to abandon. If Hartley hasn't the good sense to let me have my +own way in what concerns myself, I will take my own way. As to the +troubles that may come afterward, I do not give them any weight in +the argument. I would die a martyr's deaths rather than become the +passive creature of another." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear friend, why will you talk so?" Rose spoke in a tone of +grief. +</P> + +<P> +"Simply because I am in earnest. From the hour of our marriage I +have seen a disposition on the part of my husband to assume +control—to make his will the general law of our actions. It has not +exhibited itself in things of moment, but in trifles, showing that +the spirit was there. I say this to you, Rose, because we have been +like sisters, and I can tell you of my inmost thoughts. There is a +cloud already in the sky, and it threatens an approaching storm." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my friend, why are you so blind, so weak, so self-deceived? You +are putting forth your hands to drag down the temple of happiness. +If it fall, it will crush you beneath a mass of ruins; and not you +only, but the one you have so lately pledged yourself before God and +his angels to love." +</P> + +<P> +"And I do love him as deeply as ever man was loved. Oh that he knew +my heart! He would not then shatter his image there. He would not +trifle with a spirit formed for intense, yielding, passionate love, +but rigid as steel and cold as ice when its freedom is touched. He +should have known me better before linking his fate with mine." +</P> + +<P> +One of her darker moods had come upon Irene, and she was beating +about in the blind obscurity of passion. As she began to give +utterance to complaining thoughts, new thoughts formed themselves, +and what was only vague feelings grew into ideas of wrong; and +these, when once spoken, assumed a magnitude unimagined before. In +vain did her friend strive with her. Argument, remonstrance, +persuasion, only seemed to bring greater obscurity and to excite a +more bitter feeling in her mind. And so, despairing of any good +result, Rose withdrew, and left her with her own unhappy thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +Not long after Miss Carman retired, Emerson came in. At the sound of +his approaching footsteps, Irene had, with a strong effort, composed +herself and swept back the deeper shadows from her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Not ready yet?" he said, in a pleasant, half-chiding way. "The +carriages will be at the door in ten minutes." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not going to ride out," returned Irene, in a quiet, seemingly +indifferent tone of voice. Hartley mistook her manner for sport, and +answered pleasantly— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes you are, my little lady." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I am not." There was no misapprehension now. +</P> + +<P> +"Not going to ride out?" Hartley's brows contracted. +</P> + +<P> +"No; I am not going to ride out to-day." Each word was distinctly +spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand you, Irene." +</P> + +<P> +"Are not my words plain enough?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, they are too plain—so plain as to make them involve a +mystery. What do you mean by this sudden change of purpose?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't wish to ride out," said Irene, with assumed calmness of +manner; "and that being so, may I not have my will in the case?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—" +</P> + +<P> +A red spot burned on Irene's cheeks and her eyes flashed. +</P> + +<P> +"No," repeated her husband; "not after you have given up that will +to another." +</P> + +<P> +"To you!" Irene started to her feet in instant passion. "And so I am +to be nobody, and you the lord and master. My will is to be nothing, +and yours the law of my life." Her lip curled in contemptuous anger. +</P> + +<P> +"You misunderstand me," said Hartley Emerson, speaking as calmly as +was possible in this sudden emergency. "I did not refer specially to +myself, but to all of our party, to whom you had given up your will +in a promise to ride out with them, and to whom, therefore, you were +bound." +</P> + +<P> +"An easy evasion," retorted the excited bride, who had lost her +mental equipoise. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," the young man spoke sternly, "are those the right words for +your husband? An easy evasion!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have said them." +</P> + +<P> +"And you must unsay them." +</P> + +<P> +Both had passed under the cloud which pride and passion had raised. +</P> + +<P> +"Must! I thought you knew me better, Hartley." Irene grew suddenly +calm. +</P> + +<P> +"If there is to be love between us, all barriers must be removed." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say <I>must</I> to me, sir! I will not endure the word." +</P> + +<P> +Hartley turned from her and walked the floor with rapid steps, +angry, grieved and in doubt as to what it were best for him to do. +The storm had broken on him without a sign of warning, and he was +wholly unprepared to meet it. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," he said, at length, pausing before her, "this conduct on +your part is wholly inexplicable. I cannot understand its meaning. +Will you explain yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. I am always ready to give a reason for my conduct," she +replied, with cold dignity. +</P> + +<P> +"Say on, then." Emerson spoke with equal coldness of manner. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not wish to ride out, and said so in the beginning. That +ought to have been enough for you. But no—my wishes were nothing; +your will must be law." +</P> + +<P> +"And that is all! the head and front of my offending!" said Emerson, +in a tone of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't so much the thing itself that I object to, as the spirit +in which it is done," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"A spirit of overbearing self-will!' said Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, if you choose. That is what my soul revolts against. I gave +you my heart and my hand—my love and my confidence—not my freedom. +The last is a part of my being, and I will maintain it while I have +life." +</P> + +<P> +"Perverse girl! What insane spirit has got possession of your mind?" +exclaimed Emerson, chafed beyond endurance. +</P> + +<P> +"Say on," retorted Irene; "I am prepared for this. I have seen, from +the hour of our marriage, that a time of strife would come; that +your will would seek to make itself ruler, and that I would not +submit. I did not expect the issue to come so soon. I trusted in +your love to spare me, at least, until I could be bidden from +general observation when I turned myself upon you and said, Thus far +thou mayest go, but no farther. But, come the struggle early or +late—now or in twenty years—I am prepared." +</P> + +<P> +There came at this moment a rap at their door. Mr. Emerson opened +it. +</P> + +<P> +"Carriage is waiting," said a servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Say that we will be down in a few minutes." +</P> + +<P> +The door closed. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Irene," said Mr. Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"You spoke very confidently to the servant, and said we would be +down in a few minutes." +</P> + +<P> +"There, there, Irene! Let this folly die; it has lived long enough. +Come! Make yourself ready with all speed—our party is delayed by +this prolonged absence." +</P> + +<P> +"You think me trifling, and treat me as if I were a captious child," +said Irene, with chilling calmness; "but I am neither." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you will not go?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will not go." She said the words slowly and deliberately, and as +she spoke looked her husband steadily in the face. She was in +earnest, and he felt that further remonstrance would be in vain. +</P> + +<P> +"You will repent of this," he replied, with enough of menace in his +voice to convey to her mind a great deal more than was in his +thoughts. And he turned from her and left the room. Going down +stairs, he found the riding-party waiting for their appearance. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Irene?" was asked by one and another, on seeing him alone. +</P> + +<P> +"She does not care to ride out this afternoon, and so I have excused +her," he replied. Miss Carman looked at him narrowly, and saw that +there was a shade of trouble on his countenance, which he could not +wholly conceal. She would have remained behind with Irene, but that +would have disappointed the friend who was to be her companion in +the drive. +</P> + +<P> +As the party was in couples, and as Mr. Emerson had made up his mind +to go without his young wife, he had to ride alone. The absence of +Irene was felt as a drawback to the pleasure of all the company. +Miss Carman, who understood the real cause of Irene's refusal to +ride, was so much troubled in her mind that she sat almost silent +during the two hours they were out. Mr. Emerson left the party after +they had been out for an hour, and returned to the hotel. His +excitement had cooled off, and he began to feel regret at the +unbending way in which he had met his bride's unhappy mood. +</P> + +<P> +"Her over-sensitive mind has taken up a wrong impression," he said, +as he talked with himself; "and, instead of saying or doing anything +to increase that impression, I should, by word and act of kindness, +have done all in my power for its removal. Two wrongs never make a +right. Passion met by passion results not in peace. I should have +soothed and yielded, and so won her back to reason. As a man, I +ought to possess a cooler and more rationally balanced mind. She is +a being of feeling and impulse,—loving, ardent, proud, sensitive +and strong-willed. Knowing this, it was madness in me to chafe +instead of soothing her; to oppose, when gentle concession would +have torn from her eyes an illusive veil. Oh that I could learn +wisdom in time! I was in no ignorance as to her peculiar character. +I knew her faults and her weaknesses, as well as her nobler +qualities; and it was for me to stimulate the one and bear with the +others. Duty, love, honor, humanity, all pointed to this." +</P> + +<P> +The longer Mr. Emerson's thoughts ran in this direction, the deeper +grew his feeling of self-condemnation, and the more tenderly yearned +his heart toward the young creature he had left alone with the +enemies of their peace nestling in her bosom and filling it with +passion and pain. After separating himself from his party, he drove +back toward the hotel at a speed that soon put his horses into a +foam. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BURSTING OF THE STORM. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>MR. DELANCY</I> was sitting in his library on the afternoon of the +fourth day since the wedding-party left Ivy Cliff, when the entrance +of some one caused him to turn toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anxiety and alarm, as he started +to his feet; for his daughter stood before him. Her face was pale, +her eyes fixed and sad, her dress in disorder. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene, in Heaven's name, what has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"The worst," she answered, in a low, hoarse voice, not moving from +the spot where she first stood still. +</P> + +<P> +"Speak plainly, my child. I cannot bear suspense." +</P> + +<P> +"I have left my husband and returned to you!" was the firmly uttered +reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, folly! oh, madness! What evil counselor has prevailed with you, +my unhappy child?" said Mr. Delancy, in a voice of anguish. +</P> + +<P> +"I have counseled with no one but myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Never a wise counselor—never a wise counselor! But why, why have +you taken this desperate step?" +</P> + +<P> +"In self-protection," replied Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, my child. There!" and he led her to a seat. "Now let me +remove your bonnet and shawl. How wretched you look, poor, misguided +one! I could have laid you in the grave with less agony than I feel +in seeing you thus." +</P> + +<P> +Her heart was touched at this, and tears fell over her face. In the +selfishness of her own sternly-borne trouble, she had forgotten the +sorrow she was bringing to her father's heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor child! poor child!" sobbed the old man, as he sat down beside +Irene and drew her head against his breast. And so both wept +together for a time. After they had grown calm, Mr. Delancy said— +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, Irene, without disguise of any kind, the meaning of this +step which you have so hastily taken. Let me have the beginning, +progress and consummation of the sad misunderstanding." +</P> + +<P> +While yet under the government of blind passion, ere her husband +returned from the drive which Irene had refused to take with him, +she had, acting from a sudden suggestion that came to her mind, left +her room and, taking the cars, passed down to Albany, where she +remained until morning at one of the hotels. In silence and +loneliness she had, during the almost sleepless night that followed, +ample time for reflection and repentance. And both came, with +convictions of error and deep regret for the unwise, almost +disgraceful step she had taken, involving not only suffering, but +humiliating exposure of herself and husband. But it was felt to be +too late now to look back. Pride would have laid upon her a positive +interdiction, if other considerations had not come in to push the +question of return aside. +</P> + +<P> +In the morning, without partaking of food, Irene left in the New +York boat, and passed down the river toward the home from which she +had gone forth, only a few days before, a happy bride—returning +with the cup, then full of the sweet wine of life, now brimming with +the bitterest potion that had ever touched her lips. +</P> + +<P> +And so she had come back to her father's house. In all the hours of +mental anguish which had passed since her departure from Saratoga, +there had been an accusing spirit at her ear, and, resist as she +would, self-condemnation prevailed over attempted self-justification. +The cause of this unhappy rupture was so slight, the first provocation +so insignificant, that she felt the difficulty of making out her case +before her father. As to the world, pride counseled silence. +</P> + +<P> +With but little concealment or extenuation of her own conduct, Irene +told the story of her disagreement with Hartley. +</P> + +<P> +"And that was all!" exclaimed Mr. (sic) Delancey, in amazement, when +she ended her narrative. +</P> + +<P> +"All, but enough!" she answered, with a resolute manner. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy arose and walked the floor in silence for more than ten +minutes, during which time Irene neither spoke nor moved. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, misery!" ejaculated the father, at length, lifting his hands +above his head and then bringing them down with a gesture of +despair. +</P> + +<P> +Irene started up and moved to his side. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear father!" She spoke tenderly, laying her hands upon him; but he +pushed her away, saying— +</P> + +<P> +"Wretched girl! you have laid upon my old head a burden of disgrace +and wretchedness that you have no power to remove." +</P> + +<P> +"Father! father!" She clung to him, but he pushed her away. His +manner was like that of one suddenly bereft of reason. She clung +still, but he resolutely tore himself from her, when she fell +exhausted and fainting upon the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Alarm now took the place of other emotions, and Mr. Delancy was +endeavoring to lift the insensible body, when a quick, heavy tread +in the portico caused him to look up, just as Hartley Emerson pushed +open one of the French windows and entered the library. He had a +wild, anxious, half-frightened look. Mr. Delancy let the body fall +from his almost paralyzed arms and staggered to a chair, while +Emerson sprung forward, catching up the fainting form of his young +bride and bearing it to a sofa. +</P> + +<P> +"How long has she been in this way?" asked the young man, in a tone +of agitation. +</P> + +<P> +"She fainted this moment," replied Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +"How long has she been here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not half an hour," was answered; and as Mr. Delancy spoke he +reached for the bell and jerked it two or three times violently. The +waiter, startled by the loud, prolonged sound, came hurriedly to the +library. +</P> + +<P> +"Send Margaret here, and then get a horse and ride over swiftly for +Dr. Edmundson. Tell him to come immediately." +</P> + +<P> +The waiter stood for a moment or two, looking in a half-terrified +way upon the white, deathly face of Irene, and then fled from the +apartment. No grass grew beneath his horse's feet as he held him to +his utmost speed for the distance of two miles, which lay between +Ivy Cliff and the doctor's residence. +</P> + +<P> +Margaret, startled by the hurried, half-incoherent summons of the +waiter, came flying into the library. The moment her eyes rested +upon Irene, who still insensible upon the sofa, she screamed out, in +terror— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she's dead! she's dead!" and stood still as if suddenly +paralyzed; then, wringing her hands, she broke out in a wild, +sobbing tone— +</P> + +<P> +"My poor, poor child! Oh, she is dead, dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Margaret," said Mr. Delancy, as calmly as he could speak, "she +is not dead; it is only a fainting fit. Bring some water, quickly." +</P> + +<P> +Water was brought and dashed into the face of Irene; but there came +no sign of returning consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +"Hadn't you better take her up to her room, Mr. Emerson?" suggested +Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he replied; and, lifting the insensible form of his bride in +his arms, the unhappy man bore her to her chamber. Then, sitting +down beside the bed upon which he had placed her, he kissed her pale +cheeks and, laying his face to hers, sobbed and moaned, in the +abandonment of his grief, like a distressed child weeping in despair +for some lost treasure. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," said Margaret, who was an old family domestic, drawing +Hartley from the bedside, "leave her alone with me for a little +while." +</P> + +<P> +And the husband and father retired from the room. When they +returned, at the call of Margaret, they found Irene in bed, her +white, unconscious face scarcely relieved against the snowy pillow +on which her head was resting. +</P> + +<P> +"She is alive," said Margaret, in a low and excited voice; "I can +feel her heart beat." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God!" ejaculated Emerson, bending again over the motionless +form and gazing anxiously down upon the face of his bride. +</P> + +<P> +But there was no utterance of thankfulness in the heart of Mr. +Delancy. For her to come back again to conscious life was, he felt, +but a return to wretchedness. If the true prayer of his heart could +have found voice, it would have been for death, and not for life. +</P> + +<P> +In silence, fear and suspense they waited an hour before the doctor +arrived. Little change in Irene took place during that time, except +that her respiration became clearer and the pulsations of her heart +distinct and regular. The application of warm stimulants was +immediately ordered, and their good effects soon became apparent. +</P> + +<P> +"All will come right in a little while," said Dr. Edmundson, +encouragingly. "It seems to be only a fainting fit of unusual +length." +</P> + +<P> +Hartley drew Mr. Delancy aside. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be best that I should be alone with her when she recovers," +said he. +</P> + +<P> +"You may be right in that," said Mr. Delancy, after a moment's +reflection. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure that I am," was returned. +</P> + +<P> +"You think she will recover soon?" said Mr. Delancy, approaching the +doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, at any moment. She is breathing deeper, and her heart beats +with a fuller impulse." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us, retire, then;" and he drew the doctor from the apartment. +Pausing at the door, he called to Margaret in a half whisper. She +went out also, Emerson alone remaining. +</P> + +<P> +Taking his place by the bedside, he waited, in trembling anxiety, +for the moment when her eyes should open and recognize him. At last +there came a quivering of the eyelids and a motion about the +sleeper's lips. Emerson bent over and took one of her hands in his. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" He called her name in a voice of the tenderest affection. +The sound seemed to penetrate to the region of consciousness, for +her lips moved with a murmur of inarticulate words. He kissed her, +and said again— +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a sudden lighting up of her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene, love! darling!" The voice of Emerson was burdened with +tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Hartley!" she exclaimed, opening her eyes and looking with a +kind of glad bewilderment into his face. Then, half rising and +drawing her arms around his neck, she hid her face on his bosom, +murmuring— +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God that it is only a dream!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, thank God!" replied her husband, as he kissed her in a kind of +wild fervor; "and may such dreams never come again." +</P> + +<P> +She lay very still for some moments. Thought and memory were +beginning to act feebly. The response of her husband had in it +something that set her to questioning. But there was one thing that +made her feel happy: the sound of his loving voice was in her ears; +and all the while she felt his hand moving, with a soft, caressing +touch, over her cheek and temple. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Irene!" he murmured in her ears; and then her hand tightened +on his. +</P> + +<P> +And thus she remained until conscious life regained its full +activity. Then the trial came. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly lifting herself from the bosom of her husband, Irene gave a +hurried glance around the well-known chamber, then turned and looked +with a strange, fearful questioning glance into his face: +</P> + +<P> +"Where am I? What does this mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"It means," replied Emerson, "that the dream, thank God! is over, +and that my dear wife is awake again." +</P> + +<P> +He placed his arms again around her and drew her to his heart, +almost smothering her, as he did so, with kisses. +</P> + +<P> +She lay passive for a little while; then, disengaging herself, she +said, faintly— +</P> + +<P> +"I feel weak and bewildered; let me lie down." +</P> + +<P> +She closed her eyes as Emerson placed her back on the pillow, a sad +expression covering her still pallid face. Sitting down beside her, +he took her hand and held it with a firm pressure. She did not +attempt to withdraw it. He kissed her, and a warmer flush came over +her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Irene!" His hand pressed tightly upon hers, and she returned +the pressure. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I call your father? He is very anxious about you." +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet." And she caught slightly her breath, as if feeling were +growing too strong for her. +</P> + +<P> +"Let it be as a dream, Hartley." Irene lifted herself up and looked +calmly, but with a very sad expression on her countenance, into her +husband's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Between us two, Irene, even as a dream from which both have +awakened," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +She closed her eyes and sunk back upon the pillow. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson then went to the door and spoke to Mr. Delancy. On a +brief consultation it was thought best for Dr. Edmundson not to see +her again. A knowledge of the fact that he had been called in might +give occasion for more disturbing thoughts than were already +pressing upon her mind. And so, after giving some general directions +as to the avoidance of all things likely to excite her mind +unpleasantly, the doctor withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy saw his daughter alone. The interview was long and +earnest. On his part was the fullest disapproval of her conduct and +the most solemnly spoken admonitions and warnings. She confessed her +error, without any attempt at excuse or palliation, and promised a +wiser conduct in the future. +</P> + +<P> +"There is not one husband in five," said the father, "who would have +forgiven an act like this, placing him, as it does, in such a false +and humiliating position before the world. He loves you with too +deep and true a love, my child, for girlish trifling like this. And +let me warn you of the danger you incur of turning against you the +spirit of such a man. I have studied his character closely, and I +see in it an element of firmness that, if it once sets itself, will +be as inflexible as iron. If you repeat acts of this kind, the day +must come when forbearance will cease; and then, in turning from +you, it will be never to turn back again. Harden him against you +once, and it will be for all time." +</P> + +<P> +Irene wept bitterly at this strong representation, and trembled at +thought of the danger she had escaped. +</P> + +<P> +To her husband, when she was alone with him again, she confessed her +fault, and prayed him to let the memory of it pass from his mind for +ever. On his part was the fullest denial of any purpose whatever, in +the late misunderstanding, to bend her to his will. He assured her +that if he had dreamed of any serious objection on her part to the +ride, he would not have urged it for a moment. It involved no +promised pleasure to him apart from pleasure to her; and it was +because he believed that she would enjoy the drive that he had urged +her to make one of the party. +</P> + +<P> +All this was well, as far as it could go. But repentance and mutual +forgiveness did not restore everything to the old condition—did not +obliterate that one sad page in their history, and leave them free +to make a new and better record. If the folly had been in private, +the effort at forgiving and forgetting would have been attended with +fewer annoying considerations. But it was committed in public, and +under circumstances calculated to attract attention and occasion +invidious remark. And then, how were they to meet the different +members of the wedding-party, which they had so suddenly thrown into +consternation? +</P> + +<P> +On the next day the anxious members of this party made their +appearance at Ivy Cliff, not having, up to this time, received any +intelligence of the fugitive bride. Mr. Delancy did not attempt to +excuse to them the unjustifiable conduct of his daughter, beyond the +admission that she must have been temporarily deranged. Something +was said about resuming the bridal tour, but Mr. Delancy said, "No; +the quiet of Ivy Cliff will yield more pleasure than the excitement +of travel." +</P> + +<P> +And all felt this to be true. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AFTER THE STORM. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>AFTER</I> the storm. Alas! that there should be a wreck-strewn shore +so soon! That within three days of the bridal morning a tempest +should have raged, scattering on the wind sweet blossoms which had +just opened to the sunshine, tearing away the clinging vines of +love, and leaving marks of desolation which no dew and sunshine +could ever obliterate! +</P> + +<P> +It was not a blessed honeymoon to them. How could it be, after what +had passed? Both were hurt and mortified; and while there was mutual +forgiveness and great tenderness and fond concessions, one toward +the other, there was a sober, thoughtful state of mind, not +favorable to happiness. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy hoped the lesson—a very severe one—might prove the +guarantee of future peace. It had, without doubt, awakened Irene's +mind to sober thoughts—and closer self-examination than usual. She +was convicted in her own heart of folly, the memory of which could +never return to her without a sense of pain. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of three weeks from the day of their marriage, Mr. and +Mrs. Emerson went down to the city to take possession of their new +home. On the eve of their departure from Ivy Cliff, Mr. Delancy had +a long conference with his daughter, in which he conjured her, by +all things sacred, to guard herself against that blindness of +passion which had already produced such unhappy consequences. She +repeated, with many tears, her good resolutions for the future, and +showed great sorrow and contrition for the past. +</P> + +<P> +"It may come out right," said the old man to himself; as he sat +alone, with a pressure of foreboding on his mind, looking into the +dim future, on the day of their departure for New York. His only and +beloved child had gone forth to return no more, unless in sorrow or +wretchedness. "It may come out right, but my heart has sad +misgivings." +</P> + +<P> +There was a troubled suspense of nearly a week, when the first +letter came from Irene to her father. He broke the seal with +unsteady hands, fearing to let his eyes fall upon the opening page. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear, dear father! I am a happy young wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God!" exclaimed the old man aloud, letting the hand fall that +held Irene's letter. It was some moments before he could read +farther; then he drank in, with almost childish eagerness, every +sentence of the long letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, it may come out right," said Mr. Delancy; "it may come +out right." He uttered the words, so often on his lips, with more +confidence than usual. The letter strongly urged him to make her a +visit, if it was only for a day or two. +</P> + +<P> +"You know, dear father," she wrote, "that most of your time is to be +spent with us—all your winters, certainly; and we want you to begin +the new arrangement as soon as possible." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy sighed over the passage. He had not set his heart on +this arrangement. It might have been a pleasant thing for him to +anticipate; but there was not the hopeful basis for anticipation +which a mind like his required. +</P> + +<P> +Not love alone prompted Mr. Delancy to make an early visit to New +York; a feeling of anxiety to know how it really was with the young +couple acted quite as strongly in the line of incentive. And so he +went down to the city and passed nearly a week there. Both Irene and +her husband knew that he was observing them closely all the while, +and a consciousness of this put them under some constraint. +Everything passed harmoniously, and Mr. Delancy returned with the +half-hopeful, half-doubting words on his lips, so often and often +repeated— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, it may come out right." +</P> + +<P> +But it was not coming out altogether right. Even while the old man +was under her roof, Irene had a brief season of self-willed reaction +against her husband, consequent on some unguarded word or act, which +she felt to be a trespass on her freedom. To save appearances while +Mr. Delancy was with them, Hartley yielded and tendered +conciliation, all the while that his spirit chafed sorely. +</P> + +<P> +The departure of Mr. Delancy for Ivy Cliff was the signal for both +Irene and her husband to lay aside a portion of the restraint which +each had borne with a certain restlessness that longed for a time of +freedom. On the very day that he left Irene showed so much that +seemed to her husband like perverseness of will that he was +seriously offended, and spoke an unguarded word that was as fire to +stubble—a word that was repented of as soon as spoken, but which +pride would not permit him to recall. It took nearly a week of +suffering to discipline the mind of Mr. Emerson to the point of +conciliation. On the part of Irene there was not the thought of +yielding. Her will, supported by pride, was as rigid as iron. Reason +had no power over her. She felt, rather than thought. +</P> + +<P> +Thus far, both as lover and husband, in all their alienations, +Hartley had been the first to yield; and it was so now. He was +strong-willed and persistent; but cooler reason helped him back into +the right way, and he had, thus far, found it quicker than Irene. +Not that he suffered less or repented sooner. Irene's suffering was +far deeper, but she was blinder and more self-determined. +</P> + +<P> +Again the sun of peace smiled down upon them, but, as before, on +something shorn of its strength or beauty. +</P> + +<P> +"I will be more guarded," said Hartley to himself. "Knowing her +weakness, why should I not protect her against everything that +wounds her sensitive nature? Love concedes, is long suffering and +full of patience. I love Irene—words cannot tell how deeply. Then +why should I not, for her sake, bear and forbear? Why should I think +of myself and grow fretted because she does not yield as readily as +I could desire to my wishes?" +</P> + +<P> +So Emerson talked with himself and resolved. But who does not know +the feebleness of resolution when opposed to temperament and +confirmed habits of mind? How weak is mere human strength! Alas! how +few, depending on that alone, are ever able to bear up steadily, for +any length of time, against the tide of passion! +</P> + +<P> +Off his guard in less than twenty-four hours after resolving thus +with himself, the young husband spoke in captious disapproval of +something which Irene had done or proposed to do, and the +consequence was the assumption on her part of a cold, reserved and +dignified manner, which hurt and annoyed him beyond measure. Pride +led him to treat her in the same way; and so for days they met in +silence or formal courtesy, all the while suffering a degree of +wretchedness almost impossible to be endured, and all the while, +which was worst of all, writing on their hearts bitter things +against each other. +</P> + +<P> +To Emerson, as before, the better state first returned, and the +sunshine of his countenance drove the shadows from hers. Then for a +season they were loving, thoughtful, forbearing and happy. But the +clouds came back again, and storms marred the beauty of their lives. +</P> + +<P> +All this was sad—very sad. There were good and noble qualities in +the hearts of both. They were not narrow-minded and selfish, like so +many of your placid, accommodating, calculating people, but generous +in their feelings and broad in their sympathies. They had ideals of +life that went reaching out far beyond themselves. Yes, it was sad +to see two such hearts beating against and bruising each other, +instead of taking the same pulsation. But there seemed to be no help +for them. Irene's jealous guardianship of her freedom, her quick +temper, pride and self-will made the position of her husband so +difficult that it was almost impossible for him to avoid giving +offence. +</P> + +<P> +The summer and fall passed away without any serious rupture between +the sensitive couple, although there had been seasons of great +unhappiness to both. Irene had been up to Ivy Cliff many times to +visit her father, and now she was, beginning to urge his removal to +the city for the winter; but Mr. Delancy, who had never given his +full promise to this arrangement, felt less and less inclined to +leave his old home as the season advanced. Almost from boyhood he +had lived there, and his habits were formed for rural instead of +city life. +</P> + +<P> +He pictured the close streets, with their rows of houses, that left +for the eye only narrow patches of ethereal blue, and contrasted +this with the broad winter landscape, which for him had always +spread itself out with a beauty rivaled by no other season, and his +heart failed him. +</P> + +<P> +The brief December days were on them, and Irene grew more urgent. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, dear father," she wrote. "I think of you, sitting all alone +at Ivy Cliff, during these long evenings, and grow sad at heart in +sympathy with your loneliness. Come at once. Why linger a week or +even a day longer? We have been all in all to each other these many +years, and ought not to be separated now." +</P> + +<P> +But Mr. Delancy was not ready to exchange the pure air and +widespreading scenery of the Highlands for a city residence, even in +the desolate winter, and so wrote back doubtingly. Irene and her +husband then came up to add the persuasion of their presence at Ivy +Cliff. It did not avail, however. The old man was too deeply wedded +to his home. +</P> + +<P> +"I should be miserable in New York," he replied to their earnest +entreaties; "and it would not add to your happiness to see me going +about with a sober, discontented face, or to be reminded every +little while that if you had left me to my winter's hibernation I +would have been a contented instead of a dissatisfied old man. No, +no, my children; Ivy Cliff is the best place for me. You shall come +up and spend Christmas here, and we will have a gay season." +</P> + +<P> +There was no further use in argument. Mr. Delancy would have his +way; and he was right. +</P> + +<P> +Irene and her husband went back to the city, with a promise to spend +Christmas at the old homestead. +</P> + +<P> +Two weeks passed. It was the twentieth of December. Without previous +intimation, Irene came up alone to Ivy Cliff, startling her father +by coming in suddenly upon him one dreary afternoon, just as the +leaden sky began to scatter down the winter's first offering of +snow. +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter!" he exclaimed, so surprised that he could not move +from where he was sitting. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear father!" she answered with a loving smile, throwing her arms +around his neck and kissing him. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Hartley?" asked the old man, looking past Irene toward the +door through which she had just entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I left him in New York," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"In New York! Have you come alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Christmas is only five days off, you know, and I am here to +help you prepare for it. Of course, Hartley cannot leave his +business." +</P> + +<P> +She spoke in an excited, almost gay tone of voice. Mr. Delancy +looked at her earnestly. Unpleasant doubts flitted through his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"When will your husband come up?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"At Christmas," she answered, without hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you write, love?" asked Mr. Delancy. "You have taken me +by surprise, and set my nerves in a flutter." +</P> + +<P> +"I only thought about it last evening. One of my sudden +resolutions." +</P> + +<P> +And she laughed a low, fluttering laugh. It might have been an +error, but her father had a fancy that it did not come from her +heart. +</P> + +<P> +"I will run up stairs and put off my things," she said, moving away. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you bring a trunk?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes; it is at the landing. Will you send for it?" +</P> + +<P> +And Irene went, with quick steps, from the apartment, and ran up to +the chamber she still called her own. On the way she met Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Irene!" exclaimed the latter, pausing and lifting her hands in +astonishment. "Why, where did you come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just arrived in the boat. Have come to help you get ready for +Christmas." +</P> + +<P> +"Please goodness, how you frightened me!" said the warm-hearted +domestic, who had been in the family ever since Irene was a child, +and was strongly attached to her. "How's Mr. Emerson?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he's well, thank you, Margaret." +</P> + +<P> +"Well now, child, you did set me all into a fluster. I thought maybe +you'd got into one of your tantrums, and come off and left your +husband." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Margaret!" A crimson flush mantled the face of Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"You must excuse me, child, but just that came into my head," +replied Margaret. "You're very downright and determined sometimes; +and there isn't anything hardly that you wouldn't do if the spirit +was on you. I'm glad it's all right. Dear me! dear me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm not quite so bad as you all make me out," said Irene, +laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think you are bad," answered Margaret, in kind deprecation, +yet with a freedom of speech warranted by her years and attachment +to Irene. "But you go off in such strange ways—get so wrong-headed +sometimes—that there's no counting on you." +</P> + +<P> +Then, growing more serious, she added— +</P> + +<P> +"The fact is, Miss Irene, you keep me feeling kind of uneasy all the +time. I dreamed about you last night, and maybe that has helped to +put me into a fluster now." +</P> + +<P> +"Dreamed about me!" said Irene, with a degree of interest in her +manner. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But don't stand here, Miss Irene; come over to your room." +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of a dream had you, Margaret?" asked the young wife, as +she sat down on the side of the bed where, pillowed in sleep, she +had dreamed so many of girlhood's pleasant dreams. +</P> + +<P> +"I was dreaming all night about you," replied Margaret, looking +sober-faced. +</P> + +<P> +"And you saw me in trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh dear, yes; in nothing but trouble. I thought once that I saw you +in a great room full of wild beasts. They were chained or in cages; +but you would keep going close up to the bars of the cages, or near +enough for the chained animals to spring upon you. And that wasn't +all. You put the end of your little parasol in between the bars, and +a fierce tiger struck at you with his great cat-like paw, tearing +the flesh from your arm. Then I saw you in a little boat, down on +the river. You had put up a sail, and was going out all alone. I saw +the boat move off from the shore just as plainly as I see you now. I +stood and watched until you were in the middle of the river. Then I +thought Mr. Emerson was standing by me, and that we both saw a great +monster—a whale, or something else—chasing after your boat. Mr. +Emerson was in great distress, and said, 'I told her not to go, but +she is so self-willed.' And then he jumped into a boat and, taking +the oars, went gliding out after you as swiftly as the wind. I never +saw mortal arm make a boat fly as he did that little skiff. And I +saw him strike the monster with his oar just as his huge jaws were +opened to devour you. Dear! dear; but I was frightened, and woke up +all in a tremble." +</P> + +<P> +"Before he had saved me?" said Irene, taking a deep breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but I don't think there was any chance of saving there, and I +was glad that I waked up when I did." +</P> + +<P> +"What else did you dream?" asked Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I can't tell you all I dreamed. Once I saw you fall from the +high rock just above West Point and go dashing down into the river. +Then I saw you chased by a mad bull." +</P> + +<P> +"And no one came to my rescue?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, there was more than one who tried to save you. First, your +father ran in between you and the bull; but he dashed over him. Then +I saw Mr. Emerson rushing up with a pitchfork, and he got before the +mad animal and pointed the sharp prongs at his eyes; but the bull +tore down on him and tossed him away up into the air. I awoke as I +saw him falling on the sharp-pointed horns that were held up to +catch him." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Margaret, you certainly had a night of horrors," said Irene, +in a sober way. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, miss, and I had; such a night as I don't wish to have +again." +</P> + +<P> +"And your dreaming was all about me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And I was always in trouble or danger?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, always; and it was mostly your own fault, too. And that +reminds me of what the minister told us in his sermon last Sunday. +He said that there were a great many kinds of trouble in this +world—some coming from the outside and some coming from the inside; +that the outside troubles, which we couldn't help, were generally +easiest to be borne; while the inside troubles, which we might have +prevented, were the bitterest things in life, because there was +remorse as well as suffering. I understood very well what he meant." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid," said Irene, speaking partly to herself, "that most of +my troubles come from the inside." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid they do," spoke out the frank domestic. +</P> + +<P> +"Margaret!" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, miss, and I do think so. If you'd only get right +here"—laying her hand upon her breast—"somebody beside yourself +would be a great deal happier. There now, child, I've said it; and +you needn't go to getting angry with me." +</P> + +<P> +"They are often our best friends who use the plainest speech," said +Irene. "No, Margaret, I am not going to be angry with one whom I +know to be true-hearted." +</P> + +<P> +"Not truer-hearted than your husband, Miss Irene; nor half so +loving." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you say that?" Margaret started at the tone of voice in +which this interrogation was made. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I think so," she answered naively. +</P> + +<P> +Irene looked at her for some moments with a penetrating gaze, and +then said, with an affected carelessness of tone— +</P> + +<P> +"Your preacher and your dreams have made you quite a moralist." +</P> + +<P> +"They have not taken from my heart any of the love it has felt for +you," said Margaret, tears coming into her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that, Margaret. You were always too kind and indulgent, and +I always too wayward and unreasonable. But I am getting years on my +side, and shall not always be a foolish girl." +</P> + +<P> +Snow had now begun to fall thickly, and the late December day was +waning toward the early twilight. Margaret went down stairs and left +Irene alone in her chamber, where she remained until nearly tea-time +before joining her father. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy did not altogether feel satisfied in his mind about this +unheralded visit from his daughter, with whose wayward moods he was +too familiar. It might be all as she said, but there were intrusive +misgivings that troubled him. +</P> + +<P> +At tea-time she took her old place at the table in such an easy, +natural way, and looked so pleased and happy, that her father was +satisfied. He asked about her husband, and she talked of him without +reserve. +</P> + +<P> +"What day is Hartley coming up?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope to see him on the day before Christmas," returned Irene. +There was a falling in her voice that, to the ears of Mr. Delancy, +betrayed a feeling of doubt. +</P> + +<P> +"He will not, surely, put it off later," said the father. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," said Irene. "He may be prevented from leaving early +enough to reach here before Christmas morning. If there should be a +cold snap, and the river freeze up, it will make the journey +difficult and attended with delay." +</P> + +<P> +"I think the winter has set in;" and Mr. Delancy turned his ear +toward the window, against which the snow and hail were beating with +violence. "It's a pity Hartley didn't come up with you." +</P> + +<P> +A sober hue came over the face of Irene. This did not escape the +notice of her father; but it was natural that she should feel sober +in thinking of her husband as likely to be kept from her by the +storm. That such were her thoughts her words made evident, for she +said, glancing toward the window— +</P> + +<P> +"If there should be a deep snow, and the boats stop running, how can +Hartley reach here in time?" +</P> + +<P> +On the next morning the sun rose bright and warm for the season. +Several inches of snow had fallen, giving to the landscape a wintry +whiteness, but the wind was coming in from the south, genial as +spring. Before night half the snowy covering was gone. +</P> + +<P> +"We had our fears for nothing," said Mr. Delancy, on the second day, +which was as mild as the preceding one. "All things promise well. I +saw the boats go down as usual; so the river is open still." +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not reply. Mr. Delancy looked at her curiously, but her +face was partly turned away and he did not get its true expression. +</P> + +<P> +The twenty-fourth came. No letter had been received by Irene, nor +had she written to New York since her arrival at Ivy Cliff. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it singular that you don't get a letter from Hartley?" said +Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +Irene had been sitting silent for some time when her father made +this remark. +</P> + +<P> +"He is very busy," she said, in reply. +</P> + +<P> +"That's no excuse. A man is never too busy to write to his absent +wife." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't expected a letter, and so am not disappointed. But he's +on his way, no doubt. How soon will the boat arrive?" +</P> + +<P> +"Between two and three o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +"And it's now ten." +</P> + +<P> +The hours passed on, and the time of arrival came. The windows of +Irene's chamber looked toward the river, and she was standing at one +of them alone when the boat came in sight. Her face was almost +colorless, and contracted by an expression of deep anxiety. She +remained on her feet for the half hour that intervened before the +boat could reach the landing. It was not the first time that she had +watched there, in the excitement of doubt and fear, for the same +form her eyes were now straining themselves to see. +</P> + +<P> +The shrill sound of escaping steam ceased to quiver on the air, and +in a few minutes the boat shot forward into view and went gliding up +the river. Irene scarcely breathed, as she stood, with colorless +face, parted lips and eager eyes, looking down the road that led to +the landing. But she looked in vain; the form of her husband did not +appear—and it was Christmas Eve! +</P> + +<P> +What did it mean? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LETTER. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>YES</I>, what did it mean? Christmas Eve, and Hartley still absent? +</P> + +<P> +Twilight was falling when Irene came down from her room and joined +her father in the library. Mr. Delancy looked into her face narrowly +as she entered. The dim light of the closing day was not strong +enough to give him its true expression; but he was not deceived as +to its troubled aspect. +</P> + +<P> +"And so Hartley will not be here to-day," he said, in a tone that +expressed both disappointment and concern. +</P> + +<P> +"No. I looked for him confidently. It is strange." +</P> + +<P> +There was a constraint, a forced calmness in Irene's voice that did +not escape her father's notice. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope he is not sick," said Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no." Irene spoke with a sudden earnestness; then, with failing +tones, added— +</P> + +<P> +"He should have been here to-day." +</P> + +<P> +She sat down near the open grate, shading her face with a +hand-screen, and remained silent and abstracted for some time. +</P> + +<P> +"There is scarcely a possibility of his arrival to-night," said Mr. +Delancy. He could not get his thoughts away from the fact of his +son-in-law's absence. +</P> + +<P> +"He will not be here to-night," replied Irene, a cold dead level in +her voice, that Mr. Delancy well understood to be only a blind +thrown up to conceal her deeply-disturbed feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you expect him to-morrow, my daughter?" asked Mr. Delancy, a few +moments afterward, speaking as if from a sudden thought or a sudden +purpose. There was a meaning in his tones that showed his mind to be +in a state not prepared to brook evasion. +</P> + +<P> +"I do," was the unhesitating answer; and she turned and looked +calmly at her father, whose eyes rested with a fixed, inquiring gaze +upon her countenance. But half her face was lit by a reflection from +the glowing grate, while half lay in shadow. His reading, therefore +was not clear. +</P> + +<P> +If Irene had shown surprise at the question, her father would have +felt better satisfied. He meant it as a probe; but if a tender spot +was reached, she had the self-control not to give a sign of pain. At +the tea-table Irene rallied her spirits and talked lightly to her +father; it was only by an effort that he could respond with even +apparent cheerfulness. +</P> + +<P> +Complaining of a headache, Irene retired, soon after tea, to her +room, and did not come down again during the evening. +</P> + +<P> +The next day was Christmas. It rose clear and mild as a day in +October. When Irene came down to breakfast, her pale, almost +haggard, face showed too plainly that she had passed a night of +sleeplessness and suffering. She said, "A merry Christmas," to her +father, on meeting him, but there was no heart in the words. It was +almost impossible to disguise the pain that almost stifled +respiration. Neither of them did more than make a feint at eating. +As Mr. Delancy arose from the table, he said to Irene— +</P> + +<P> +"I would like to see you in the library, my daughter." +</P> + +<P> +She followed him passively, closing the door behind her as she +entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down. There." And Mr. Delancy placed a chair for her, a little +way from the grate. +</P> + +<P> +Irene dropped into the chair like one who moved by another's +volition. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, daughter," said Mr. Delancy, taking a chair, and drawing it in +front of the one in which she was seated, "I am going to ask a plain +question, and I want a direct answer." +</P> + +<P> +Irene rallied herself on the instant. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you leave New York with the knowledge and consent of your +husband?" +</P> + +<P> +The blood mounted to her face and stained it a deep crimson: +</P> + +<P> +"I left without his knowledge. Consent I never ask." +</P> + +<P> +The old proud spirit was in her tones. +</P> + +<P> +"I feared as much," replied Mr. Delancy, his voice falling. "Then +you do not expect Hartley to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"I expected him yesterday. He may be here to-day. I am almost sure +he will come." +</P> + +<P> +"Does he know you are here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you leave without his knowledge?" +</P> + +<P> +"To punish him." +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have answered without evasion. It was to punish him." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not remember in the marriage vows you took upon yourselves +anything relating to punishments," said Mr. Delancy. "There were +explicit things said of love and duty, but I do not recall a +sentence that referred to the right of one party to punish the +other." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy paused for a few moments, but there was no reply to this +rather novel and unexpected view of the case. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you by anything in the rite acquire authority to punish your +husband when his conduct didn't just suit your fancy?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy pressed the question. +</P> + +<P> +"It is idle, father," said Irene, with some sharpness of tone, "to +make an issue like this. It does not touch the case. Away back of +marriage contracts lie individual rights, which are never +surrendered. The right of self-protection is one of these; and if +retaliation is needed as a guarantee of future peace, then the right +to punish is included in the right of self-protection." +</P> + +<P> +"A peace gained through coercion of any kind is not worth having. It +is but the semblance of peace—is war in bonds," replied Mr. +Delancy. "The moment two married partners begin the work of coercion +and punishment, that moment love begins to fail. If love gives not +to their hearts a common beat, no other power is strong enough to do +the work. Irene, I did hope that the painful experiences already +passed through would have made you wiser. It seems not, however. It +seems that self-will, passion and a spirit of retaliation are to +govern your actions, instead of patience and love. Well, my child, +if you go on sowing this seed in your garden now, in the spring-time +of life, you must not murmur when autumn gives you a harvest of +thorns and thistles. If you sow tares in your field, you must not +expect to find corn there when you put in your sickle to reap. You +can take back your morning salutation. It is not a 'merry Christmas' +to you or to me; and I think we are both done with merry +Christmases." +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" +</P> + +<P> +The tone in which this word was uttered was almost a cry of pain. +</P> + +<P> +"It is even so, my child—even so," replied Mr. Delancy, in a voice +of irrepressible sadness. "You have left your husband a second time. +It is not every man who would forgive the first offence; not one in +twenty who would pardon the second. You are in great peril, Irene. +This storm that you have conjured up may drive you to hopeless +shipwreck. You need not expect Hartley to-day. He will not come. I +have studied his character well, and know that he will not pass this +conduct over lightly." +</P> + +<P> +Even while this was said a servant, who had been over to the +village, brought in a letter and handed it to Mr. Delancy, who, +recognizing in the superscription the handwriting of his daughter's +husband, broke the seal hurriedly. The letter was in these words: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY DEAR SIR: As your daughter has left me, no doubt with the +purpose of finally abandoning the effort to live in that harmony so +essential to happiness in married life, I shall be glad if you will +choose some judicious friend to represent her in consultation with a +friend whom I will select, with a view to the arrangement of a +separation, as favorable to her in its provisions as it can possibly +be made. In view of the peculiarity of our temperaments, we made a +great error in this experiment. My hope was that love would be +counselor to us both; that the law of mutual forbearance would have +rule. But we are both too impulsive, too self-willed, too +undisciplined. I do not pretend to throw all the blame on Irene. We +are as flint and steel. But she has taken the responsibility of +separation, and I am left without alternative. May God lighten the +burden of pain her heart will have to bear in the ordeal through +which she has elected to pass. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Your unhappy son, +<BR> +"HARTLEY EMERSON." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy's hand shook so violently before he had finished reading +that the paper rattled in the air. On finishing the last sentence he +passed it, without a word, to his daughter. It was some moments +before the strong agitation produced by the sight of this letter, +and its effect upon her father, could be subdued enough to enable +her to read a line. +</P> + +<P> +"What does it mean, father? I don't understand it," she said, in a +hoarse, deep whisper, and with pale, quivering lips. +</P> + +<P> +"It means," said Mr. Delancy, "that your husband has taken you at +your word." +</P> + +<P> +"At my word! What word?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have left the home he provided for you, I believe?" +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes stood out staringly. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me read the letter for you." And he took it from her hand. +After reading it aloud and slowly, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"That is plain talk, Irene. I do not think any one can misunderstand +it. You have, in his view, left him finally, and he now asks me to +name a judicious friend to meet his friend, and arrange a basis of +separation as favorable to you in its provisions as it can possibly +be made." +</P> + +<P> +"A separation, father! Oh no, he cannot mean that!" And she pressed +her hands strongly against her temples. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my daughter, that is the simple meaning." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, no, no! He never meant that." +</P> + +<P> +"You left him?" +</P> + +<P> +"But not in that way; not in earnest. It was only in fitful +anger—half sport, half serious." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, in Heaven's name, sit down and write him so, and that without +the delay of an instant. He has put another meaning on your conduct. +He believes that you have abandoned him." +</P> + +<P> +"Abandoned him! Madness!" And Irene, who had risen from her chair, +commenced moving about the room in a wild, irresolute kind of way, +something like an actress under tragic excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"This is meant to punish me!" she said, stopping suddenly, and +speaking in a voice slightly touched with indignation. "I understand +it all, and see it as a great outrage. Hartley knows as well I do +that I left as much in sport as in earnest. But this is carrying the +joke too far. To write such a letter to you! Why didn't he write to +me? Why didn't he ask me to appoint a friend to represent me in the +arrangement proposed?" +</P> + +<P> +"He understood himself and the case entirely," replied Mr. Delancy. +"Believing that you had abandoned him—" +</P> + +<P> +"He didn't believe any such thing!" exclaimed Irene, in strong +excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"You are deceiving yourself, my daughter. His letter is calm and +deliberate. It was not written, as you can see by the date, until +yesterday. He has taken time to let passion cool. Three days were +permitted to elapse, that you might be heard from in case any change +of purpose occurred. But you remained silent. You abandoned him." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, father, why will you talk in this way? I tell you that Hartley +is only doing this to punish me; that he has no more thought of an +actual separation than he has of dying." +</P> + +<P> +"Admit this to be so, which I only do in the argument," said Mr. +Delancy, "and what better aspect does it present?" +</P> + +<P> +"The better aspect of sport as compared with earnest," replied +Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"At which both will continue to play until earnest is reached—and a +worse earnest than the present. Take the case as you will, and it is +one of the saddest and least hopeful that I have seen." +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You must elect some course of action, and that with the least +possible delay," said Mr. Delancy. "This letter requires an +immediate answer. Go to your room and, in communion with God and +your own heart, come to some quick decision upon the subject." +</P> + +<P> +Irene turned away without speaking and left her father alone in the +library. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE FLIGHT AND THE RETURN. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>WE</I> will not speak of the cause that led to this serious rupture +between Mr. and Mrs. Emerson. It was light as vanity—an airy +nothing in itself—a spark that would have gone out on a baby's +cheek without leaving a sign of its existence. On the day that Irene +left the home of her husband he had parted from her silent, moody +and with ill-concealed anger. Hard words, reproaches and accusations +had passed between them on the night previous; and both felt +unusually disturbed. The cause of all this, as we have said, was +light as vanity. During the day Mr. Emerson, who was always first to +come to his senses, saw the folly of what had occurred, and when he +turned his face homeward, after three o'clock, it was with the +purpose of ending the unhappy state by recalling a word to which he +had given thoughtless utterance. +</P> + +<P> +The moment our young husband came to this sensible conclusion his +heart beat with a freer motion and his spirits rose again into a +region of tranquillity. He felt the old tenderness toward his wife +returning, dwelt on her beauty, accomplishments, virtues and high +mental endowments with a glow of pride, and called her defects of +character light in comparison. +</P> + +<P> +"If I were more a man, and less a child of feeling and impulse," he +said to himself, "I would be more worthy to hold the place of +husband to a woman like Irene. She has strong peculiarities—who has +not peculiarities? Am I free from them? She is no ordinary woman, +and must not be trammeled by ordinary tame routine. She has quick +impulses; therefore, if I love her, should I not guard them, lest +they leap from her feebly restraining hand in the wrong direction? +She is sensitive to control; why, then, let her see the hand that +must lead her, sometimes, aside from the way she would walk through +the promptings of her own will? Do I not know that she loves me? And +is she not dear to me as my own life? What folly to strive with each +other! What madness to let angry feelings shadow for an instant our +lives!" +</P> + +<P> +It was in this state of mind that Emerson returned home. There were +a few misgivings in his heart as he entered, for he was not sure as +to the kind of reception Irene would offer his overtures for peace; +but there was no failing of his purpose to sue for peace and obtain +it. With a quick step he passed through the hall, and, after +glancing into the parlors to see if his wife were there, went up +stairs with two or three light bounds. A hurried glance through the +chambers showed him that they had no occupant. He was turning to +leave them, when a letter, placed upright on a bureau, attracted his +attention. He caught it up. It was addressed to him in the +well-known hand of his wife. He opened it and read: +</P> + +<P> +"I leave for Ivy Cliff to-day. IRENE." +</P> + +<P> +Two or three times Emerson read the line—"I leave for Ivy Cliff +to-day"—and looked at the signature, before its meaning came fully +into his thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone to Ivy Cliff!" he said, at last, in a low, hoarse voice. +"Gone, and without a word of intimation or explanation! Gone, and in +the heat of anger! Has it come to this, and so soon! God help us!" +And the unhappy man sunk into a chair, heart-stricken and weak as a +child. +</P> + +<P> +For nearly the whole of the night that followed he walked the floor +of his room, and the next day found him in a feverish condition of +both mind and body. Not once did the thought of following his wife +to Ivy Cliff, if it came into his mind, rest there for a moment. She +had gone home to her father with only an announcement of the fact. +He would wait some intimation of her further purpose; but, if they +met again, she must come back to him. This was his first, +spontaneous conclusion; and it was not questioned in his thought, +nor did he waver from it an instant. She must come back of her own +free will, if she came back at all. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the twentieth day of December that Irene left New York. +Not until the twenty-second could a letter from her reach Hartley, +if, on reflection or after conference with her father, she desired +to make a communication. But the twenty-second came and departed +without a word from the absent one. So did the twenty-third. By this +time Hartley had grown very calm, self-adjusted and resolute. He had +gone over and over again the history of their lives since marriage +bound them together, and in this history he could see nothing +hopeful as bearing on the future. He was never certain of Irene. +Things said and done in moments of thoughtlessness or excitement, +and not meant to hurt or offend, were constantly disturbing their +peace. It was clouds, and rain, and fitful sunshine all the while. +There were no long seasons of serene delight. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," he said to himself, "seek to prolong this effort to blend +into one two lives that seem hopelessly antagonistic. Better stand +as far apart as the antipodes than live in perpetual strife. If I +should go to Irene, and, through concession or entreaty, win her +back again, what guarantee would I have for the future? None, none +whatever. Sooner or later we must be driven asunder by the violence +of our ungovernable passions, never to draw again together. We are +apart now, and it is well. I shall not take the first step toward a +reconciliation." +</P> + +<P> +Hartley Emerson was a young man of cool purpose and strong will. For +all that, he was quick-tempered and undisciplined. It was from the +possession of these qualities that he was steadily advancing in his +profession, and securing a practice at the bar which promised to +give him a high position in the future. Persistence was another +element of his character. If he adopted any course of conduct, it +was a difficult thing to turn him aside. When he laid his hand upon +the plough, he was of those who rarely look back. Unfortunate +qualities these for a crisis in life such as now existed. +</P> + +<P> +On the morning of the twenty-fourth of December, no word having come +from his wife, Emerson coolly penned the letter to Mr. Delancy which +is given in the preceding chapter, and mailed it so that it would +reach him on Christmas day. He was in earnest—sternly in +earnest—as Mr. Delancy, on reading his letter, felt him to be. The +honeymoon flight was one thing; this abandonment of a husband's +home, another thing. Emerson gave to them a different weight and +quality. Of the first act he could never think without a burning +cheek—a sense of mortification—a pang of wounded pride; and long +ere this he had made up his mind that if Irene ever left him again, +it would be for ever, so far as perpetuity depended on his action in +the case. He would never follow her nor seek to win her back. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, he was in earnest. He had made his mind up for the worst, and +was acting with a desperate coolness only faintly imagined by Irene +on receipt of his letter to her father. Mr. Delancy, who understood +Emerson's character better, was not deceived. He took the +communication in its literal meaning, and felt appalled at the ruin +which impended. +</P> + +<P> +Emerson passed the whole of Christmas day alone in his house. At +meal-times he went to the table and forced himself to partake +lightly of food, in order to blind the servants, whose curiosity in +regard to the absence of Mrs. Emerson was, of course, all on the +alert. After taking tea he went out. +</P> + +<P> +His purpose was to call upon a friend in whom he had great +confidence, and confide to him the unhappy state of his affairs. For +an hour he walked the streets in debate on the propriety of this +course. Unable, however, to see the matter clearly, he returned home +with the secret of his domestic trouble still locked in his own +bosom. +</P> + +<P> +It was past eight o'clock when he entered his dwelling. A light was +burning in one of the parlors, and he stepped into the room. After +walking for two or three times the length of the apartment, Mr. +Emerson threw himself on a sofa, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he +did so. At the same moment he heard a step in the passage, and the +rustling of a woman's garments, which caused him to start again to +his feet. In moving his eyes met the form of Irene, who advanced +toward him, and throwing her arms around his neck, sobbed, +</P> + +<P> +"Dear husband! can you, will you forgive my childish folly?" +</P> + +<P> +His first impulse was to push her away, and he, even grasped her +arms and attempted to draw them from his neck. She perceived this, +and clung to him more eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Hartley!" she said, "will you not speak to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" His voice was cold and deep, and as he pronounced her name +he withdrew himself from her embrace. At this she grew calm and +stepped a pace back from him. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene, we are not children," he said, in the same cold, deep voice, +the tones of which were even and measured. "That time is past. Nor +foolish young lovers, who fall out and make up again twice or thrice +in a fortnight; but man and wife, with the world and its sober +realities before us." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Hartley," exclaimed Irene, as he paused; "don't talk to me in +this way! Don't look at me so! It will kill me. I have done wrong. I +have acted like foolish child. But I am penitent. It was half in +sport that I went away, and I was so sure of seeing you at Ivy Cliff +yesterday that I told father you were coming." +</P> + +<P> +"Irene, sit down." And Emerson took the hand of his wife and led her +to a sofa. Then, after closing the parlor door, he drew a chair and +seated himself directly in front of her. There was a coldness and +self-possession about him, that chilled Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a serious thing," he said, looking steadily in her face, "for +a wife to leave, in anger, her husband's house for that of her +father." +</P> + +<P> +She tried to make some reply and moved her lips in attempted +utterance, but the organs of speech refused to perform their office. +</P> + +<P> +"You left me once before in anger, and I went after you. But it was +clearly understood with myself then that if you repeated the act it +would be final in all that appertained to me; that unless you +returned, it would be a lifelong separation. You <I>have</I> repeated the +act; and, knowing your pride and tenacity of will, I did not +anticipate your return. And so I was looking the sad, stern future +in the face as steadily as possible, and preparing to meet it as a +man conscious of right should be prepared to meet whatever trouble +lies in store for him. I went out this evening, after passing the +Christmas day alone, with the purpose of consulting an old and +discreet friend as to the wisest course of action. But the thing was +too painful to speak of yet. So I came back—and you are here!" +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him steadily while he spoke, her face white as marble, +and her colorless lips drawn back from her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," he continued, "it is folly for us to keep on in the way we +have been going. I am wearied out, and you cannot be happy in a +relation that is for ever reminding you that your own will and +thought are no longer sole arbiters of action; that there is another +will and another thought that must at times be consulted, and even +obeyed. I am a man, and a husband; you a woman, and a wife,—we are +equal as to rights and duties—equal in the eyes of God; but to the +man and husband appertains a certain precedence in action; consent, +co-operation and approval, if he be a thoughtful and judicious man, +appertaining to the wife." +</P> + +<P> +As Emerson spoke thus, he noticed a sign of returning warmth in her +pale face, and a dim, distant flash in her eyes. Her proud spirit +did not accept this view of their relation to each other. He went +on: +</P> + +<P> +"If a wife has no confidence in her husband's manly judgment, if she +cannot even respect him, then the case is altered. She must be +understanding and will to herself; must lead both him and herself if +he be weak enough to consent. But the relation is not a true one; +and marriage, under this condition of things, is only a semblance." +</P> + +<P> +"And that is your doctrine?" said Irene. There was a shade of +surprise in her voice that lingered huskily in her throat. +</P> + +<P> +"That is my doctrine," was Emerson's firmly spoken answer. +</P> + +<P> +Irene sighed heavily. Both were silent for some moments. At length +Irene said, lifting her hands and bringing them down with an action +of despair, +</P> + +<P> +"In bonds! in bonds!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" Her husband replied quickly and earnestly. "Not in bonds, +but in true freedom, if you will—the freedom of reciprocal action." +</P> + +<P> +"Like bat and ball," she answered, with bitterness in her tones. +</P> + +<P> +"No, like heart and lungs," he returned, calmly. "Irene! dear wife! +Why misunderstand me? I have no wish to rule, and you know I have +never sought to place you in bonds. I have had only one desire, and +that is to be your husband in the highest and truest sense. But, I +am a man—you a woman. There are two wills and two understandings +that must act in the same direction. Now, in the nature of things, +the mind of one must, helped by the mind of the other to see right, +take, as a general thing, the initiative where action is concerned. +Unless this be so, constant collisions will occur. And this takes us +back to the question that lies at the basis of all order and +happiness—which of the two minds shall lead?" +</P> + +<P> +"A man and his wife are equal," said Irene, firmly. The strong +individuality of her character was asserting its claims even in this +hour of severe mental pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Equal in the eyes of God, as I have said before, but where action +is concerned one must take precedence of the other, for, it cannot +be, seeing that their office and duties are different, that their +judgment in the general affairs of life can be equally clear. A +man's work takes him out into the world, and throws him into sharp +collision with other men. He learns, as a consequence, to think +carefully and with deliberation, and to decide with caution, knowing +that action, based on erroneous conclusions, may ruin his prospects +in an hour. Thus, like the oak, which, grows up exposed to all +elemental changes, his judgment gains strength, while his +perceptions, constantly trained, acquire clearness. But a woman's +duties lie almost wholly within this region of strife and action, +and she remains, for the most part, in a tranquil atmosphere. +Allowing nothing for a radical difference in mental constitution, +this difference of training must give a difference of mental power. +The man's judgment in affairs generally must be superior to the +woman's, and she must acquiesce in its decisions or there can be no +right union in marriage." +</P> + +<P> +"Must lose herself in him," said Irene, coldly. "Become a cypher, a +slave. That will not suit me, Hartley!" And she looked at him with +firmly compressed mouth and steady eyes. +</P> + +<P> +It came to his lips to reply, "Then you had better return to your +father," but he caught the words back ere they leaped forth into +sound, and, rising, walked the floor for the space of more than five +minutes, Irene not stirring from the sofa. Pausing at length, he +said in a voice which had lost its steadiness: +</P> + +<P> +"You had better go up to your room, Irene. We are not in a condition +to help each other now." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Emerson did not answer, but, rising, left the parlor and went +as her husband had suggested. He stood still, listening, until the +sound of her steps and the rustle of her garments had died away into +silence, when he commenced slowly walking the parlor floor with his +head bent down, and continued thus, as if he had forgotten time and +place, for over an hour. Then, awakened to consciousness by a sense +of dizziness and exhaustion, he laid himself upon a sofa, and, +shutting his eyes, tried to arrest the current of his troubled +thoughts and sink into sleep and forgetfulness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RECONCILIATION. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>FOR</I> such a reception the young wife was wholly unprepared. +Suddenly her husband had put on a new character and assumed a right +of control against which her sensitive pride and native love of +freedom arose in strong rebellion. That she had done wrong in going +away she acknowledged to herself, and had acknowledged to him. But +he had met confession in a spirit so different from what was +anticipated, and showed an aspect so cold, stern, and exacting, that +she was bewildered. She did not, however, mistake the meaning of his +language. It was plain that she understood the man's position to be +one of dictation and control: we use the stronger aspect in which it +was presented to her mind. As to submission, it was not in all her +thoughts. Wrung to agony as her heart was, and appalled as she +looked, trembling and shrinking into the future, she did not yield a +moment to weakness. +</P> + +<P> +Midnight found Irene alone in her chamber. She had flung herself +upon a bed when she came up from the parlor, and fallen asleep after +an hour of fruitless beating about in her mind. Awaking from a maze +of troubled dreams, she started up and gazed, half fearfully, around +the dimly-lighted room. +</P> + +<P> +"Where am I?" she asked herself. Some moments elapsed before the +painful events of the past few days began to reveal themselves to +her consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +"And where is Hartley?" This question followed as soon as all grew +clear. Sleep had tranquilized her state, and restored a measure of +just perception. Stepping from the bed, she went from the room and +passed silently down stairs. A light still burned in the parlor +where she had left her husband some hours before, and streamed out +through the partly opened door. She stood for some moments, +listening, but there was no sound of life within. A sudden fear +crept into her heart. Her hand shook as she laid it upon the door +and pressed it open. Stepping within, she glanced around with a +frightened air. +</P> + +<P> +On the sofa lay Hartley, with his face toward the light. It was wan +and troubled, and the brows were contracted as if from intense pain. +For some moments Irene stood looking at him; but his eyes were shut +and he lay perfectly still. She drew nearer and bent down over him. +He was sleeping, but his breath came so faintly, and there was so +little motion of his chest, that the thought flashed through her +with an electric thrill that he might be dying! Only by a strong +effort of self-control did she repress a cry of fear, or keep back +her hands from clasping his neck. In what a strong tide did love +rush back upon her soul! Her heart overflowed with tenderness, was +oppressed with yearning. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Hartley, my husband, my dear husband!" she cried out, love, +fear, grief and anguish blending wildly in her voice, as she caught +him in her arms and awoke him with a rain of tears and kisses. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene! Love! Darling! What ails you? Where are we?" were the +confusedly uttered sentences of Mr. Emerson, as he started from the +sofa and, holding his young wife from him, looked into her weeping +face. +</P> + +<P> +"Call me again 'love' and 'darling,' and I care not where we are!" +she answered, in tones of passionate entreaty. "Oh, Hartley, my +dear, dear husband! A desert island, with you, would be a paradise; +a paradise, without you, a weary desert! Say the words again. Call +me 'darling!'" And she let her head fall upon his bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you!" he said, laying his hand upon her head. He was +awake and clearly conscious of place and position. His voice was +distinct, but tremulous and solemn. "God bless you, Irene, my wife!" +</P> + +<P> +"And make me worthy of your love," she responded faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mutually worthy of each other," said he. "Wiser—better—more +patient and forbearing. Oh, Irene," and his voice grew deep and +tender, "why may we not be to each other all that our hearts +desire?" +</P> + +<P> +"We can—we must—we will!" she answered, lifting her hidden face +from his bosom and turning it up fondly to his. "God helping me, I +will be to you a better wife in the future." +</P> + +<P> +"And I a more patient, loving, and forbearing husband," he replied. +"Oh that our hearts might beat together as one heart!" +</P> + +<P> +For a little while Irene continued to gaze into her husband's +countenance with looks of the tenderest love, and then hid her face +on his bosom again. +</P> + +<P> +And thus were they again reconciled. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AFTER THE STORM. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>AFTER</I> the storm. And they were reconciled. The clouds rolled back; +the sun came out again with his radiant smiles and genial warmth. +But was nothing broken? nothing lost? Did each flower in the garden +of love lift its head as bravely as before? In every storm of +passion something is lost. Anger is a blind fury, who tramples +ruthlessly on tenderest and holiest things. Alas for the ruin that +waits upon her footsteps! +</P> + +<P> +The day that followed this night of reconciliation had many hours of +sober introversion of thought for both Emerson and his wife; hours +in which memory reproduced language, conduct and sentiments that +could not be dwelt upon without painful misgivings for the future. +They understood each other too well to make light account of things +said and done, even in anger. +</P> + +<P> +In going over, as Irene did many times, the language used by her +husband on the night before, touching their relation as man and +wife, and his prerogative, she felt the old spirit of revolt +arising. She tried to let her thought fall into his rational +presentation of the question involving precedence, and even said to +herself that he was right; but pride was strong, and kept lifting +itself in her mind. She saw, most clearly, the hardest aspect of the +case. It was, in her view, command and obedience. And she knew that +submission was, for her, impossible. +</P> + +<P> +On the part of Emerson, the day's sober thought left his mind in no +more hopeful condition than that of his wife. The pain suffered in +consequence of her temporary flight from home, though lessened by +her return, had not subsided. A portion of confidence in her was +lost. He felt that he had no guarantee for the future; that at any +moment, in the heat of passion, she might leave him again. He +remembered, too distinctly, her words on the night before, when he +tried to make her comprehend his view of the relation between man +and wife—"That will not suit me, Hartley." And he felt that she was +in earnest; that she would resist every effort he might make to lead +and control as a man in certain things, just as she had done from +the beginning. +</P> + +<P> +In matrimonial quarrels you cannot kiss and make up again, as +children do, forgetting all the stormy past in the sunshiny present. +And this was painfully clear to both Hartley and Irene, as she, +alone in her chamber, and he, alone in his office, pondered, on that +day of reconciliation, the past and the future. Yet each resolved to +be more forbearing and less exacting; to be emulous of concession, +rather than exaction; to let love, uniting with reason, hold pride +and self-will in close submission. +</P> + +<P> +Their meeting, on Hartley's return home, at his usual late hour in +the afternoon, was tender, but not full of the joyous warmth of +feeling that often showed itself. Their hearts were not light enough +for ecstasy. But they were marked in their attentions to each other, +emulous of affectionate words and actions, yielding and considerate. +And yet this mutual, almost formal, recognition of a recent state of +painful antagonism left on each mind a feeling of embarrassment, +checked words and sentences ere they came to utterance, and threw +amid their pleasant talks many intermittent pauses. +</P> + +<P> +Often through the day had Mr. Emerson, as he dwelt on the unhappy +relation existing between himself and his wife, made up his mind to +renew the subject of their true position to each other, as briefly +touched upon in their meeting of the night before, and as often +changed his purpose, in fear of another rupture. Yet to him it +seemed of the first importance that this matter, as a basis of +future peace, should be settled between them, and settled at once. +If he held one view and she another, and both were sensitive, +quick-tempered and tenacious of individual freedom, fierce +antagonism might occur at any moment. He had come home inclined to +the affirmative side of the question, and many times during the +evening it was on his lips to introduce the subject. But he was so +sure that it would prove a theme of sharp discussion, that he had +not the courage to risk the consequences. +</P> + +<P> +There was peace again after this conflict, but it was not, by any +means, a hopeful peace. It had no well-considered basis. The causes +which had produced a struggle were still in existence, and liable to +become active, by provocation, at any moment. No change had taken +place in the characters, dispositions, temperaments or general views +of life in either of the parties. Strife had ceased between them +only in consequence of the pain it involved. A deep conviction of +this fact so sobered the mind of Mr. Emerson, and altered, in +consequence, his manner toward Irene, that she felt its reserve and +coldness as a rebuke that chilled the warmth of her tender impulses. +</P> + +<P> +And this manner did not greatly change as the days and weeks moved +onward. Memory kept too vividly in the mind of Emerson that one act, +and the danger of its repetition on some sudden provocation. He +could not feel safe and at ease with his temple of peace built close +to a slumbering volcano, which was liable at any moment to blaze +forth and bury its fair proportions in lava and ashes. +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not comprehend her husband's state of mind. She felt +painfully the change in his manner, but failed in reaching the true +cause. Sometimes she attributed his coldness to resentment; +sometimes to defect of love; and sometimes to a settled +determination on his part to inflict punishment. Sometimes she spent +hours alone, weeping over these sad ruins of her peace, and +sometimes, in a spirit of revolt, she laid down for herself a line +of conduct intended to react against her husband. But something in +his calm, kind, self-reliant manner, when she looked into his face, +broke down her purpose. She was afraid of throwing herself against a +rock which, while standing immovable, might bruise her tender limbs +or extinguish life in the strong concussion. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>BOTH</I> Emerson and his wife came up from this experience changed in +themselves and toward each other. A few days had matured them beyond +what might have been looked for in as many years. Life suddenly put +on more sober hues, and the future laid off its smiles and +beckonings onward to greener fields and mountain-heights of +felicity. There was a certain air of manly self-confidence, a +firmer, more deliberate way of expressing himself on all subjects, +and an evidence of mental clearness and strength, which gave to +Irene the impression of power and superiority not wholly agreeable +to her self-love, yet awakening emotions of pride in her husband +when she contrasted him with other men. As a man among men, he was, +as he had ever been, her beau ideal; but as a husband, she felt a +daily increasing spirit of resistance and antagonism, and it +required constant watchfulness over herself to prevent this feeling +from exhibiting itself in act. +</P> + +<P> +On the part of Emerson, the more he thought about this subject of +the husband's relative duties and prerogatives—thought as a man and +as a lawyer—the more strongly did he feel about it, and the more +tenacious of his assumed rights did he become. Matters which seemed +in the beginning of such light importance as scarcely to attract his +attention, now loomed up before him as things of moment. Thus, if he +spoke of their doing some particular thing in a certain way, and +Irene suggested a different way, instead of yielding to her view, he +would insist upon his own. If she tried to show him a reason why her +way was best, he would give no weight to her argument or +representation. On the other hand, it is but just to say that he +rarely opposed her independent suggestions or interfered with her +freedom; and if she had been as considerate toward him, the danger +of trouble would have been lessened. +</P> + +<P> +It is the little foxes that spoil the tender grapes, and so it is +the little reactions of two spirits against each other that spoil +the tender blossoms of love and destroy the promised vintage. +Steadily, day by day, and week by week, were these light reactions +marring the happiness of our undisciplined young friends, and +destroying in them germ after germ, and bud after bud, which, if +left to growth and development, would have brought forth ripe, +luscious fruit in the later summer of their lives. Trifles, light as +air were noticed, and their importance magnified. Words, looks, +actions, insignificant in themselves, were made to represent states +of will or antagonism which really had no existence. +</P> + +<P> +Unhappily for their peace, Irene had a brooding disposition. She +held in her memory utterances and actions forgotten by her husband, +and, by dwelling upon, magnified and gave them an importance to +which they were not entitled. Still more unhappily for their peace, +Irene met about this time, and became attached to, a lady of fine +intellectual attainments and fascinating manners, who was an +extremist in opinion on the subject of sexual equality. She was +married, but to a man greatly her inferior, though possessing some +literary talent, which he managed to turn to better account than she +did her finer powers. He had been attracted by her brilliant +qualities, and in approaching her scorched his wings, and ever after +lay at her feet. She had no very high respect for him, but found a +husband on many accounts a convenient thing, and so held on to the +appendage. If he had been man enough to remain silent on the themes +she was so fond of discussing on all occasions, people of common +sense and common perception would have respected him for what he was +worth. But he gloried in his bondage, and rattled his chains as +gleefully as if he were discoursing sweet music. What she announced +oracularly, he attempted to demonstrate by bald and feeble +arguments. He was the false understanding to her perverted will. +</P> + +<P> +The name of this lady was Mrs. Talbot. Irene met her soon after her +marriage and removal to New York, and was charmed with her from the +beginning. Mr. Emerson, on the contrary, liked neither her nor her +sentiments, and considered her a dangerous friend for his wife. He +expressed himself freely in regard to her at the commencement of the +intimacy; but Irene took her part so warmly, and used such strong +language in her favor, that Emerson deemed it wisest not to create +new sentiments in her favor out of opposition to himself. +</P> + +<P> +Within a week from that memorable Christmas day on which Irene came +back from Ivy Cliff, Mrs. Talbot, who had taken a fancy to the +spirited, independent, undisciplined wife of Emerson, called in to +see her new friend. Irene received her cordially. She was, in fact, +of all her acquaintances, the one she most desired to meet. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm right glad you thought of making me a call," said Mrs. Emerson, +as they sat down together. "I've felt as dull all the morning as an +anchorite." +</P> + +<P> +"You dull!" Mrs. Talbot affected surprise, as she glanced round the +tasteful room in which they were sitting. "What is there to cloud +your mind? With such a home and such a husband as you possess life +ought to be one long, bright holiday." +</P> + +<P> +"Good things in their way," replied Mrs. Emerson. "But not +everything." +</P> + +<P> +She said this in a kind of thoughtless deference to Mrs. Talbot's +known views on the subject of homes and husbands, which she had not +hesitated to call women's prisons and women's jailers. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! And have you made that discovery?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Talbot laughed a low, gurgling sort of laugh, leaning, at the +same time, in a confidential kind of way, closer to Mrs. Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"Discovery!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"It is no discovery," said Mrs. Emerson. "The fact is self-evident. +There is much that a woman needs for happiness beside a home and a +husband." +</P> + +<P> +"Right, my young friend, right!" Mrs. Talbot's manner grew earnest. +"No truer words were ever spoken. Yes—yes—a woman needs a great +deal more than these to fill the measure of her happiness; and it is +through the attempt to restrict and limit her to such poor +substitutes for a world-wide range and freedom that she has been so +dwarfed in mental stature, and made the unhappy creature and slave +of man's hard ambition and indomitable love of power. There were +Amazons of old—as the early Greeks knew to their cost—strong, +self-reliant, courageous women, who acknowledged no human +superiority. Is the Amazonian spirit dead in the earth? Not so! It +is alive, and clothing itself with will, power and persistence. +Already it is grasping the rein, and the mettled steed stands +impatient to feel the rider's impulse in the saddle. The cycle of +woman's degradation and humiliation is completed. A new era in the +world's social history has dawned for her, and the mountain-tops are +golden with the coming day." +</P> + +<P> +Irene listened with delight and even enthusiasm to these sentiments, +uttered with ardor and eloquence. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not woman's fault, taking her in the aggregate, that she is +so weak in body and mind, and such a passive slave to man's will," +continued Mrs. Talbot. "In the retrocession of races toward +barbarism mere muscle, in which alone man is superior to woman, +prevailed. Physical strength set itself up as master. Might made +right. And so unhappy woman was degraded below man, and held to the +earth, until nearly all independent life has been crushed out of +her. As civilization has lifted nation after nation out of the dark +depths of barbarism, the condition of woman physically has been +improved. For the sake of his children, if from no better motive, +man has come to treat his wife with a more considerate kindness. If +she is still but the hewer of his wood and the drawer of his water, +he has, in many cases, elevated her to the position of dictatress in +these humble affairs. He allows her 'help!' But, mentally and +socially, he continues to degrade her. In law she is scarcely +recognized, except as a criminal. She is punished if she does wrong, +but has no legal protection in her rights as an independent human +being. She is only man's shadow. The public opinion that affects her +is made by him. The earliest literature of a country is man's +expression; and in this man's view of woman is always apparent. The +sentiment is repeated generation after generation, and age after +age, until the barbarous idea comes down, scarcely questioned, to +the days of high civilization, culture and refinement. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, my young friend, you have the simple story of woman's +degradation in this age of the world. Now, so long as she submits, +man will hold her in fetters. Power and dominion are sweet. If a man +cannot govern a state, he will be content to govern a household—but +govern he will, if he can find anywhere submissive subjects." +</P> + +<P> +"He is born a tyrant; that I have always felt," said Mrs. Emerson. +"You see it in a family of sisters and brothers. The boys always +attempt to rule their sisters, and if the latter do not submit, then +comes discord and contention." +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen this, in hundreds of instances," replied Mrs. Talbot. +"It was fully illustrated in my own case. I had two brothers, who +undertook to exercise their love of domineering on me. But they did +not find a passive subject—no, not by any means. I was never +obedient to their will, for I had one of my own. We made the house +often a bedlam for our poor mother; but I never gave way—no, not +for an instant, come what might. I had different stuff in me from +that of common girls, and in time the boys were glad to let me +alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Are your brothers living?" asked Mrs. Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. One resides in New York, and the other in Boston. One is a +merchant, the other a physician." +</P> + +<P> +"How was it as you grew older?" +</P> + +<P> +"About the same. They are like nearly all men—despisers of woman's +intellect." +</P> + +<P> +Irene sighed, and, letting her eyes fall to the floor, sat lost in +thought for some moments. The suggestions of her friend were not +producing agreeable states of mind. +</P> + +<P> +"They reject the doctrine of an equality in the sexes?" said Mrs. +Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. All men do that," replied Mrs. Talbot. +</P> + +<P> +"Your husband among the rest?" +</P> + +<P> +"Talbot? Oh, he's well enough in his way!" The lady spoke lightly, +tossing her head in a manner that involved both indifference and +contempt. "I never take him into account when discussing these +matters. That point was settled between us long and long ago. We jog +on without trouble. Talbot thinks as I do about the women—or +pretends that he does, which is all the same." +</P> + +<P> +"A rare exception to the general run of husbands," said Irene, +thinking at the same time how immeasurably superior Mr. Emerson was +to this weakling, and despising him in her heart for submitting to +be ruled by a woman. Thus nature and true perception spoke in her, +even while she was seeking to blind herself by false reasonings. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he's a rare exception; and it's well for us both that it is +so. If he were like your husband, for instance, one of us would have +been before the legislature for a divorce within twelve months of +our marriage night." +</P> + +<P> +"Like my husband! What do you mean?" Mrs. Emerson drew herself up, +with half real and half affected surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he's one of your men who have positive qualities about +them—strong in intellect and will." +</P> + +<P> +Irene felt pleased with the compliment bestowed upon her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"But wrong in his ideas of woman." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" asked Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"How do I know? As I know all men with whom I come in contact. I +probe them." +</P> + +<P> +"And you have probed my husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"Undoubtedly." +</P> + +<P> +"And do not regard him as sound on this subject?" +</P> + +<P> +"No sounder than other men of his class. He regards woman as man's +inferior." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you state the case too strongly," said Mrs. Emerson, a red +spot burning on her cheek. "He thinks them mentally different." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course he does." +</P> + +<P> +"But not different as to superiority and inferiority," replied +Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Mere hair-splitting, my child. If they are mentally different, one +must be more highly organized than the other, and of course, +superior. Mr. Emerson thinks a man's rational powers stronger than a +woman's, and that, therefore, he must direct in affairs generally, +and she follow his lead. I know; I've talked with and drawn him out +on this subject." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Emerson sighed again faintly, while her eyes dropped from the +face of her visitor and sunk to the floor. A shadow was falling on +her spirit—a weight coming down with a gradually increasing +pressure upon her heart. She remembered the night of her return from +Ivy Cliff and the language then used by her husband on this very +subject, which was mainly in agreement with the range of opinions +attributed to him by Mrs. Talbot. +</P> + +<P> +"Marriage, to a spirited woman," she remarked, in a pensive +undertone, "is a doubtful experiment." +</P> + +<P> +"Always," returned her friend. "As woman stands now in the estimate +of man, her chances for happiness are almost wholly on the side of +old-maidism. Still, freedom is the price of struggle and combat; and +woman will first have to show, in actual strife, that she is the +equal of her present lord." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you would turn every home into a battlefield?" said Mrs. +Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"Every home in which there is a tyrant and an oppressor," was the +prompt answer. "Many fair lands, in all ages, have been trampled +down ruthlessly by the iron feet of war; and that were better, as +the price of freedom, than slavery." +</P> + +<P> +Irene sighed again, and was again silent. +</P> + +<P> +"What," she asked, "if the oppressor is so much stronger than the +oppressed that successful resistance is impossible? that with every +struggle the links of the chain that binds her sink deeper into her +quivering flesh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Every age and every land have seen noble martyrs in the cause of +freedom. It is better to die for liberty than live an ignoble +slave," answered the tempter. +</P> + +<P> +"And I will die a free woman." This Irene said in her heart. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IN BONDS. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>SENTIMENTS</I> like these, coming to Irene as they did while she was +yet chafing under a recent collision with her husband, and while the +question of submission was yet an open one, were near proving a +quick-match to a slumbering mine in her spirit, and had not her +husband been in a more passive state than usual, there might have +been an explosion which would have driven them asunder with such +terrific force that reunion must have been next to impossible. +</P> + +<P> +It would have been well if their effects had died with the passing +away of that immediate danger. But as we think so we incline to act. +Our sentiments are our governors; and of all imperious tyrants, +false sentiments are the most ruthless. The beautiful, the true, the +good they trample out of the heart with a fiery malignity that knows +no touch of pity; for the false is the bitter enemy of the true and +makes with it no terms of amity. +</P> + +<P> +The coldness which had followed their reconciliation might have +gradually given way before the warmth of genuine love, if Irene had +been left to the counsels of her own heart; if there had been no +enemy to her peace, like Mrs. Talbot, to throw in wild, vague +thoughts of oppression and freedom among the half-developed opinions +which were forming in her mind. As it was, a jealous scrutiny of +words and actions took the place of that tender confidence which was +coming back to Irene's heart, and she became watchfully on the +alert; not, as she might have been, lovingly ministrant. +</P> + +<P> +Only a few days were permitted to elapse after the call of this +unsafe friend before Irene returned the visit, and spent two hours +with her, conning over the subject of woman's rights and woman's +wrongs. Mrs. Talbot introduced her to writers on the vexed question, +who had touched the theme with argument, sarcasm, invective and +bold, brilliant, specious generalities; read to her from their +books; commented on their deductions, and uttered sentiments on the +subject of reform and resistance as radical as the most extreme. +</P> + +<P> +"We must agitate—we must act—we must do good deeds of valor and +self-sacrifice for our sex," she said, in her enthusiastic way. +"Every woman, whether of high or low condition, of humble powers or +vigorous intellect, has a duty to perform, and she is false to the +honor and rights of her sex if she do not array herself on the side +of freedom. You have great responsibilities resting upon you, my +young friend. I say it soberly, even solemnly. Responsibilities +which may not be disregarded without evil consequences to yourself +and others. You are young, clear-thoughted and resolute—have will, +purpose and endurance. You are married to a young man destined, I +think, to make his mark in the world; but, as I have said before, a +false education has given him erroneous ideas on this great and +important subject. Now what is your duty?" +</P> + +<P> +The lady paused as if for an answer. +</P> + +<P> +"What is your duty, my dear young friend?" she repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"I will answer for you," she continued. "Your duty is to be true to +yourself and to your sisters in bonds." +</P> + +<P> +"In bonds! <I>I</I> in bonds!" Mrs. Talbot touched her to the quick. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a free woman?" The inquiry was calmly made. +</P> + +<P> +Irene started to the floor and moved across the room, then turned +and came back again. Her cheeks burned and her eyes flashed. She +stood before Mrs. Talbot and looked at her steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"The question has disturbed you?" said the lady. +</P> + +<P> +"It has," was the brief answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should it disturb you?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"I can tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"Say on." +</P> + +<P> +"You are in bonds, and feel the fetters." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Talbot!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is so, my poor child, and you know it as well as I do. From the +beginning of our acquaintance I have seen this; and more than once, +in our various conversations, you have admitted the fact." +</P> + +<P> +"I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you." +</P> + +<P> +Irene let her thoughts run back through the sentiments and opinions +which she had permitted herself to utter in the presence of her +friend, to see if she had so fully betrayed herself. She could not +recall the distinct language, but it was plain that Mrs. Talbot had +her secret, and therefore reserve on the subject was useless. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she said, after standing for some time before Mrs. Talbot, +"if I am in bonds, it is not because I do not worship freedom." +</P> + +<P> +"I know that," was the quickly-spoken answer. "And it is because I +wish to see you a free woman that I point to your bonds. Now is the +time to break them—now, before years have increased their +strength—now, before habit has made tyranny a part of your +husband's nature. He is your ruler, because the social sentiment is +in favor of manly domination. There is hope for you now, and now +only. You must begin the work of reaction while both are young. Let +your husband understand, from this time, that you are his equal. It +may go a little hard at first. He will, without doubt, hold on to +the reins, for power is sweet; but if there be true love for you in +his heart, he will yield in the struggle, and make you his companion +and equal, as you should be. If his love be not genuine, why—" +</P> + +<P> +She checked herself. It might be going a step too far with her young +friend to utter the thought that was coming to her lips. Irene did +not question her as to what more she was about to say. There was +stimulus enough in the words already spoken. She felt all the +strength of her nature rising into opposition. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I will be free," she said in her heart. "I will be his equal, +not his slave." +</P> + +<P> +"It may cost you some pain in the beginning," resumed the tempter. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not afraid of pain," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"A brave heart spoke there. I wish we had more on our side with the +stuff you are made of. There would be hope of a speedier reform than +is now promised." +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven send the reform right early! It cannot come a day too soon." +Irene spoke with rising ardor. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be our own fault," said Mrs. Talbot, "if we longer bow our +necks to the yoke or move obedient to our task-masters. Let us lay +the axe to the very root of this evil and hew it down." +</P> + +<P> +"Even if we are crushed by the tree in falling," responded Irene, in +the spirit of a martyr. +</P> + +<P> +From this interview our wrong-directed young friend went home with +more clearly defined purposes touching her conduct toward her +husband than she had hitherto entertained. She saw him in a new +aspect, and in a character more definitely outlined. He loomed up in +more colossal proportions, and put on sterner features. All +disguises were thrown away, and he stood forth, not a loving +husband, but the tyrant of her home. Weak, jealous, passion-tost +child! how this strong, self-willed, false woman of the world had +bewildered her thoughts, and pushed her forth into an arena of +strife, where she could only beat about blindly, and hurt herself +and others, yet accomplish no good. +</P> + +<P> +From her interview with Mrs. Talbot, Irene went home, bearing more +distinct ideas of resistance in her mind. In this great crisis of +her life she felt that she needed just such a friend, who could give +direction to her striving spirit, and clothe for her in thoughts the +native impulses that she knew only as a love of freedom. She +believed now that she understood herself better than before, and +comprehended more clearly her duties and responsibilities. +</P> + +<P> +It was in this mood of mind that she met her husband when he +returned in the afternoon from his office. Happily for them, he was +in a quiet, non-resistant state, and in a special good-humor with +himself and the world. Professional matters had shaped themselves to +his wishes, and left his mind at peace. Irene had, in consequence, +everything pretty much her own way. Hartley did not fail to notice a +certain sharpness of manner about her, and a certain spiciness of +sentiment when the subject of their intermittent talks verged on +themes relating to women; but he felt no inclination whatever for +argument or opposition, and so her arrows struck a polished shield, +and went gracefully and harmlessly aside. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we go and have a merry laugh with Matthews to-night?" said +Hartley, as they sat at the tea-table. "I feel just in the humor." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I thank you," replied Irene, curtly. "I don't incline to the +laughing mood, just now." +</P> + +<P> +"Laughing is contagious," suggested Hartley. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not take the infection to-night." And she balanced her +little head with the perpendicularity of a plumb-line. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I persuade you?" He was in a real good-humor, and smiled as +he said this. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir. You may waive both argument and persuasion. I am in +earnest." +</P> + +<P> +"And when a woman is in earnest you might as well essay to move the +Pillars of Hercules." +</P> + +<P> +"You might as well in my case," answered Irene, without any +softening of tone or features. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall not attempt, after a hard day's work, a task so +difficult. I am in a mood for rest and quiet," said the young +husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," he resumed, after a little pause, "you may feel somewhat +musical. There is to be a vocal and instrumental concert to-night. +What say you to going there? I think I could enjoy some good +singing, mightily." +</P> + +<P> +Irene closed her lips firmly, and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Not musically inclined this evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Got a regular stay-at-home feeling?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Enough," said Hartley, with unshadowed good-humor, "we will stay at +home." +</P> + +<P> +And he sung a snatch of the familiar song—"There's no place like +home," rising, as he did so, from the table, and offering Irene his +arm. She could do no less than accept the courtesy, and so they went +up to their cozy sitting-room arm-in-arm—he chatty, and she almost +silent. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter, petty?" he asked, in a fond way, after trying +for some time, but in vain, to draw her out into pleasant +conversation. "Ain't you well to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +Now, so far as her bodily state was concerned, Irene never felt +better in her life. So she could not plead indisposition. +</P> + +<P> +"I feel well," she replied, glancing up into her husband's face in a +cold, embarrassed kind of way. +</P> + +<P> +"Then your looks belie your condition—that's all. If it isn't the +body, it must be the mind. What's gone wrong, darling?" +</P> + +<P> +The tenderness in Hartley's tones was genuine, and the heart of +Irene leaped to his voice with a responsive throe. But was he not +her master and tyrant? How that thought chilled the sweet impulse! +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing wrong," she answered, with a sadness of tone which she was +unable to conceal. "But I feel dull, and cannot help it." +</P> + +<P> +"You should have gone with me to laugh with Matthews. He would have +shaken all these cobwebs from your brain. Come! it is not yet too +late." +</P> + +<P> +But the rebel spirit was in her heart; and to have acceded to he +husband's wishes would have been to submit herself to control. +</P> + +<P> +"You must excuse me," she replied. "I feel as if home were the +better place for me to-night." +</P> + +<P> +An impatient answer was on her tongue; but she checked its +utterance, and spoke from a better spirit. +</P> + +<P> +Not even as a lover had Hartley shown more considerate tenderness +than marked all his conduct toward Irene this evening. His mind was +in a clear-seeing region, and his feelings tranquil. The sphere of +her antagonism failed to reach him. He did not understand the +meaning of her opposition to his wishes, and so pride, self-love and +self-will remained quiescent. How peacefully unconscious was he of +the fact that his feet were standing over a mine, and that a single +spark of passion struck from him would have sprung that mine in +fierce explosion! He read to Irene from a volume which he knew to be +a favorite; talked to her about Ivy Cliff and her father; suggested +an early visit to the pleasant old river home; and thus charmed away +the evil spirits which had found a lodgment in her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +But how different it might have been! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE REFORMERS. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>SOCIAL</I> theories that favor our passions, peculiarities, defects of +character or weaknesses are readily adopted, and, with minds of an +ardent temper, often become hobbies. There is a class of persons who +are never content with riding their own hobbies; they must have +others mount with them. All the world is going wrong because it +moves past them—trotting, pacing or galloping, as it may be, upon +its own hobbies. And so they try to arrest this movement or that, +or, gathering a company of aimless people, they galvanize them with +their own wild purposes, and start them forth into the world on +Quixotic errands. +</P> + +<P> +These persons are never content to wait for the slow changes that +are included in all orderly developments. Because a thing seems +right to them in the abstract, it must be done now. They cannot wait +for old things to pass away, as preliminary to the inauguration of +what is new. +</P> + +<P> +"If I had the power," we have heard one of this class say, "evil and +sorrow and pain should cease from the earth in a moment." And in +saying this the thought was not concealed that God had this power, +but failed to exercise it. With them no questions of expediency, no +regard for time-endowed prejudices, no weak spirit of waiting, no +looking for the fullness of time could have any influence. What they +willed to be done must be done now; and they were impatient and +angry at every one who stood in their way or opposed their theories. +</P> + +<P> +In most cases, you will find these "reformers," as they generally +style themselves, governed more by a love of ruling and influencing +others than by a spirit of humanity. They are one-sided people, and +can only see one side of a subject in clear light. It matters little +to them what is destroyed, so that they can build. If they possess +the gift of language, either as writers or talkers—have wit, +brilliancy and sarcasm—they make disciples of the less gifted, and +influence larger or smaller circles of men and women. Flattered by +this homage to their talents, they grow more ardent in the cause +which they have espoused, and see, or affect to see, little else of +any importance in the world. They do some good and much harm. Good, +in drawing general attention to social evils that need +reforming—evil, in causing weak people to forget common duties in +their ambition to set the world right. +</P> + +<P> +There is always danger in breaking suddenly away from the regular +progression of things and taking the lead in some new and +antagonistic movement. Such things must and will be; but they who +set up for social reformers must be men and women of pure hearts, +clear minds and the broadest human sympathies. They must be lovers +of their kind, not lovers of themselves; brave as patriots, not as +soldiers of fortune who seek for booty and renown. +</P> + +<P> +Not many of these true reformers—all honor to them!—are found +among the noisy coteries that infest the land and turn so many +foolish people away from real duties. +</P> + +<P> +One of the dangers attendant on association with the class to which +we refer lies in the fact that they draw around them certain +free-thinking, sensual personages, of no very stable morality, who +are ready for anything that gives excitement to their morbid +conditions of mind. Social disasters, of the saddest kind, are +constantly occurring through this cause. Men and women become at +first unsettled in their opinions, then unsettled in their conduct, +and finally throw off all virtuous restraint. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Talbot, the new friend of Mrs. Emerson, belonged to the better +sort of reformers in one respect. She was a pure-minded woman; but +this did not keep her out of the circle of those who were of freer +thought and action. Being an extremist on the subject of woman's +social position, she met and assimilated with others on the basis of +a common sentiment. This threw her in contact with many from whom +she would have shrunk with instinctive aversion had she known their +true quality. Still, the evil to her was a gradual wearing away, by +the power of steady attrition, of old, true, conservative ideas in +regard to the binding force of marriage. There was always a great +deal said on this subject, in a light way, by persons for whose +opinions on other subjects she had the highest respect, and this had +its influence. Insensibly her views and feelings changed, until she +found herself, in some cases, the advocate of sentiments that once +would have been rejected with instinctive repugnance. +</P> + +<P> +This was the woman who was about acquiring a strong influence over +the undisciplined, self-willed and too self-reliant young wife of +Hartley Emerson; and this was the class of personages among whom her +dangerous friend was about introducing her. At the house of Mrs. +Talbot, where Irene became a frequent visitor, she met a great many +brilliant, talented and fascinating people, of whom she often spoke +to her husband, for she was too independent to have any +concealments. She knew that he did no like Mrs. Talbot, but this +rather inclined her to a favorable estimation, and really led to a +more frequent intercourse than would otherwise have been the case. +</P> + +<P> +Once a week Mrs. Talbot held a kind of conversazione, at which +brilliant people and people with hobbies met to hear themselves +talk. Mr. and Mrs. Emerson had a standing invitation to be present +at these reunions, and, as Irene wished to go, her husband saw it +best not to interpose obstacles. Besides, as he knew that she went +to Mrs. Talbot's often in the day-time, and met a good many people +there, he wished to see for himself who they were, and judge for +himself as to their quality. Of the men who frequented the parlors +of Mrs. Talbot, the larger number had some prefix to their names, as +Professor, Doctor, Major, or Colonel. Most of the ladies were of a +decidedly literary turn—some had written books, some were magazine +contributors, one was a physician, and one a public lecturer. +Nothing against them in all this, but much to their honor if their +talents and acquirements were used for the common good. +</P> + +<P> +The themes of conversation at these weekly gatherings were varied, +but social relations and social reform were in most cases the +leading topics. Two or three evenings at Mrs. Talbot's were enough +to satisfy Mr. Emerson that the people who met there were not of a +character to exercise a good influence upon his wife. But how was he +to keep her from associations that evidently presented strong +attractions? Direct opposition he feared to make, for the experience +of a few months had been sufficient to show him that she would +resist all attempts on his part to exercise a controlling influence. +</P> + +<P> +He tried at first to keep her away by feigning slight indisposition, +or weariness, or disinclination to go out, and so lead her to +exercise some self-denial for his sake. But her mind was too firmly +bent on going to be turned so easily from its purpose; she did not +consider trifles like these of sufficient importance to interfere +with the pleasures of an evening at one of Mrs. Talbot's +conversaziones. Mr. Emerson felt hurt at his wife's plain disregard +of his comfort and wishes, and said within himself, with bitterness +of feeling, that she was heartless. +</P> + +<P> +One day, at dinner-time, he said to her— +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not be able to go to Mrs. Talbot's to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" Irene looked at her husband in surprise, and with a shade of +disappointment on her countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"I have business of importance with a gentleman who resides in +Brooklyn, and have promised to meet him at his house this evening." +</P> + +<P> +"You might call for me on your return," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"The time of my return will be uncertain. I cannot now tell how late +I may be detained in Brooklyn." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry." And Irene bent down her eyes in a thoughtful way. "I +promised Mrs. Talbot to be there to-night," she added. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Talbot will excuse you when she knows why you were absent." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know about that," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"She must be a very unreasonable woman," remarked Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"That doesn't follow. You could take me there, and Mrs. Talbot find +me an escort home." +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" Emerson knit his brows and glanced sharply at his wife. The +suggestion struck him unpleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Major Willard, for instance;" and she smiled in a half-amused, +half-mischievous way. +</P> + +<P> +"You cannot be in earnest, surely?" said Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" queried his wife, looking at her husband with calm, +searching eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You would not, in the first place, be present there, unaccompanied +by your husband; and, in the second place, I hardly think my wife +would be seen in the street, at night, on the arm of Major Willard." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson spoke like a man who was in earnest. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know anything wrong of Major Willard?" asked Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing about him, right or wrong," was replied. "But, if I +have any skill in reading men, he is very far from being a fine +specimen." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Hartley! You have let some prejudice come in to warp your +estimation." +</P> + +<P> +"No. I have mixed some with men, and, though my opportunity for +observation has not been large, I have met two or three of your +Major Willards. They are polished and attractive on the surface, but +unprincipled and corrupt." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot believe this of Major Willard," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"It might be safer for you to believe it," replied Hartley. +</P> + +<P> +"Safer! I don't understand you! You talk in riddles? How safer?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene showed some irritation. +</P> + +<P> +"Safer as to your good name," replied her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"My good name is in my own keeping," said the young wife, proudly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, for Heaven's sake, remain its safe custodian," replied +Emerson. "Don't let even the shadow of a man like Major Willard fall +upon it." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to see you so prejudiced," said Irene, coldly; "and +sorry, still further, that you have so poor an opinion of your +wife." +</P> + +<P> +"You misapprehend me," returned Hartley. "I am neither prejudiced +nor suspicious. But seeing danger in your way, as a prudent man I +lift a voice of warning. I am out in the world more than you are, +and see more of its worst side. My profession naturally opens to me +doors of observation that are shut to many. I see the inside of +character, where others look only upon the fair outside." +</P> + +<P> +"And so learn to be suspicious of everybody," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"No; only to read indices that to many others are unintelligible." +</P> + +<P> +"I must learn to read them also." +</P> + +<P> +"It would be well if your sex and place in the world gave the right +opportunity," replied Hartley. +</P> + +<P> +"Truly said. And that touches the main question. Women, immured as +they now are, and never suffered to go out into the world unless +guarded by husband, brother or discreet managing friend, will +continue as weak and undiscriminating as the great mass of them now +are. But, so far as I am concerned, this system is destined to +change. I must be permitted a larger liberty, and opportunities for +independent observation. I wish to read character for myself, and +make up my own mind in regard to the people I meet." +</P> + +<P> +"I am only sorry," rejoined her husband, "that your first effort at +reading character and making up independent opinions in regard to +men and principles had not found scope in another direction. I am +afraid that, in trying to get close enough to the people you meet at +Mrs. Talbot's for accurate observation, you will draw so near to +dangerous fires as to scorch your garments." +</P> + +<P> +"Complimentary to Mrs. Talbot!" +</P> + +<P> +"The remark simply gives you my estimate of some of her favored +visitors." +</P> + +<P> +"And complimentary to your wife," added Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"My wife," said Hartley, in a serious voice, "is, like myself, young +and inexperienced, and should be particularly cautious in regard to +all new acquaintances—men or women—particularly if they be some +years her senior, and particularly if they show any marked desire to +cultivate her acquaintance. People with a large worldly experience, +like most of those we have met at Mrs. Talbot's, take you and I at +disadvantage. They read us through at a single sitting, while it may +take us months, even years, to penetrate the disguises they know so +well how to assume." +</P> + +<P> +"Nearly all of which, touching the pleasant people we meet at Mrs. +Talbot's, is assumed," replied Irene, not at all moved by her +husband's earnestness. +</P> + +<P> +"You may learn to your sorrow, when the knowledge comes too late," +he responded, "that even more than I have assumed is true." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not in fear of the sorrow," was answered lightly. +</P> + +<P> +As Irene, against all argument, persuasion and remonstrance on the +part of her husband, persisted in her determination to go to Mrs. +Talbot's, he engaged a carriage to take her there and to call for +her at eleven o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +"Come away alone," he said, with impressive earnestness, as he +parted from her. "Don't let any courteous offer induce you to accept +an attendant when you return home." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A STARTLING EXPERIENCE. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>MRS. EMERSON</I> did not feel altogether comfortable in mind as she +rode away from her door alone. She was going unattended by her +husband, and against his warmly-spoken remonstrance, to pass an +evening with people of whom she knew but little, and against whom he +had strong prejudices. +</P> + +<P> +"It were better to have remained at home," she said to herself more +than once before her arrival at Mrs. Talbot's. The marked attentions +she received, as well from Mrs. Talbot as from several of her +guests, soon brought her spirits up to the old elevation. Among +those who seemed most attracted by her was Major Willard, to whom +reference has already been made. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is your husband?" was almost his first inquiry on meeting +her. "I do not see him in the room." +</P> + +<P> +"He had to meet a gentleman on business over in Brooklyn this +evening," replied Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, business!" said the major, with a shrug, a movement of the +eyebrows and a motion in the corners of his mouth which were not +intelligible signs to Mrs. Emerson. That they meant something more +than he was prepared to utter in words, she was satisfied, but +whether of favorable or unfavorable import touching her absent +husband, she could not tell. The impression on her mind was not +agreeable, and she could not help remembering what Hartley had said +about the major. +</P> + +<P> +"I notice," remarked the latter, "that we have several ladies here +who come usually without their husbands. Gentlemen are not always +attracted by the feast of reason and the flow of soul. They require +something more substantial. Oysters and terrapin are nearer to their +fancy." +</P> + +<P> +"Not more to my husband's fancy," replied Mrs. Emerson, in a tone of +vindication, as well as rebuke at such freedom of speech. +</P> + +<P> +"Beg your pardon a thousand times, madam!" returned Major Willard, +"if I have even seemed to speak lightly of one who holds the honored +position of your husband. Nothing could have been farther from my +thought. I was only trifling." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Emerson smiled her forgiveness, and the major became more +polite and attentive than before. But his attentions were not wholly +agreeable. Something in the expression of his eyes as he looked at +her produced an unpleasant repulsion. She was constantly remembering +some of the cautions spoken by Hartley in reference to this man, and +she wished scores of times that he would turn his attentions to some +one else. But the major seemed to have no eyes for any other lady in +the room. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the innate repulsion to which we have referred, Mrs. +Emerson was flattered by the polished major's devotion of himself +almost wholly to her during the evening, and she could do no less in +return than make herself as agreeable as possible. +</P> + +<P> +At eleven o'clock she had notice that her carriage was at the door. +The major was by, and heard the communication. So, when she came +down from the dressing-room, he was waiting for her in the hall, +ready cloaked and gloved. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Major Willard, I thank you," she said, on his making a movement +to accompany her. She spoke very positively. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot see you go home unattended." And the major bowed with +graceful politeness. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no," said Mrs. Talbot. "You must not leave my house alone. +Major, I shall expect you to attend my young friend." +</P> + +<P> +It was in vain that Mrs. Emerson objected and remonstrated, the +gallant major would listen to nothing; and so, perforce, she had to +yield. After handing her into the carriage, he spoke a word or two +in an undertone to the driver, and then entering, took his place by +her side. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Emerson felt strangely uncomfortable and embarrassed, and +shrunk as far from her companion as the narrow space they occupied +would permit; while he, it seemed to her, approached as she receded. +There was a different tone in his voice when he spoke as the +carriage moved away from any she had noticed heretofore. He drew his +face near to hers in speaking, but the rattling of the wheels made +hearing difficult. He had, during the evening, referred to a star +actress then occupying public attention, of whom some scandalous +things had been said, and declared his belief in her innocence. To +Mrs. Emerson's surprise—almost disgust—his first remark after they +were seated in the carriage was about this actress. Irene did not +respond to his remark. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever meet her in private circles?" he next inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," she answered, coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"I have had that pleasure," said Major Willard. +</P> + +<P> +There was no responsive word. +</P> + +<P> +"She is a most fascinating woman," continued the major. "That +Juno-like beauty which so distinguishes her on the stage scarcely +shows itself in the drawing-room. On the stage she is queenly—in +private, soft, voluptuous and winning as a houri. I don't wonder +that she has crowds of admirers." +</P> + +<P> +The major's face was close to that of his companion, who felt a wild +sense of repugnance, so strong as to be almost suffocating. The +carriage bounded as the wheels struck an inequality in the street, +throwing them together with a slight concussion. The major laid his +hand upon that of Mrs. Emerson, as if to support her. But she +instantly withdrew the hand he had presumed to touch. He attempted +the same familiarity again, but she placed both hands beyond the +possibility of accidental or designed contact with his, and shrank +still closer into the corner of the carriage, while her heart +fluttered and a tremor ran through her frame. +</P> + +<P> +Major Willard spoke again of the actress, but Mrs. Emerson made no +reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are we going?" she asked, after the lapse of some ten +minutes, glancing from the window and seeing, instead of the tall +rows of stately houses which lined the streets along the whole +distance between Mrs. Talbot's residence and her own house, +mean-looking tenements. +</P> + +<P> +"The driver knows his route, I presume," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +"This is not the way, I am sure," said Mrs. Emerson, a slight quiver +of alarm in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Our drivers know the shortest cuts," replied the major, "and these +do not always lead through the most attractive quarters of the +town." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Emerson shrunk back again in her seat and was silent. Her heart +was throbbing with a vague fear. Suddenly the carriage stopped and +the driver alighted. +</P> + +<P> +"This is not my home," said Mrs. Emerson, as the driver opened the +door, and the major stepped out upon the pavement. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. This is No. 240 L—— street. Yes, ma'am," added the +driver, "this is the number that the gentleman told me." +</P> + +<P> +"What gentleman?" asked Mrs. Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"This gentleman, if you please, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +"Drive me home instantly, or this may cost you dear!" said Mrs. +Emerson, in as stern a voice as surprise and fear would permit her +to assume. +</P> + +<P> +"Madam—" Major Willard commenced speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"Silence, sir! Shut the door, driver, and take me home instantly!" +</P> + +<P> +The major made a movement as if he were about to enter the carriage, +when Mrs. Emerson said, in a low, steady, threatening voice— +</P> + +<P> +"At your peril, remain outside! Driver, shut the door. If you permit +that man to enter, my husband will hold you to a strict account." +</P> + +<P> +"Stand back!" exclaimed the driver, in a resolute voice. +</P> + +<P> +But the major was not to be put off in this way. He did not move +from the open door of the carriage. In the next moment the driver's +vigorous arm had hurled him across the pavement. The door was shut, +the box mounted and the carriage whirled away, before the astonished +man could rise, half stunned, from the place where he fell. A few +low, bitter, impotent curses fell from his lips, and then he walked +slowly away, muttering threats of vengeance. +</P> + +<P> +It was nearly twelve o'clock when Irene reached home. +</P> + +<P> +"You are late," said her husband, as she came in. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she replied, "later than I intended." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" he inquired, looking at her narrowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you ask?" She tried to put on an air of indifference. +</P> + +<P> +"You look pale and your voice is disturbed." +</P> + +<P> +"The driver went through parts of the town in returning that made me +feel nervous, as I thought of my lonely and unprotected situation." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did he do that?" +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't to make the way shorter, for the directest route would +have brought me home ten minutes ago. I declare! The fellow's +conduct made me right nervous. I thought a dozen improbable things." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the last time I will employ him," said Hartley. "How dare he +go a single block away from a direct course, at this late hour?" He +spoke with rising indignation. +</P> + +<P> +At first, Irene resolved to inform her husband of Major Willard's +conduct, but it will be seen by this conversation that she had +changed her mind, at least for the present. Two or three things +caused her to hesitate until she could turn the matter over in her +thoughts more carefully. Pride had its influence. She did not care +to admit that she had been in error and Hartley right as to Major +Willard. But there was a more sober aspect of the case. Hartley was +excitable, brave and strong-willed. She feared the consequences that +might follow if he were informed of Major Willard's outrageous +conduct. A personal collision she saw to be almost inevitable in +this event. Mortifying publicity, if not the shedding of blood, +would ensue. +</P> + +<P> +So, for the present at least, she resolved to keep her own secret, +and evaded the close queries of her husband, who was considerably +disturbed by the alleged conduct of the driver. +</P> + +<P> +One good result followed this rather startling experience. Irene +said no more about attending the conversaziones of Mrs. Talbot. She +did not care to meet Major Willard again, and as he was a regular +visitor at Mrs. Talbot's, she couldn't go there without encountering +him. Her absence on the next social evening was remarked by her new +friend, who called on her the next day. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't see you last night," said the agreeable Mrs. Talbot. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I remained at home," replied Mrs. Emerson, the smile with which +she had received her friend fading partly away. +</P> + +<P> +"Not indisposed, I hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"But your husband was! Talk it right out, my pretty one!" said Mrs. +Talbot, in a gay, bantering tone. "Indisposed in mind. He don't like +the class of people one meets at my house. Men of his stamp never +do." +</P> + +<P> +It was on the lips of Mrs. Emerson to say that there might be ground +for his dislike of some who were met there. But she repressed even a +remote reference to an affair that, for the gravest of reasons, she +still desired to keep as her own secret. So she merely answered— +</P> + +<P> +"The indisposition of mind was on my part." +</P> + +<P> +"On your part? Oh dear! That alters the case. And, pray, what +occasioned this indisposition? Not a previous mental surfeit, I +hope." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no. I never get a surfeit in good company. But people's states +vary, as you are aware. I had a stay-at-home feeling last night, and +indulged myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Very prettily said, my dear. I understand you entirely, and like +your frank, outspoken way. This is always best with friends. I +desire all of mine to enjoy the largest liberty—to come and see me +when they feel like it, and to stay away when they don't feel like +coming. We had a delightful time. Major Willard was there. He's a +charming man! Several times through the evening he asked for you. I +really think your absence worried him. Now, don't blush! A handsome, +accomplished man may admire a handsome and accomplished woman, +without anything wrong being involved. Because one has a husband, is +she not to be spoken to or admired by other men? Nonsense! That is +the world's weak prudery, or rather the common social sentiment +based on man's tyranny over woman." +</P> + +<P> +As Mrs. Talbot ran on in this strain, Mrs. Emerson had time to +reflect and school her exterior. Toward Major Willard her feelings +were those of disgust and detestation. The utterance of his name +shocked her womanly delicacy, but when it was coupled with a +sentiment of admiration for her, and an intimation of the probable +existence of something reciprocal on her part, it was with +difficulty that she could restrain a burst of indignant feeling. But +her strong will helped her, and she gave no intelligible sign of +what was really passing in her thoughts. The subject being +altogether disagreeable, she changed it as soon as possible. +</P> + +<P> +In this interview with Mrs. Talbot a new impression in regard to her +was made on the mind of Mrs. Emerson. Something impure seemed to +pervade the mental atmosphere with which she was surrounded, and +there seemed to be things involved in what she said that shadowed a +latitude in morals wholly outside of Christian duty. When they +separated, much of the enthusiasm which Irene had felt for this +specious, unsafe acquaintance was gone, and her power over her was +in the same measure lessened. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CAPTIVATED AGAIN. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>BUT</I> it is not so easily escaping from a woman like Mrs. Talbot, +when an acquaintanceship is once formed. In less than a week she +called again, and this time in company with another lady, a Mrs. +Lloyd, whom she introduced as a very dear friend. Mrs. Lloyd was a +tall, spare woman, with an intellectual face, bright, restless, +penetrating eyes, a clear musical voice, subdued, but winning +manners. She was a little past thirty, though sickness of body or +mind had stolen the bloom of early womanhood, and carried her +forward, apparently, to the verge of forty. Mrs. Emerson had never +before heard of this lady. But half an hour's conversation +completely captivated her. Mrs. Lloyd had traveled through Europe, +and spoke in a familiar way of the celebrated personages whom she +had met abroad,—talked of art, music and architecture, literature, +artists and literary men—displayed such high culture and easy +acquaintance with themes quite above the range usually met with +among ordinary people, that Mrs. Emerson felt really flattered with +the compliment of a visit. +</P> + +<P> +"My good friend, Mrs. Talbot," said Mrs. Lloyd, during their +conversation, "has spoken of you so warmly that I could do no less +than make overtures for an acquaintance, which I trust may prove +agreeable. I anticipated the pleasure of seeing you at her house +last week, but was disappointed." +</P> + +<P> +"The interview of to-day," remarked Mrs. Talbot, coming in adroitly, +"will only make pleasanter your meeting on to-morrow night." +</P> + +<P> +"At your house?" said Mrs. Lloyd. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." And Mrs. Talbot threw a winning smile upon Mrs. Emerson. "You +will be there?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think not," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but you must come, my dear Mrs. Emerson! We cannot do without +you." +</P> + +<P> +"I have promised my husband to go out with him." +</P> + +<P> +"Your husband!" The voice of Mrs. Talbot betrayed too plainly her +contempt of husbands. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my husband." Mrs. Emerson let her voice dwell with meaning on +the word. +</P> + +<P> +The other ladies looked at each other for a moment or two with +meaning glances; then Mrs. Talbot remarked, in a quiet way, but with +a little pleasantry in her voice, as if she were not right clear in +regard to her young friend's state of feeling, +</P> + +<P> +"Oh dear! these husbands are dreadfully in the way, sometimes! +Haven't you found it so, Mrs. Lloyd?" +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of Mrs. Emerson were turned instantly to the face of her +new acquaintance. She saw a slight change of expression in her pale +face that took something from its agreeable aspect. And yet Mrs. +Lloyd smiled as she answered, in a way meant to be pleasant, +</P> + +<P> +"They are very good in their place." +</P> + +<P> +"The trouble," remarked Mrs. Talbot, in reply, "is to make them keep +their place." +</P> + +<P> +"At our feet." Mrs. Emerson laughed as she said this. +</P> + +<P> +"No," answered Mrs. Lloyd—"at our sides, as equals." +</P> + +<P> +"And beyond that," said Mrs. Talbot, "we want them to give us as +much freedom in the world as they take for themselves. They come in +and go out when they please, and submit to no questioning on our +part. Very well; I don't object; only I claim the same right for +myself. 'I will ask my husband.' Don't you hear this said every day? +Pah! I'm always tempted to cut the acquaintance of a woman when I +hear these words from her lips. Does a man, when a friend asks him +to do anything or go anywhere, say, 'I'll ask my wife?' Not he. A +lady who comes occasionally to our weekly reunions, but whose +husband is too much of a man to put himself down to the level of our +set, is permitted the enjoyment of an evening with us, now and then, +on one condition." +</P> + +<P> +"Condition!" There was a throb of indignant feeling in the voice of +Mrs. Lloyd. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, on condition that no male visitor at my house shall accompany +her home. A carriage is sent for her precisely at ten o'clock, when +she must leave, and alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Humiliating!" ejaculated Mrs. Lloyd. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it? I can scarcely have patience with her. Major Willard has, +at my instance, several times made an effort to accompany her, and +once actually entered her carriage. But the lady commanded him to +retire, or she would leave the carriage herself. Of course, when she +took that position, the gallant major had to leave the field." +</P> + +<P> +"Such a restriction would scarce have suited my fancy," said Mrs. +Lloyd. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor mine. What do you think of that?" And Mrs. Talbot looked into +the face of Mrs. Emerson, whose color had risen beyond its usual +tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Circumstances alter cases," replied the latter, crushing out all +feeling from her voice and letting it fall into a dead level of +indifference. +</P> + +<P> +"But circumstances don't alter facts, my dear. There are the hard +facts of restrictions and conditions, made by a man, and applied to +his equal, a woman. Does she say to him, You can't go to your club +unless you return alone in your carriage, and leave the club-house +precisely at ten o'clock? Oh no. He would laugh in her face, or, +perhaps, consult the family physician touching her sanity." +</P> + +<P> +This mode of putting the question rather bewildered the mind of our +young wife, and she dropped her eyes from those of Mrs. Talbot and +sat looking upon the floor in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you get your husband to release you from this engagement of +which you have spoken?" asked Mrs. Lloyd. "I should like above all +things to meet you to-morrow evening." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Emerson smiled as she answered, +</P> + +<P> +"Husbands have rights, young know, as well as wives. We must consult +their pleasure sometimes, as well as our own." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly—certainly." Mrs. Lloyd spoke with visible impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"I promised to go with my husband to-morrow night," said Mrs. +Emerson; "and, much as I may desire to meet you at Mrs. Talbot's, I +am not at liberty to go there." +</P> + +<P> +"In bonds! Ah me! Poor wives!" sighed Mrs. Talbot, in affected pity. +"Not at liberty! The admission which comes to us from all sides." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed in her gurgling, hollow way as she said this. +</P> + +<P> +"Not bound to my husband, but to my word of promise," replied Mrs. +Emerson, as pleasantly as her disturbed feelings would permit her to +speak. The ladies were pressing her a little too closely, and she +both saw and felt this. They were stepping beyond the bounds of +reason and delicacy. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Lloyd saw the state of mind which had been produced, and at +once changed the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"May I flatter myself with the prospect of having this call +returned?" she said, handing Mrs. Emerson her card as she was about +leaving. +</P> + +<P> +"It will give me great pleasure to know you better, and you may look +to seeing me right early," was the bland reply. And yet Mrs. Emerson +was not really attracted by this woman, but, on the contrary, +repelled. There was something in her keen, searching eyes, which +seemed to be looking right into the thoughts, that gave her a +feeling of doubt. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. The favor will be all on my side," said Mrs. Lloyd, as +she held the hand of Mrs. Emerson and gave it a warm pressure. +</P> + +<P> +The visit of these ladies did not leave the mind of Irene in a very +satisfactory state. Some things that were said she rejected, while +other things lingered and occasioned suggestions which were not +favorable to her husband. While she had no wish to be present at +Mrs. Talbot's on account of Major Willard, she was annoyed by the +thought that Hartley's fixing on the next evening for her to go out +with him was to prevent her attendance at the weekly conversazione. +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not mention to her husband the fact that she had received +a visit from Mrs. Talbot, in company with a pleasant stranger, Mrs. +Lloyd. It would have been far better for her if she had done so. +Many times it was on her lips to mention the call, but as often she +kept silent, one or the other of two considerations having +influence. Hartley did not like Mrs. Talbot, and therefore the +mention of her name, and the fact of her calling, would not be +pleasant theme. The other consideration had reference to a woman's +independence. +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't tell me of every man he meets through the day, and why +should I feel under obligation to speak of every lady who calls?" So +she thought. "As to Mrs. Lloyd, he would have a hundred prying +question's to ask, as if I we not competent to judge of the +character of my own friends and acquaintances?" +</P> + +<P> +Within a week the call of Mrs. Lloyd was reciprocated by Mrs. +Emerson; not in consequence of feeling drawn toward that lady, but +she had promised to return the friendly visit, and must keep her +word. She found her domiciliated in a fashionable boarding-house, +and was received in the common parlor, in which were two or three +ladies and a gentleman, besides Mrs. Lloyd. The greeting she +received was warm, almost affectionate. In spite of the prejudice +that was creeping into her mind in consequence of an unfavorable +first impression, Mrs. Emerson was flattered by her reception, and +before the termination of her visit she was satisfied that she had +not, in the beginning, formed a right estimate of this really +fascinating woman. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope to see you right soon," she said, as she bade Mrs. Lloyd +good-morning. "It will not be my fault if we do not soon know each +other better." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor mine either," replied Mrs. Lloyd. "I think I shall find you +just after my own heart." +</P> + +<P> +The voice of Mrs. Lloyd was a little raised as she said this, and +Mrs. Emerson noticed that a gentleman who was in the parlor when she +entered, but to whom she had not been introduced, turned and looked +at her with a steady, curious gaze, which struck her at the time as +being on the verge of impertinence. +</P> + +<P> +Only two or three days passed before Mrs. Lloyd returned this visit. +Irene found her more interesting than ever. She had seen a great +deal of society, and had met, according to her own story, with most +of the distinguished men and women of the country, about whom she +talked in a very agreeable manner. She described their personal +appearance, habits, peculiarities and manners, and related pleasant +anecdotes about them. On authors and books she was entirely at home. +</P> + +<P> +But there was an undercurrent of feeling in all she said that a +wiser and more experienced woman than Irene would have noted. It was +not a feeling of admiration for moral, but for intellectual, beauty. +She could dissect a character with wonderful skill, but always +passed the quality of goodness as not taken into account. In her +view this quality did not seem to be a positive element. +</P> + +<P> +When Mrs. Lloyd went away, she left the mind of Irene stimulated, +restless and fluttering with vague fancies. She felt envious of her +new friend's accomplishments, and ambitious to move in as wide a +sphere as she had compassed. The visit was returned at an early +period, and, as before, Mrs. Emerson met Mrs. Lloyd in the public +parlor of her boarding-house. The same gentleman whose manner had a +little annoyed her was present, and she noticed several times, on +glancing toward him, that his eyes were fixed upon her, and with an +expression that she did not understand. +</P> + +<P> +After this, the two ladies met every day or two, and sometimes +walked Broadway together. The only information that Mrs. Emerson had +in regard to her attractive friend she received from Mrs. Talbot. +According to her statement, she was a widow whose married life had +not been a happy one. The husband, like most husbands, was an +overbearing tyrant, and the wife, having a spirit of her own, +resisted his authority. Trouble was the consequence, and Mrs. Talbot +thought, though she was not certain, that a separation took place +before Mr. Lloyd's death. She had a moderate income, which came from +her husband's estate, on which she lived in a kind of idle +independence. So she had plenty of time to read, visit and enjoy +herself in the ways her fancy or inclination might prompt. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WEARY OF CONSTRAINT. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>TIME</I> moved on, and Mrs. Emerson's intimate city friends were those +to whom she had been introduced, directly or indirectly, through +Mrs. Talbot. Of these, the one who had most influence over her was +Mrs. Lloyd, and that influence was not of the right kind. Singularly +enough, it so happened that Mr. Emerson never let this lady at his +house, though she spent hours there every week; and, more singular +still, Irene had never spoken about her to her husband. She had +often been on the point of doing so, but an impression that Hartley +would take up an unreasonable prejudice against her kept the name of +this friend back from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +Months now succeeded each other without the occurrence of events +marked by special interest. Mr. Emerson grew more absorbed in his +profession as cases multiplied on his hands, and Irene, interested +in her circle of bright-minded, independent-thoughted women, found +the days and weeks gliding on pleasantly enough. But habits of +estimating things a little differently from the common sentiment, +and views of life not by any means consonant with those prevailing +among the larger numbers of her sex, were gradually taking root. +</P> + +<P> +Young, inexperienced, self-willed and active in mind, Mrs. Emerson +had most unfortunately been introduced among a class of persons +whose influence upon her could not fail to be hurtful. Their +conversation was mainly of art, literature, social progress and +development; the drama, music, public sentiment on leading topics of +the day; the advancement of liberal ideas, the necessity of a larger +liberty and a wider sphere of action for woman, and the equality of +the sexes. All well enough, all to be commended when viewed in their +just relation to other themes and interests, but actually pernicious +when separated from the homely and useful things of daily life, and +made so to overshadow these as to warp them into comparative +insignificance. Here lay the evil. It was this elevation of her +ideas above the region of use and duty into the mere æsthetic and +reformatory that was hurtful to one like Irene—that is, in fact, +hurtful to any woman, for it is always hurtful to take away from the +mind its interest in common life—the life, we mean, of daily useful +work. +</P> + +<P> +Work! We know the word has not a pleasant sound to many ears, that +it seems to include degradation, and a kind of social slavery, and +lies away down in a region to which your fine, cultivated, +intellectual woman cannot descend without, in her view, soiling her +garments. But for all this, it is alone in daily useful work of mind +or hands, work in which service and benefits to others are involved, +that a woman (or a man) gains any true perfection of character. And +this work must be her own, must lie within the sphere of her own +relations to others, and she must engage in it from a sense of duty +that takes its promptings from her own consciousness of right. No +other woman can judge of her relation to this work, and she who +dares to interfere or turn her aside should be considered an +enemy—not a friend. +</P> + +<P> +No wonder, if this be true, that we have so many women of taste, +cultivation, and often brilliant intellectual powers, blazing about +like comets or shooting stars in our social firmament. They attract +admiring attention, excite our wonder, give us themes for +conversation and criticism; but as guides and indicators while we +sail over the dangerous sea of life, what are they in comparison +with some humble star of the sixth magnitude that ever keeps its +true place in the heavens, shining on with its small but steady ray, +a perpetual blessing? And so the patient, thoughtful, loving wife +and mother, doing her daily work for human souls and bodies, though +her intellectual powers be humble, and her taste but poorly +cultivated, fills more honorably her sphere than any of her more +brilliant sisters, who cast off what they consider the shackles by +which custom and tyranny have bound them down to mere home duties +and the drudgery of household care. If down into these they would +bring their superior powers, their cultivated tastes, their larger +knowledge, how quickly would some desert homes in our land put on +refreshing greenness, and desolate gardens blossom like the rose! We +should have, instead of vast imaginary Utopias in the future, model +homes in the present, the light and beauty of which, shining abroad, +would give higher types of social life for common emulation. +</P> + +<P> +Ah, if the Genius of Social Reform would only take her stand +centrally! If she would make the regeneration of homes the great +achievement of our day, then would she indeed come with promise and +blessing. But, alas! she is so far vagrant in her habits—a +fortune-telling gipsy, not a true, loving, useful woman. +</P> + +<P> +Unhappily for Mrs. Emerson, it was the weird-eyed, fortune-telling +gipsy whose Delphic utterances had bewildered her mind. +</P> + +<P> +The reconciliation which followed the Christmas-time troubles of +Irene and her husband had given both more prudent self-control. They +guarded themselves with a care that threw around the manner of each +a certain reserve which was often felt by the other as coldness. To +both this was, in a degree, painful. There was tender love in their +hearts, but it was overshadowed by self-will and false ideas of +independence on the one side, and by a brooding spirit of accusation +and unaccustomed restraint on the other. Many times, each day of +their lives, did words and sentiments, just about to be uttered by +Hartley Emerson, die unspoken, lest in them something might appear +which would stir the quick feelings of Irene into antagonism. +</P> + +<P> +There was no guarantee of happiness in such a state of things. +Mutual forbearance existed, not from self-discipline and tender +love, but from fear of consequences. They were burnt children, and +dreaded, as well they might, the fire. +</P> + +<P> +With little change in their relations to each other, and few events +worthy of notice, a year went by. Mr. Delancy came down to New York +several times during this period, spending a few days at each visit, +while Irene went frequently to Ivy Cliff, and stayed there, +occasionally, as long as two or three weeks. Hartley always came up +from the city while Irene was at her father's, but never stayed +longer than a single day, business requiring him to be at his office +or in court. Mr. Delancy never saw them together without closely +observing their manner, tone of speaking and language. Both, he +could see, were maturing rapidly. Irene had changed most. There was +a style of thinking, a familiarity with popular themes and a womanly +confidence in her expression of opinions that at times surprised +him. With her views on some subjects his own mind was far from being +in agreement, and they often had warm arguments. Occasionally, when +her husband was at Ivy Cliff a difference of sentiment would arise +between them. Mr. Delancy noticed, when this was the case, that +Irene always pressed her view with ardor, and that her husband, +after a brief but pleasant combat, retired from the field. He also +noticed that in most cases, after this giving up of the contest by +Hartley, he was more than usually quiet and seemed to be pondering +things not wholly agreeable. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy was gratified to see that there was no jarring between +them. But he failed not at the same time to notice something else +that gave him uneasiness. The warmth of feeling, the tenderness, the +lover-like ardor which displayed itself in the beginning, no longer +existed. They did not even show that fondness for each other which +is so beautiful a trait in young married partners. And yet he could +trace no signs of alienation. The truth was, the action of their +lives had been inharmonious. Deep down in their hearts there was no +defect of love. But this love was compelled to hide itself away; and +so, for the most part, it lay concealed from even their own +consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +During the second year of their married life there came a change of +state in both Irene and her husband. They had each grown weary of +constraint when together. It was irksome to be always on guard, lest +some word, tone or act should be misunderstood. In consequence, old +collisions were renewed, and Hartley often grew impatient and even +contemptuous toward his wife, when she ventured to speak of social +progress, woman's rights, or any of the kindred themes in which she +still took a warm interest. Angry retort usually followed on these +occasions, and periods of coldness ensued, the effect of which was +to produce states of alienation. +</P> + +<P> +If a babe had come to soften the heart of Irene, to turn thought and +feeling in a new direction, to awaken a mother's love with all its +holy tenderness, how different would all have been!—different with +her, and different with him. There would then have been an object on +which both could centre interest and affection, and thus draw +lovingly together again, and feel, as in the beginning, heart +beating to heart in sweet accordings. They would have learned their +love-lessons over again, and understood their meanings better. Alas +that the angels of infancy found no place in their dwelling! +</P> + +<P> +With no central attraction at home, her thoughts stimulated by +association with a class of intellectual, restless women, who were +wandering on life's broad desert in search of green places and +refreshing springs, each day's journey bearing them farther and +farther away from landscapes of perpetual verdure, Irene grew more +and more interested in subjects that lay for the most part entirely +out of the range of her husband's sympathies; while he was becoming +more deeply absorbed in a profession that required close application +of thought, intellectual force and clearness, and cold, practical +modes of looking at all questions that came up for consideration. +The consequence was that they were, in all their common interests, +modes of thinking and habits of regarding the affairs of life, +steadily receding from each other. Their evenings were now less +frequently spent together. If home had been a pleasant place to him, +Mr. Emerson would have usually remained at home after the day's +duties were over; or, if he went abroad, it would have been usually +in company with his wife. But home was getting to be dull, if not +positively disagreeable. If a conversation was started, it soon +involved disagreement in sentiment, and then came argument, and +perhaps ungentle words, followed by silence and a mutual writing +down in the mind of bitter things. If there was no conversation, +Irene buried herself in a book—some absorbing novel, usually of the +heroic school. +</P> + +<P> +Naturally, under this state of things, Mr. Emerson, who was social +in disposition, sought companionship elsewhere, and with his own +sex. Brought into contact with men of different tastes, feelings and +habits of thinking, he gradually selected a few as intimate friends, +and, in association with these, formed, as his wife was doing, a +social point of interest outside of his home; thus widening still +further the space between them. +</P> + +<P> +The home duties involved in housekeeping, indifferently as they had +always been discharged by Irene, were now becoming more and more +distasteful to her. This daily care about mere eating and drinking +seemed unworthy of a woman who had noble aspirations, such as burned +in her breast. That was work for women-drudges who had no higher +ambition; "and Heaven knows," she would often say to herself, "there +are enough and to spare of these." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the use of keeping up an establishment like this just for +two people?" she would often remark to her husband; and he would +usually reply, +</P> + +<P> +"For the sake of having a home into which one may retire and shut +out the world." +</P> + +<P> +Irene would sometimes suggest the lighter expense of boarding. +</P> + +<P> +"If it cost twice as much I would prefer to live in my own house," +was the invariable answer. +</P> + +<P> +"But see what a burden of care it lays on my shoulders." +</P> + +<P> +Now Hartley could only with difficulty repress a word of impatient +rebuke when this argument was used. He thought of his own daily +devotion to business, prolonged often into the night, when an +important case was on hand, and mentally charged his wife with a +selfish love of ease. On the other hand, it seemed to Irene that her +husband was selfish in wishing her to bear the burdens of +housekeeping just for his pleasure or convenience, when they might +live as comfortably in a hotel or boarding-house. +</P> + +<P> +On this subject Hartley would not enter into a discussion. "It's no +use talking, Irene," he would say, when she grew in earnest. "You +cannot tempt me to give up my home. It includes many things that +with me are essential to comfort. I detest boarding-houses; they are +only places for sojourning, not living." +</P> + +<P> +As agreement on this subject was out of the question, Irene did not +usually urge considerations in favor of abandoning their pleasant +home. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GONE FOR EVER! +</H3> + +<P> +<I>ONE</I> evening—it was nearly three years from the date of their +marriage—Hartley Emerson and his wife were sitting opposite to each +other at the centre-table, in the evening. She had a book in her +hand and he held a newspaper before his face, but his eyes were not +on the printed columns. He had spoken only a few words since he came +in, and his wife noticed that he had the manner of one whose mind is +in doubt or perplexity. +</P> + +<P> +Letting the newspaper fall upon the table at length, Hartley looked +over at his wife and said, in a quiet tone, +</P> + +<P> +"Irene, did you ever meet a lady by the name of Mrs. Lloyd?" +</P> + +<P> +The color mounted to the face of Mrs. Emerson as she replied, +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have met her often." +</P> + +<P> +"Since when?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have known her intimately for the past two years." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" +</P> + +<P> +Emerson started to his feet and looked for some moments steadily at +his wife, his countenance expressing the profoundest astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"And never once mentioned to me her name! Has she ever called here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Often?" +</P> + +<P> +"As often as two or three times a week." +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Emerson, bewildered at first by her husband's manner of +interrogating her, now recovered her self-possession, and, rising, +looked steadily at him across the table. +</P> + +<P> +"I am wholly at a loss to understand you," she now said, calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever visited that person at her boarding-house?" demanded +Hartley. +</P> + +<P> +"I have, often." +</P> + +<P> +"And walked Broadway with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"Good heavens! can it be possible!" exclaimed the excited man. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray, sir," said Irene, "who is Mrs. Lloyd?" +</P> + +<P> +"An infamous woman!" was answered passionately. +</P> + +<P> +"That is false!" said Irene, her eyes flashing as she spoke. "I +don't care who says so, I pronounce the words false!" +</P> + +<P> +Hartley stood still and gazed at his wife for some moments without +speaking; then he sat down at the table from which he had arisen +and, shading his face with his hands, remained motionless for a long +time. He seemed like a man utterly confounded. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever hear of Jane Beaufort?" he asked at length, looking up +at his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes; everybody has heard of her." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you visit Jane Beaufort?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, if I believed her innocent of what the world charges against +her." +</P> + +<P> +"You are aware, then, that Mrs. Lloyd and Jane Beaufort are the same +person?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, I am not aware of any such thing." +</P> + +<P> +"It is true." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not believe it. Mrs. Lloyd I have known intimately for over +two years, and can verify her character." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry for you, then, for a viler character it would be +difficult to find outside the haunts of infamy," said Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +Contempt and anger were suddenly blended in his manner. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot hear one to whom I am warmly attached thus assailed. You +must not speak in that style of my friends, Hartley Emerson!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your friends!" There was a look of intense scorn on his face. +"Precious friends, if she represent them, truly! Major Willard is +another, mayhap?" +</P> + +<P> +The face of Irene turned deadly pale at the mention of this name. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha!" +</P> + +<P> +Emerson bent eagerly toward his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"And is that true, also?" +</P> + +<P> +"What? Speak out, sir!" Irene caught her breath, and grasped the +rein of self-control which had dropped, a moment, from her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"It is said that Major Willard bears you company, at times, in your +rides home from evening calls upon your precious friends." +</P> + +<P> +"And you believe the story?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't believe it," said Hartley, but in a tone that showed +doubt. +</P> + +<P> +"But have changed your mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you say it is not true—that Major Willard never entered your +carriage—I will take your word in opposition to the whole world's +adverse testimony." +</P> + +<P> +But Irene could not answer. Major Willard, as the reader knows, had +ridden with her at night, and alone. But once, and only once. A few +times since then she had encountered, but never deigned to +recognize, him. In her pure heart the man was held in utter +detestation. +</P> + +<P> +Now was the time for a full explanation; but pride was +aroused—strong, stubborn pride. She knew herself to stand triple +mailed in innocency—to be free from weakness or taint; and the +thought that a mean, base suspicion had entered the mind of her +husband aroused her indignation and put a seal upon her lips as to +all explanatory utterances. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I am to believe the worst?" said Hartley, seeing that his wife +did not answer. "The worst, and of you!" +</P> + +<P> +The tone in which this was said, as well as the words themselves, +sent a strong throb to the heart of Irene. "The worst, and of you!" +This from her husband! and involving far more in tone and manner +than in uttered language. "Then I am to believe the worst!" She +turned the sentences over in her mind. Pride, wounded self-love, a +smothered sense of indignation, blind anger, began to gather their +gloomy forces in her mind. "The worst, and of you!" How the echoes +of these words came back in constant repetition! "The worst, and of +you!" +</P> + +<P> +"How often has Major Willard ridden with you at night?" asked +Hartley, in a cold, resolute way. +</P> + +<P> +No answer. +</P> + +<P> +"And did you always come directly home?" +</P> + +<P> +Hartley Emerson was looking steadily into the face of his wife, from +which he saw the color fall away until it became of an ashen hue. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not care to answer. Well, silence is significative," said +the husband, closing his lips firmly. There was a blending of anger, +perplexity, pain, sorrow and scorn in his face, all of which Irene +read distinctly as she fixed her eyes steadily upon him. He tried to +gaze back until her eyes should sink beneath his steady look, but +the effort was lost; for not a single instant did they waver. +</P> + +<P> +He was about turning away, when she arrested the movement by saying, +</P> + +<P> +"Go on, Hartley Emerson! Speak of all that is in your mind. You have +now an opportunity that may never come again." +</P> + +<P> +There was a dead level in her voice that a little puzzled her +husband. +</P> + +<P> +"It is for you to speak," he answered. "I have put my +interrogatories." +</P> + +<P> +Unhappily, there was a shade of imperiousness in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I never answer insulting interrogatories; not even from the man who +calls himself my husband," replied Irene, haughtily. +</P> + +<P> +"It may be best for you to answer," said Hartley. There was just the +shadow of menace in his tones. +</P> + +<P> +"Best!" The lip of Irene curled slightly. "On whose account, pray?" +</P> + +<P> +"Best for each of us. Whatever affects one injuriously must affect +both." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph! So we are equals!" Irene tossed her head impatiently, and +laughed a short, mocking laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing of that, if you please!" was the husband's impatient +retort. The sudden change in his wife's manner threw him off his +guard. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing of what?" demanded Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Of that weak, silly nonsense. We have graver matters in hand for +consideration now." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah?" She threw up her eyebrows, then contracted them again with an +angry severity. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," said Mr. Emerson, his voice falling into a calm but severe +tone, "all this is but weakness and folly. I have heard things +touching your good name—" +</P> + +<P> +"And believe them," broke in Irene, with angry impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"I have said nothing as to belief or disbelief. The fact is grave +enough." +</P> + +<P> +"And you have illustrated your faith in the slander—beautifully, +becomingly, generously!" +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +"Generously, as a man who knew his wife. Ah, well!" This last +ejaculation was made almost lightly, but it involved great +bitterness of spirit. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not speak any longer after this fashion," said Hartley, with +considerable irritation of manner; "it doesn't suit my present +temper. I want something in a very different spirit. The matter is +of too serious import. So pray lay aside your trifling. I came to +you as I had a right to come, and made inquiries touching your +associations when not in my company. Your answers are not +satisfactory, but tend rather to con—" +</P> + +<P> +"Sir!" Irene interrupted him in a stern, deep voice, which came so +suddenly that the word remained unspoken. Then, raising her finger +in a warning manner, she said with menace, +</P> + +<P> +"Beware!" +</P> + +<P> +For some moments they stood looking at each other, more like two +animals at bay than husband and wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Touching my associations when not in your company?" said Irene at +length, repeating his language slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," answered the husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Touching, my associations? Well, Mr. Emerson—so far, I say well." +She was collected in manner and her voice steady. "But what touching +your associations when not in <I>my</I> company?" +</P> + +<P> +The very novelty of this interrogation caused Emerson to start and +change color. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha!" The blood leaped to the forehead of Irene, and her eyes, +dilating suddenly, almost glared upon the face of her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Well, sir?</I>" Irene drew her slender form to its utmost height. +There was an impatient, demanding tone in her voice. "Speak!" she +added, without change of manner. "What touching <I>your</I> associations +when not in <I>my</I> company? As a wife, I have some interest in this +matter. Away from home often until the brief hours, have I no right +to put the question—where and with whom? It would seem so if we are +equal. But if I am the slave and dependant—the creature of your +will and pleasure—why, that alters the case!" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you done?" +</P> + +<P> +Emerson was recovering from his surprise, but not gaining clear +sight or prudent self-possession. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not answered," said Irene, looking coldly, but with +glittering eyes, into his face. "Come! If there is to be a mutual +relation of acts and associations outside of this our home, let us +begin. Sit down, Hartley, and compose yourself. You are the man, and +claim precedence. I yield the prerogative. So let me have your +confession. After you have ended I will give as faithful a narrative +as if on my death-bed. What more can you ask? There now, lead the +way!" +</P> + +<P> +This coolness, which but thinly veiled a contemptuous air, irritated +Hartley almost beyond the bounds of decent self-control. +</P> + +<P> +"Bravely carried off! Well acted!" he retorted with a sneer. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not accept the proposal," said Irene, growing a little +sterner of aspect. "Very well. I scarcely hoped that you would meet +me on this even ground. Why should I have hoped it? Were the +antecedents encouraging? No! But I am sorry. Ah, well! Husbands are +free to go and come at their own sweet will—to associate with +anybody and everybody. But wives—oh dear!" +</P> + +<P> +She tossed her head in a wild, scornful way, as if on the verge of +being swept from her feet by some whirlwind of passion. +</P> + +<P> +"And so," said her husband, after a long silence, "you do not choose +to answer my questions as to Major Willard?" +</P> + +<P> +That was unwisely pressed. In her heart of hearts Irene loathed this +man. His name was an offence to her. Never, since the night he had +forced himself into her carriage, had she even looked into his face. +If he appeared in the room where she happened to be, she did not +permit her eyes to rest upon his detested countenance. If he drew +near to her, she did not seem to notice his presence. If he spoke to +her, as he had ventured several times to do, she paid no regard to +him whatever. So far as any response or manifestation of feeling on +her part was concerned, it was as if his voice had not reached her +ears. The very thought of this man was a foul thing in her mind. No +wonder that the repeated reference by her husband was felt as a +stinging insult. +</P> + +<P> +"If you dare to mention that name again in connection with mine," +she said, turning almost fiercely upon him, "I will—" +</P> + +<P> +She caught the words and held them back in the silence of her wildly +reeling thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"Say on!" +</P> + +<P> +Emerson was cool, but not sane. It was madness to press his excited +young wife now. Had he lost sense and discrimination? Could he not +see, in her strong, womanly indignation, the signs of innocence? +Fool! fool! to thrust sharply at her now! +</P> + +<P> +"My father!" came in a sudden gush of strong feeling from the lips +of Irene, as the thought of him whose name was thus ejaculated came +into her mind. She struck her hands together, and stood like one in +wild bewilderment. "My father!" she added, almost mournfully; "oh, +that I had never left you!" +</P> + +<P> +"It would have been better for you and better for me." No, he was +not sane, else would no such words have fallen from his lips. +</P> + +<P> +Irene, with a slight start and a slight change in the expression of +her countenance, looked up at her husband: +</P> + +<P> +"You think so?" Emerson was a little surprised at the way in which +Irene put this interrogation. He looked for a different reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I have said it," was his cold answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Well." She said no more, but looked down and sat thinking for the +space of more than a minute. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go back to Ivy Cliff." She looked up, with something strange +in the expression of her face. It was a blank, unfeeling, almost +unmeaning expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Well." It was Emerson's only response. +</P> + +<P> +"Well; and that is all?" Her tones were so chilling that they came +over the spirit of her husband like the low waves of an icy wind. +</P> + +<P> +"No, that is not all." What evil spirit was blinding his +perceptions? What evil influence pressing him on to the brink of +ruin? +</P> + +<P> +"Say on." How strangely cold and calm she remained! "Say on," she +repeated. Was there none to warn him of danger? +</P> + +<P> +"If you go a third time to your father—" He paused. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" There was not a quiver in her low, clear, icy tone. +</P> + +<P> +"You must do it with your eyes open, and in full view of the +consequences." +</P> + +<P> +"What are the consequences?" +</P> + +<P> +Beware, rash man! Put a seal on your lips! Do not let the thought so +sternly held find even a shadow of utterance! +</P> + +<P> +"Speak, Hartley Emerson. What are the consequences?" +</P> + +<P> +"You cannot return!" It was said without a quiver of feeling. +</P> + +<P> +"Well." She looked at him with an unchanged countenance, steadily, +coldly, piercingly. +</P> + +<P> +"I have said the words, Irene; and they are no idle utterances. +Twice you have left me, but you cannot do it a third time and leave +a way open between us. Go, then, if you will; but, if we part here, +it must be for ever!" +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of Irene dropped slowly. There was a slight change in the +expression of her face. Her hands moved one within the other +nervously. +</P> + +<P> +For ever! The words are rarely uttered without leaving on the mind a +shade of thought. For ever! They brought more than a simple shadow +to the mind of Irene. A sudden darkness fell upon her soul, and for +a little while she groped about like one who had lost her way. But +her husband's threat of consequences, his cold, imperious manner, +his assumed superiority, all acted as sharp spurs to pride, and she +stood up, strong again, in full mental stature, with every power of +her being in full force for action and endurance. +</P> + +<P> +"I go." There was no sign of weakness in her voice. She had raised +her eyes from the floor and turned them full upon her husband. Her +face was not so pale as it had been a little while before. Warmth +had come back to the delicate skin, flushing it with beauty. She did +not stand before him an impersonation of anger, dislike or +rebellion. There was not a repulsive attitude or expression; no +flashing of the eyes, nor even the cold, diamond glitter seen a +little while before. Slowly turning away, she left the room; but, to +her husband, she seemed still standing there, a lovely vision. There +had fallen, in that instant of time, a sunbeam which fixed the image +upon his memory in imperishable colors. What though he parted +company here with the vital form, that effigy would be, through all +time, his inseparable companion! +</P> + +<P> +"Gone!" Hartley Emerson held his breath as the word came into mental +utterance. There was a motion of regret in his heart; a wish that he +had not spoken quite so sternly—that he had kept back a part of the +hard saying. But it was too late now. He could not, after all that +had just passed between them—after she had refused to answer his +questions touching Major Willard—make any concessions. Come what +would, there was to be no retracing of steps now. +</P> + +<P> +"And it may be as well," said he, rallying himself, "that we part +here. Our experiment has proved a sad failure. We grow colder and +more repellant each day, instead of drawing closer together and +becoming more lovingly assimilated. It is not good—this life—for +either of us. We struggle in our bonds and hurt each other. Better +apart! better apart! Moreover"—his face darkened—"she has fallen +into dangerous companionship, and will not be advised or governed. I +have heard her name fall lightly from lips that cannot utter a +woman's name without leaving it soiled. She is pure now—pure as +snow. I have not a shadow of suspicion, though I pressed her close. +But this contact is bad; she is breathing an impure atmosphere; she +is assorting with some who are sensual and evil-minded, though she +will not believe the truth. Mrs. Lloyd! Gracious heavens! My wife +the intimate companion of that woman! Seen with her in Broadway! A +constant visitor at my house! This, and I knew it not!" +</P> + +<P> +Emerson grew deeply agitated as he rehearsed these things. It was +after midnight when he retired. He did not go to his wife's +apartment, but passed to a room in the story above that in which he +usually slept. +</P> + +<P> +Day was abroad when Emerson awoke the next morning, and the sun +shining from an angle that showed him to be nearly two hours above +the horizon. It was late for Mr. Emerson. Rising hurriedly, and in +some confusion of thought, he went down stairs. His mind, as the +events of the last evening began to adjust themselves, felt an +increasing sense of oppression. How was he to meet Irene? or was he +to meet her again? Had she relented? Had a night of sober reflection +wrought any change? Would she take the step he had warned her as a +fatal one? +</P> + +<P> +With such questions crowding upon him, Hartley Emerson went down +stairs. In passing their chamber-door he saw that it stood wide +open, and that Irene was not there. He descended to the parlors and +to the sitting-room, but did not find her. The bell announced +breakfast; he might find her at the table. No—she was not at her +usual place when the morning meal was served. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Mrs. Emerson?" he asked of the waiter. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not seen her," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson turned away and went up to their chambers. His footsteps +had a desolate, echoing sound to his ears, as he bent his way +thither. He looked through the front and then through the back +chamber, and even called, faintly, the name of his wife. But all was +still as death. Now a small envelope caught his eye, resting on a +casket in which Irene had kept her jewelry. He lifted it, and saw +his name inscribed thereon. The handwriting was not strange. He +broke the seal and read these few words: +</P> + +<P> +"I have gone. IRENE." +</P> + +<P> +The narrow piece of tinted paper on which this was written dropped +from his nerveless fingers, and he stood for some moments still as +if death-stricken, and rigid as stone. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said audibly, at length, stepping across the floor, "and +so the end has come!" +</P> + +<P> +He moved to the full length of the chamber and then stood +still—turned, in a little while, and walked slowly back across the +floor—stood still again, his face bent down, his lips closely shut, +his finger-ends gripped into the palms. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone!" He tried to shake himself free of the partial stupor which +had fallen upon him. "Gone!" he repeated. "And so this calamity is +upon us! She has dared the fatal leap! has spoken the irrevocable +decree! God help us both, for both have need of help; I and she, but +she most. God help her to bear the burden she has lifted to her weak +shoulders; she will find it a match for her strength. I shall go +into the world and bury myself in its cares and duties—shall find, +at least, in the long days a compensation in work—earnest, +absorbing, exciting work. But she? Poor Irene! The days and nights +will be to her equally desolate. Poor Irene! Poor Irene!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +YOUNG, BUT WISE. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>THE</I> night had passed wearily for Mr. Delancy, broken by fitful +dreams, in which the image of his daughter was always +present—dreams that he could trace to no thoughts or impressions of +the day before; and he arose unrefreshed, and with a vague sense of +trouble in his heart, lying there like a weight which no involuntary +deep inspirations would lessen or remove. No June day ever opened in +fresher beauty than did this one, just four years since the actors +in our drama came smiling before us, in the flush of youth and hope +and confidence in the far-off future. The warmth of early summer had +sent the nourishing sap to every delicate twig and softly expanding +leaf until, full foliaged, the trees around Ivy Cliff stood in +kingly attire, lifting themselves up grandly in the sunlight which +flooded their gently-waving tops in waves of golden glory. The air +was soft and of crystal clearness; and the lungs drank it in as if +the draught were ethereal nectar. +</P> + +<P> +On such a morning in June, after a night of broken and unrefreshing +sleep, Mr. Delancy walked forth, with that strange pressure on his +heart which he had been vainly endeavoring to push aside since the +singing birds awoke him, in the faint auroral dawn, with their +joyous welcome to the coming day. He drew in long draughts of the +delicious air; expanded his chest; moved briskly through the garden; +threw his arms about to hurry the sluggish flow of blood in his +veins; looked with constrained admiration on the splendid landscape +that stretched far and near in the sweep of his vision; but all to +no purpose. The hand still lay heavy upon his heart; he could not +get it removed. +</P> + +<P> +Returning to the house, feeling more uncomfortable for this +fruitless effort to rise above what he tried to call an unhealthy +depression of spirits consequent on some morbid state of the body, +Mr. Delancy was entering the library, when a fresh young face +greeted him with light and smiles. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-morning, Rose," said the old gentleman, as his face brightened +in the glow of the young girl's happy countenance. "I am glad to see +you;" and he took her hand and held it tightly. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-morning, Mr. Delancy. When did you hear from Irene?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten days ago." +</P> + +<P> +"She was well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. Sit down, Rose; there." And Mr. Delancy drew a chair before +the sofa for his young visitor, and took a seat facing her. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't had a letter from her in six months," said Rose, a sober +hue falling on her countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think she is quite thoughtful enough of her old friends." +</P> + +<P> +"And too thoughtful, it may be, of new ones," replied Mr. Delancy, +his voice a little depressed from the cheerful tone in which he had +welcomed his young visitor. +</P> + +<P> +"These new friends are not always the best friends, Mr. Delancy." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Rose. For my part, I wouldn't give one old friend, whose heart +I had proved, for a dozen untried new ones." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I, Mr. Delancy. I love Irene. I have always loved her. You know +we were children together." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear, I know all that; and I'm not pleased with her for +treating you with so much neglect, and all for a set of—" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy checked himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," said Miss Carman, whom the reader will remember as one of +Mrs. Emerson's bridemaids, "has been a little unfortunate in her New +York friends. I'm afraid of these strong-minded women, as they are +called, among whom she has fallen." +</P> + +<P> +"I detest them!" replied Mr. Delancy, with suddenly aroused +feelings. "They have done my child more harm than they will ever do +good in the world by way of atonement. She is not my daughter of +old." +</P> + +<P> +"I found her greatly changed at our last meeting," said Rose. "Full +of vague plans of reforms and social reorganizations, and impatient +of opposition, or even mild argument, against her favorite ideas." +</P> + +<P> +"She has lost her way," sighed the old man, in a low, sad voice, +"and I'm afraid it will take her a long, long time to get back again +to the old true paths, and that the road will be through deep +suffering. I dreamed about her all night, Rose, and the shadow of my +dreams is upon me still. It is foolish, I know, but I cannot get my +heart again into the sunlight." +</P> + +<P> +And Rose had been dreaming troubled dreams of her old friend, also; +and it was because of the pressure that lay upon her feelings that +she had come over to Ivy Cliff this morning to ask if Mr. Delancy +had heard from Irene. She did not, however, speak of this, for she +saw that he was in an unhappy state on account of his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Dreams are but shadows," she said, forcing a smile to her lips and +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes." The old man responded with an abstracted air. "Yes; they +are only shadows. But, my dear, was there ever a shadow without a +substance?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not in the outside world of nature. Dreams are unreal things—the +fantastic images of a brain where reason sleeps." +</P> + +<P> +"There have been dreams that came as warnings, Rose." +</P> + +<P> +"And a thousand, for every one of these, that signified nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"True. But I cannot rise out of these shadows. They lie too heavily +on my spirit. You must bear with me, Rose. Thank you for coming over +to see me; but I cannot make your visit a pleasant one, and you must +leave me when you grow weary of the old man's company." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk so, Mr. Delancy. I'm glad I came over. I meant this only +for a call; but as you are in such poor spirits I must stay a while +and cheer you up." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a good girl," said Mr. Delancy, taking the hand of Rose, +"and I am vexed that Irene should neglect you for the false friends +who are leading her mind astray. But never mind, dear; she will see +her error one of these days, and learn to prize true hearts." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she going to spend much of her time at Ivy Cliff this summer?" +asked Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"She is coming up in July to stay three or four weeks." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah? I'm pleased to hear you say so. I shall then revive old-time +memories in her heart." +</P> + +<P> +"God grant that it may be so!" Rose half started at the solemn tone +in which Mr. Delancy spoke. What could be the meaning of his +strangely troubled manner? Was anything seriously wrong with Irene? +She remembered the confusion into which her impulsive conduct had +thrown the wedding-party; and there was a vague rumor afloat that +Irene had left her husband a few months afterward and returned to +Ivy Cliff. But she had always discredited this rumor. Of her life in +New York she knew but little as to particulars. That it was not +making of her a truer, better, happier woman, nor a truer, better, +happier wife, observation had long ago told her. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a broad foundation of good principles in her character," +said Miss Carman, "and this gives occasion for hope in the future. +She will not go far astray, with her wily enticers, who have only +stimulated and given direction, for a time, to her undisciplined +impulses. You know how impatient she has always been under +control—how restively her spirit has chafed itself when a +restraining hand was laid upon her. But there are real things in +life of too serious import to be set aside for idle fancies, such as +her new friends have dignified with imposing names—real things, +that take hold upon the solid earth like anchors, and hold the +vessel firm amid wildly rushing currents." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Rose, I know all that," replied Mr. Delancy. "I have hope in +the future of Irene; but I shudder in heart to think of the rough, +thorny, desolate ways through which she may have to pass with +bleeding feet before she reaches that serene future. Ah! if I could +save my child from the pain she seems resolute on plucking down and +wearing in her heart!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your dreams have made you gloomy, Mr. Delancy," said Rose, forcing +a smile to her sweet young face. "Come now, let us be more hopeful. +Irene has a good husband. A little too much like her in some things, +but growing manlier and broader in mental grasp, if I have read him +aright. He understands Irene, and, what is more, loves her deeply. I +have watched them closely." +</P> + +<P> +"So have I." The voice of Mr. Delancy was not so hopeful as that of +his companion. +</P> + +<P> +"Still looking on the darker side." She smiled again. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Rose, my wise young friend," said Mr. Delancy, "to whom I speak +my thoughts with a freedom that surprises even myself, a father's +eyes read many signs that have no meaning for others." +</P> + +<P> +"And many read them, through fond suspicion, wrong," replied Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Well—yes—that may be." He spoke in partial abstraction, yet +doubtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I must look through your garden," said the young lady, rising; "you +know how I love flowers." +</P> + +<P> +"Not much yet to hold your admiration," replied Mr. Delancy, rising +also. "June gives us wide green carpets and magnificent draperies of +the same deep color, but her red and golden broideries are few; it +is the hand of July that throws them in with rich profusion." +</P> + +<P> +"But June flowers are sweetest and dearest—tender nurslings of the +summer, first-born of her love," said Rose, as they stepped out into +the portico. "It may be that the eye gets sated with beauty, as +nature grows lavish of her gifts; but the first white and red petals +that unfold themselves have a more delicate perfume—seem made of +purer elements and more wonderful in perfection—than their later +sisters. Is it not so?" +</P> + +<P> +"If it only appears so it is all the same as if real," replied Mr. +Delancy, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"How?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is real to you. What more could you have? Not more enjoyment of +summer's gifts of beauty and sweetness." +</P> + +<P> +"No; perhaps not." +</P> + +<P> +Rose let her eyes fall to the ground, and remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Things are real to us as we see them; not always as they are," said +Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +"And this is true of life?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, child. It is in life that we create for ourselves real things +out of what to some are airy nothings. Real things, against which we +often bruise or maim ourselves, while to others they are as +intangible as shadows." +</P> + +<P> +"I never thought of that," said Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"It is true." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I see it. Imaginary evils we thus make real things, and hurt +ourselves by contact, as, maybe, you have done this morning, Mr. +Delancy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes. And false ideas of things which are unrealities in the +abstract—for only what is true has actual substance—become real to +the perverted understanding. Ah, child, there are strange +contradictions and deep problems in life for each of us to solve." +</P> + +<P> +"But, God helping us, we may always reach the true solution," said +Rose Carman, lifting a bright, confident face to that of her +companion. +</P> + +<P> +"That was spoken well, my child," returned Mr. Delancy, with a new +life in his voice; "and without Him we can never be certain of our +way." +</P> + +<P> +"Never—never." There was a tender, trusting solemnity in the voice +of Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Young, but wise," said Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +"No! Young, but not wise. I cannot see the way plain before me for a +single week, Mr. Delancy. For a week? No, not for a day!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who does?" asked the old man. +</P> + +<P> +"Some." +</P> + +<P> +"None. There are many who walk onward with erect heads and confident +bearing. They are sure of their way, and smile if one whisper a +caution as to the ground upon which they step so fearlessly. But +they soon get astray or into pitfalls. God keeping and guiding us, +Rose, we may find our way safely through this world. But we will +soon lose ourselves if we trust in our own wisdom." +</P> + +<P> +Thus they talked—that old man and gentle-hearted girl—as they +moved about the garden-walks, every new flower, or leaf, or opening +bud they paused to admire or examine, suggesting themes for wiser +words than usually pass between one so old and one so young. At Mr. +Delancy's earnest request, Rose stayed to dinner, the waiting-man +being tent to her father's, not far distant, to take word that she +would not be at home until in the afternoon. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SHIPWRECKED LIFE. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>OFTEN</I>, during that morning, did the name of Irene come to their +lips, for the thought of her was all the while present to both. +</P> + +<P> +"You must win her heart back again, Rose," said Mr. Delancy. "I will +lure her to Ivy Cliff often this summer, and keep her here as long +as possible each time. You will then be much together." They had +risen from the dinner-table and were entering the library. +</P> + +<P> +"Things rarely come out as we plan them," answered Rose. "But I love +Irene truly, and will make my own place in her heart again, if she +will give me the key of entrance." +</P> + +<P> +"You must find the key, Rose." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Carman smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I said if she would give it to me." +</P> + +<P> +"She does not carry the key that opens the door for you," replied +Mr. Delancy. "If you do not know where it lies, search for it in the +secret places of your own mind, and it will be found, God helping +you, Rose." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy looked at her significantly. +</P> + +<P> +"God helping me," she answered, with a reverent sinking of her +voice, "I will find the key." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that?" said Mr. Delancy, in a tone of surprise, turning his +face to the window. +</P> + +<P> +Rose followed his eyes, but no one was visible. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw, or thought I saw, a lady cross the portico this moment." +</P> + +<P> +Both stood still, listening and expectant. +</P> + +<P> +"It might have been fancy," said Mr. Delancy, drawing a deep breath. +</P> + +<P> +Rose stepped to one of the library windows, and throwing it up, +looked out upon the portico. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no one," she remarked, coming back into the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Could I have been so mistaken?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy looked bewildered. +</P> + +<P> +Seeing that the impression was so strong on his mind, Miss Carman +went out into the hall, and glanced from there into the parlor and +dining-room. +</P> + +<P> +"No one came in, Mr. Delancy," she said, on returning to the +library. +</P> + +<P> +"A mere impression," remarked the old man, soberly. "Well, these +impressions are often very singular. My face was partly turned to +the window, so that I saw out, but not so distinctly as if both eyes +had been in the range of vision. The form of a woman came to my +sight as distinctly as if the presence had been real—the form of a +woman going swiftly past the window." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you recognize the form?" +</P> + +<P> +It was some time before Mr. Delancy replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." He looked anxious. +</P> + +<P> +"You thought of Irene?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did." +</P> + +<P> +"We have talked and thought of Irene so much to-day," said Rose, +"that your thought of her has made you present to her mind with more +than usual distinctness. Her thought of you has been more intent in +consequence, and this has drawn her nearer. You saw her by an +inward, not by an outward, vision. She is now present with you in +spirit, though her body be many miles distant. These things often +happen. They startle us by their strangeness, but are as much +dependent on laws of the mind as bodily nearness is dependent on the +laws of matter." +</P> + +<P> +"You think so?" Mr. Delancy looked at his young companion curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think so." +</P> + +<P> +The old man shook his head. "Ingenious, but not satisfactory." +</P> + +<P> +"You will admit," said Rose, "that as to our minds we may be present +in any part of the world, and in an instant of time, though our +bodies move not." +</P> + +<P> +"Our thought may be," replied Mr. Delancy. "Or, in better words, the +eyes of our minds may be; for it is the eyes that see objects," said +Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Well; say the eyes of our minds, then." +</P> + +<P> +"We cannot see objects in London, for instance, with our bodily eyes +unless our bodies be in London?" resumed Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor with our mental eyes, unless our spirits be there." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy looked down thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be true, then, that our thought of any one brings us +present to that individual, and that such presence is often +recognized." +</P> + +<P> +"That is pushing the argument too far." +</P> + +<P> +"I think not. Has it not often happened that suddenly the thought of +an absent one came into your mind, and that you saw him or her for a +moment or two almost as distinctly as if in bodily presence before +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That has many times been the case." +</P> + +<P> +"And you had not been thinking of that person, nor had there been +any incident as a reminder?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe not." +</P> + +<P> +"My explanation is, that this person from some cause had been led to +think of you intently, and so came to you in spirit. There was +actual presence, and you saw each other with the eyes of your +minds." +</P> + +<P> +"But, my wise reasoner," said Mr. Delancy, "it was the bodily +form—with face, eyes, hands, feet and material garments—that was +seen, not the spirit. If our spirits have eyes that see, why they +can only see spiritual things." +</P> + +<P> +"Has not a spirit a face, and hands, and feet?" asked Rose, with a +confidence that caused the old man to look at her almost +wonderingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a face, and hands, and feet like these of mine," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, like them," she replied, "but of spiritual substance." +</P> + +<P> +"Spiritual substance! That is a novel term. This is substance." And +Mr. Delancy grasped the arm of a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"No, that is material and unsubstantial," she calmly replied; "it is +subject to change and decay. A hundred years from now and there may +be no visible sign that it had ever been. But the soul is +imperishable and immortal; the only thing about man that is really +substantial. And now," she added, "for the faces of our spirits. +What gives to our natural faces their form, beauty and expression? +Is it not the soul-face within? Remove that by death, and all life, +thought and feeling are gone from the stolid effigy. And so you see, +Mr. Delancy, that our minds must be formed of spiritual substance, +and that our bodies are but the outward material clothing which the +soul puts on for action and use in this world of nature." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you are a young philosopher!" exclaimed Mr. Delancy, looking +in wonder at his fair companion. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered, with simplicity, "I talk with my father about +these things, and it all seems very plain to me. I cannot see how +any one can question what appears to me so plain. That the mind is +substantial we see from this fact alone—it retains impressions +longer than the body." +</P> + +<P> +"You think so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Take an instance," said Rose. "A boy is punished unjustly by a +passionate teacher, who uses taunting words as well as smarting +blows. Now the pain of these blows is gone in less than an hour, but +the word-strokes received on his spirit hurt him, maybe, to the end +of his mortal life. Is it not so? And if so, why? There must be +substance to hold impressions so long." +</P> + +<P> +"You silence, if you do not fully convince," replied Mr. Delancy. "I +must dream over what you have said. And so your explanation is, that +my thought of Irene has turned her thought to me, and thus we became +really present?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And that I saw her just now by an inner, and not by an outer, +sight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"But why was the appearance an outward manifestation, so to speak?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sight is in the mind, even natural sight. The eye does not go out +to a tree, but the image of the tree comes to the eye, and thence is +presented, in a wonderful and mysterious way, to the mind, which +takes note of its form. The appearance is, that the soul looks out +at the tree; but the fact is, the image of the tree comes to the +brain, and is there seen. Now the brain may be impressed, and +respond by natural vision, from an internal as well as from an +external communication. We see this in cases of visual aberrations, +the instances of which given in books, and clearly authenticated, +are innumerable. Things are distinctly seen in a room which have no +existence in nature; and the illusion is so perfect that it seems +impossible for eyes to be mistaken." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well, child," said Mr. Delancy, "this is curious, and a +little bewildering. Perhaps it is all just as you say about Irene; +but I feel very heavy here;" and he laid his hand on his breast and +sighed deeply. +</P> + +<P> +At this moment the library door was pushed gently open, and the form +of a woman stood in the presence of Mr. Delancy and Rose. She was +dressed in a dark silk, but had on neither bonnet nor shawl. Both +started; Mr. Delancy raised his hands and bent forward, gazing at +her eagerly, his lips apart. The face of the woman was pale and +haggard, yet familiar as the face of an old friend; but in it was +something so strange and unnatural that for a moment or two it was +not recognized. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" It was Irene. She advanced quietly and held but her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter!" He caught the extended hand and kissed her, but she +showed no emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Rose, dear, I am glad to see you." There was truth in the dead +level tone with which "I am glad to see you" was spoken, and Rose, +who perceived this, took her hand and kissed her. Both hands and +lips were cold. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter, Irene? Have you been sick?" asked Mr. Delancy, +in a choking voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No, father, I'm very well." You would never have recognized that +voice as the voice of Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"No, child, you are not well. What ails you? Why are you here in so +strange a way and looking so strangely?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do I look strangely?" There was a feeble effort to awaken a smile, +which only gave her face a ghastly expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Hartley with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." Her voice was fuller and more emphatic as she uttered this +word. She tried to look steadily at her father, but her eyes moved +aside from the range of his vision. +</P> + +<P> +For a little while there was a troubled silence with all. Rose had +placed an arm around the waist of Irene and drawn her to the sofa, +on which they were now sitting; Mr. Delancy stood before them. +Gradually the cold, almost blank, expression of Irene's face changed +and the old look came back. +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter," said Mr. Delancy. +</P> + +<P> +"Father"—Irene interrupted him—"I know what you are going to say. +My sudden, unannounced appearance, at this time, needs explanation. +I am glad dear Rose is here—my old, true friend"—and she leaned +against Miss Carman—"I can trust her." +</P> + +<P> +The arm of Rose tightened around the waist of Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Father"—the voice of Irene fell to a deep, solemn tone; there was +no emphasis on one word more than on another; all was a dead level; +yet the meaning was as full and the involved purpose as fixed as if +her voice had run through the whole range of passionate +intonation—"Father, I have come back to Ivy Cliff and to you, after +having suffered shipwreck on the voyage of life. I went out rich, as +I supposed, in heart-treasures; I come back poor. My gold was dross, +and the sea has swallowed up even that miserable substitute for +wealth. Hartley and I never truly loved each other, and the +experiment of living together as husband and wife has proved a +failure. We have not been happy; no, not from the beginning. We have +not even been tolerant or forbearing toward each other. A steady +alienation has been in progress day by day, week by week, and month +by month, until no remedy is left but separation. That has been, at +length, applied, and here I am! It is the third time that I have +left him, and to both of us the act is final. He will not seek me, +and I shall not return." +</P> + +<P> +There had come a slight flush to the countenance of Irene before she +commenced speaking, but this retired again, and she looked deathly +pale. No one answered her—only the arm of Rose tightened like a +cord around the waist of her unhappy friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," and now her voice fluttered a little, "for your sake I am +most afflicted. I am strong enough to bear my fate—but you!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a little sob—a strong suppression of feeling—and +silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Irene! my child! my child!" The old man covered his face with +his hands, sobbed, and shook like a fluttering leaf. "I cannot bear +this! It is too much for me!" and he staggered backward. Irene +sprung forward and caught him in her arms. He would have fallen, but +for this, to the floor. She stood clasping and kissing him wildly, +until Rose came forward and led them both to the sofa. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy did not rally from this shock. He leaned heavily against +his daughter, and she felt a low tremor in his frame. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" She spoke tenderly, with her lips to his ear. "Dear +father!" +</P> + +<P> +But he did not reply. +</P> + +<P> +"It is my life-discipline, father," she said; "I will be happier and +better, no doubt, in the end for this severe trial. Dear father, do +not let what is inevitable so break down your heart. You are my +strong, brave, good father, and I shall need now more than ever, +your sustaining arm. There was no help for this. It had to come, +sooner or later. It is over now. The first bitterness is past. Let +us be thankful for that, and gather up our strength for the future. +Dear father! Speak to me!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy tried to rally himself, but he was too much broken down +by the shock. He said a few words, in which there was scarcely any +connection of ideas, and then, getting up from the sofa, walked +about the room, turning one of his hands within the other in a +distressed way. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh dear, dear, dear!" he murmured to himself, in a feeble manner. +"I have dreaded this, and prayed that it might not be. Such +wretchedness and disgrace! Such wretchedness and disgrace! Had they +no patience with each other—no forbearance—no love, that it must +come to this? Dear! dear! dear! Poor child!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene, with her white, wretched face, sat looking at him for some +time, as he moved about, a picture of helpless misery; then, going +to him again, she drew an arm around his neck and tried to comfort +him. But there was no comfort in her words. What could <I>she</I> say to +reach with a healing power the wound from which his very life-blood +was pouring. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk! don't talk!" he said, pushing Irene away, with slight +impatience of manner. "I am heart-broken. Words are nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Delancy," said Rose, now coming to his side, and laying a hand +upon his arm, "you must not speak so to Irene. This is not like +you." +</P> + +<P> +There was a calmness of utterance and a firmness of manner which had +their right effect. +</P> + +<P> +"How have I spoken, Rose, dear? What have I said?" Mr. Delancy +stopped and looked at Miss Carman in a rebuked, confused way, laying +his hand upon his forehead at the same time. +</P> + +<P> +"Not from yourself," answered Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Not from myself!" He repeated her words, as if his thoughts were +still in a maze. "Ah, child, this is dreadful!" he added. "I am not +myself! Poor Irene! Poor daughter! Poor father!" +</P> + +<P> +And the old man lost himself again. +</P> + +<P> +A look of fear now shadowed darkly the face of Irene, and she +glanced anxiously from her father's countenance to that of Rose. She +did not read in the face of her young friend much that gave +assurance or comfort. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Delancy," said Rose, with great earnestness of manner, "Irene +is in sore trouble. She has come to a great crisis in her life. You +are older and wiser than she is, and must counsel and sustain her. +Be calm, dear sir—calm, clear-seeing, wise and considerate, as you +have always been." +</P> + +<P> +"Calm—clear-seeing—wise." Mr. Delancy repeated the words, as if +endeavoring to grasp the rein of thought and get possession of +himself again. +</P> + +<P> +"Wise to counsel and strong to sustain," said Rose. "You must not +fail us now." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, my sweet young monitor," replied Mr. Delancy, partially +recovering himself; "it was the weakness of a moment. Irene," and he +looked toward his daughter, "leave me with my own thoughts for a +little while. Take her, Rose, to her own room, and God give you +power to speak words of consolation; I have none." +</P> + +<P> +Rose drew her arm within that of Irene, and said, "Come." But Irene +lingered, looking tenderly and anxiously at her father. +</P> + +<P> +"Go, my love." Mr. Delancy waved his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Father! dear father!" She moved a step toward him, while Rose held +her back. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot help myself, father. The die is cast. Oh bear up with me! +I will be to you a better daughter than I have ever been. My life +shall be devoted to your happiness. In that I will find a +compensation. All is not lost—all is not ruined. My heart is as +pure as when I left you three years ago. I come back bleeding from +my life-battle it is true, but not in mortal peril—wounded, but not +unto death—cast down, but not destroyed." +</P> + +<P> +All the muscles of Mr. Delancy's face quivered with suppressed +feeling as he stood looking at his daughter, who, as she uttered the +words, "cast down, but not destroyed," flung herself in wild +abandonment on his breast. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE PALSIED HEART. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>THE</I> shock to Mr. Delancy was a fearful one, coming as it did on a +troubled, foreboding state of mind; and reason lost for a little +while her firm grasp on the rein of government. If the old man could +have seen a ray of hope in the case it would have been different. +But from the manner and language of his daughter it was plain that +the dreaded evil had found them; and the certainty of this falling +suddenly, struck him as with a heavy blow. +</P> + +<P> +For several days he was like one who had been stunned. All that +afternoon on which his daughter returned to Ivy Cliff he moved about +in a bewildered way, and by his questions and remarks showed an +incoherence of thought that filled the heart of Irene with alarm. +</P> + +<P> +On the next morning, when she met him at the breakfast-table, he +smiled on her in his old affectionate way. As she kissed him, she +said, +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you slept well last night, father?" +</P> + +<P> +A slight change was visible in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I slept soundly enough," he replied, "but my dreams were not +agreeable." +</P> + +<P> +Then he looked at her with a slight closing of the brows and a +questioning look in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +They sat down, Irene taking her old place at the table. As she +poured out her father's coffee, he said, smiling, +</P> + +<P> +"It is pleasant to have you sitting there, daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene was troubled by this old manner of her father. Could he have +forgotten why she was there? +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is pleasant," he replied, and then his eye dropped in a +thoughtful way. +</P> + +<P> +"I think, sometimes, that your attractive New York friends have made +you neglectful of your lonely old father. You don't come to see him +as often as you did a year ago." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy said this with simple earnestness. +</P> + +<P> +"They shall not keep me from you any more, dear father," replied +Irene, meeting his humor, yet heart-appalled at the same time with +this evidence that his mind was wandering from the truth. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think them safe friends," added Mr. Delancy, with +seriousness. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps not," replied Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! I'm glad to hear you say so. Now, you have one true, safe +friend. I wish you loved her better than you do." +</P> + +<P> +"What is her name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Rose Carman," said Mr. Delancy, with a slight hesitation of manner, +as if he feared repulsion on the part of his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"I love Rose, dearly; she is the best of girls; and I know her to be +a true friend," replied Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Spoken like my own daughter!" said the old man with a brightening +countenance. "You must not neglect her any more. Why, she told me +you hadn't written to her in six months. Now, that isn't right. +Never go past old, true friends for the sake of new, and maybe false +ones. No—no. Rose is hurt; you must write to her often—every +week." +</P> + +<P> +Irene could not answer. Her heart was beating wildly. What could +this mean? Had reason fled? But she struggled hard to preserve a +calm exterior. +</P> + +<P> +"Will Hartley be up to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene tried to say "No," but could not find utterance. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy looked at her curiously, and now in a slightly troubled +way. Then he let his eyes fall, and sat holding his cup like one who +was turning perplexed thoughts in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not well this morning, father," said Irene, speaking only +because silence was too oppressive for endurance. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know; perhaps I'm not very well;" and Mr. Delancy looked +across the table at his daughter very earnestly. "I had bad dreams +all last night, and they seem to have got mixed up in my thoughts +with real things. How is it? When did you come up from New York? +Don't smile at me. But really I can't think." +</P> + +<P> +"I came yesterday," said Irene, as calmly as she could speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Yesterday!" He looked at her with a quickly changing face. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, father, I came up yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"And Rose was here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy's eyes fell again, and he sat very still. +</P> + +<P> +"Hartley will not be here to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy did not look up as he asked this question. +</P> + +<P> +"No, father." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think not." +</P> + +<P> +A sigh quivered on the old man's lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor the day after that?" +</P> + +<P> +"He did not say when he was coming," replied Irene, evasively. +</P> + +<P> +"Did not say when? Did not say when?" Mr. Delancy repeated the +sentence two or three times, evidently trying all the while to +recall something which had faded from his memory. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't worry yourself about Hartley," said Irene, forcing herself to +pronounce a name that seemed like fire on her lips. "Isn't it enough +that I am here?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not enough." And her father put his hand to his forehead +and looked upward in an earnest, searching manner. +</P> + +<P> +What could Irene say? What could she do? The mind of her father was +groping about in the dark, and she was every moment in dread lest he +should discover the truth and get farther astray from the shock. +</P> + +<P> +No food was taken by either Mr. Delancy or his daughter. The former +grew more entangled in his thoughts, and finally arose from the +table, saying, in a half-apologetic way, +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what ails me this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" asked Irene, rising at the same time. +</P> + +<P> +"Nowhere in particular. The air is close here—I'll sit a while in +the portico," he answered, and throwing open one of the windows he +stepped outside. Irene followed him. +</P> + +<P> +"How beautiful!" said Mr. Delancy, as he sat down and turned his +eyes upon the attractive landscape. Irene did not trust her voice in +reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Now go in and finish your breakfast, child. I feel better; I don't +know what came over me." He added the last sentence in an undertone. +</P> + +<P> +Irene returned into the house, but not to resume her place at the +table. Her mind was in an agony of dread. She had reached the +dining-room, and was about to ring for a servant, when she heard her +name called by her father. Running back quickly to the portico, she +found him standing in the attitude of one who had been suddenly +startled; his face all alive with question and suspense. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes! yes! I thought you were here this moment! And so it's all +true?" he said, in a quick, troubled way. +</P> + +<P> +"True? What is true, father?" asked Irene, as she paused before him. +</P> + +<P> +"True, what you told me yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"You have left your husband?" He looked soberly into her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I have, father." She thought it best to use no evasion. +</P> + +<P> +He groaned, sat down in the chair from which he had arisen, and let +his head fall upon his bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" Irene kneeled before him and clasped his hands. "Father! +dear father!" +</P> + +<P> +He laid a hand on her head, and smoothed her hair in a caressing +manner. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor child! poor daughter!" he said, in a fond, pitying voice, +"don't take it so to heart. Your old father loves you still." +</P> + +<P> +She could not stay the wild rush of feeling that was overmastering +her. Passionate sobs heaved her breast, and tears came raining from +her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, don't, Irene! Don't take on so, daughter! I love you still, +and we will be happy here, as in other days." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, father," said Irene, holding down her head and calming her +voice, "we will be happy here, as in the dear old time. Oh we will +be very happy together. I won't leave you any more." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you had never left me," he answered, mournfully; "I was +always afraid of this—always afraid. But don't let it break your +heart; I'm all the same; nothing will ever turn me against you. I +hope he hasn't been very unkind to you?" His voice grew a little +severe. +</P> + +<P> +"We wont say anything against him," replied Irene, trying to +understand exactly her father's state of mind and accommodate +herself thereto. "Forgive and forget is the wisest rule always." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear, that's it. Forgive and forget—forgive and forget. +There's nothing like it in this world. I'm glad to hear you talk +so." +</P> + +<P> +The mind of Mr. Delancy did not again wander from the truth. But the +shock received when it first came upon him with stunning force had +taken away his keen perception of the calamity. He was sad, troubled +and restless, and talked a great deal about the unhappy position of +his daughter—sometimes in a way that indicated much incoherence of +thought. To this state succeeded one of almost total silence, and he +would sit for hours, if not aroused from reverie and inaction by his +daughter, in apparent dreamy listlessness. His conversation, when he +did talk on any subject, showed, however, that his mind had regained +its old clearness. +</P> + +<P> +On the third day after Irene's arrival at Ivy Cliff, her trunks came +up from New York. She had packed them on the night before leaving +her husband's house, and marked them with her name and that of her +father's residence. No letter or message accompanied them. She did +not expect nor desire any communication, and was not therefore +disappointed, but rather relieved from what would have only proved a +cause of disturbance. All angry feelings toward her husband had +subsided; but no tender impulses moved in her heart, nor did the +feeblest thought of reconciliation breathe over the surface of her +mind. She had been in bonds; now the fetters were cast off, and she +loved freedom too well to bend her neck again to the yoke. +</P> + +<P> +No tender impulses moved, we have said, in her heart, for it lay +like a palsied thing, dead in her bosom—dead, we mean, so far as +the wife was concerned. It was not so palsied on that fatal evening +when the last strife with her husband closed. But in the agony that +followed there came, in mercy, a cold paralysis; and now toward +Hartley Emerson her feelings were as calm as the surface of a frozen +lake. +</P> + +<P> +And how was it with the deserted husband? Stern and unyielding also. +The past year had been marked by so little of mutual tenderness, +there had been so few passages of love between them—green spots in +the desert of their lives—that memory brought hardly a relic from +the past over which the heart could brood. For the sake of worldly +appearances, Emerson most regretted the unhappy event. Next, his +trouble was for Irene and her father, but most for Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Willful, wayward one!" he said many, many times. "You, of all, will +suffer most. No woman can take a step like this without drinking of +pain to the bitterest dregs. If you can hide the anguish, well. But +I fear the trial will be too hard for you—the burden too heavy. +Poor, mistaken one!" +</P> + +<P> +For a month the household arrangements of Mr. Emerson continued as +when Irene left him. He did not intermit for a day or an hour his +business duties, and came home regularly at his usual times—always, +it must be said, with a feeble expectation of meeting his wife in +her old places; we do not say desire, but simply expectation. If she +had returned, well. He would not have repulsed, nor would he have +received her with strong indications of pleasure. But a month went +by, and she did not return nor send him any word. Beyond the brief +"I have gone," there had come from her no sign. +</P> + +<P> +Two months elapsed, and then Mr. Emerson dismissed the servants and +shut up the house, but he neither removed nor sold the furniture; +that remained as it was for nearly a year, when he ordered a sale by +auction and closed the establishment. +</P> + +<P> +Hartley Emerson, under the influence of business and domestic +trouble, matured rapidly, and became grave, silent and reflective +beyond men of his years. Companionable he was by nature, and during +the last year that Irene was with him, failing to receive social +sympathy at home, he had joined a club of young men, whose +association was based on a declared ambition for literary +excellence. From this club he withdrew himself; it did not meet the +wants of his higher nature, but offered much that stimulated the +grosser appetites and passions. Now he gave himself up to earnest +self-improvement, and found in the higher and wider range of thought +which came as the result a partial compensation for what he had +lost. But he was not happy; far, very far from it. And there were +seasons when the past came back upon him in such a flood that all +the barriers of indifference which he had raised for self-protection +were swept away, and he had to build them up again in sadness of +spirit. So the time wore on with him, and troubled life-experiences +were doing their work upon his character. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE IRREVOCABLE DECREE. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>IT</I> is two years since the day of separation between Irene and her +husband. Just two years. And she is sitting in the portico at Ivy +Cliff with her father, looking down upon the river that lies +gleaming in sunshine—not thinking of the river, however, nor of +anything in nature. +</P> + +<P> +They are silent and still—very still, as if sleep had locked their +senses. He is thin and wasted as from long sickness, and she looks +older by ten years. There is no fine bloom on her cheeks, from which +the fullness of youth has departed. +</P> + +<P> +It is a warm June day, the softest, balmiest, brightest day the year +has given. The air comes laden with delicate odors and thrilling +with bird melodies, and, turn the eye as it will, there is a feast +of beauty. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, the odors are not perceived, nor the music heard, nor the +beauty seen by that musing old man and his silent daughter. Their +thoughts are not in the present, but far back in the unhappy past, +the memories of which, awakened by the scene and season, have come +flowing in a strong tide upon them. +</P> + +<P> +Two years! They have left the prints of their heavy feet upon the +life of Irene, and the deep marks will never be wholly obliterated. +She were less than human if this were not so. Two years! Yet, not +once in that long, heart-aching time had she for a single moment +looked backward in weakness. Sternly holding to her act as right, +she strengthened herself in suffering, and bore her pain as if it +were a decree of fate. There was no anger in her heart, nor anything +of hardness toward her husband. But there was no love, nor tender +yearning for conjunction—at least, nothing recognized as such in +her own consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +Not since the days Irene left the house of her husband had she heard +from him directly; and only two or three times indirectly. She had +never visited the city since her flight therefrom, and all her +pleasant and strongly influencing associations there were, in +consequence, at an end. Once her very dear friend Mrs. Talbot came +up to sympathize with and strengthen her in the fiery trial through +which she was passing. She found Irene's truer friend, Rosa Carman, +with her; and Rose did not leave them alone for a moment at a time. +All sentiments that she regarded as hurtful to Irene in her present +state of mind she met with her calm, conclusive mode of reasoning, +that took away the specious force of the sophist's dogmas. But her +influence was chiefly used in the repression of unprofitable themes, +and the introduction of such as tended to tranquilize the feelings, +and turn the thoughts of her friend away from the trouble that was +lying upon her soul like a suffocating nightmare. Mrs. Talbot was +not pleased with her visit, and did not come again. But she wrote +several times. The tone of her letters was not, however, pleasant to +Irene, who was disturbed by it, and more bewildered than enlightened +by the sentiments that were announced with oracular vagueness. These +letters were read to Miss Carman, on whom Irene was beginning to +lean with increasing confidence. Rose did not fail to expose their +weakness or fallacy in such clear light that Irene, though she tried +to shut her eyes against the truth presented by Rose, could not help +seeing it. Her replies were not, under these circumstances, very +satisfactory, for she was unable to speak in a free, assenting, +confiding spirit. The consequence was natural. Mrs. Talbot ceased to +write, and Irene did not regret the broken correspondence. Once Mrs. +Lloyd wrote. When Irene broke the seal and let her eyes rest upon +the signature, a shudder of repulsion ran through her frame, and the +letter dropped from her hands to the floor. As if possessed by a +spirit whose influence over her she could not control, she caught up +the unread sheet and threw it into the fire. As the flames seized +upon and consumed it, she drew a long breath and murmured, +</P> + +<P> +"So perish the memory of our acquaintance!" +</P> + +<P> +Almost a dead letter of suffering had been those two years. There +are no events to record, and but little progress to state. Yes, +there had been a dead level of suffering—a palsied condition of +heart and mind; a period of almost sluggish endurance, in which +pride and an indomitable will gave strength to bear. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy and his daughter were sitting, as we have seen, on that +sweet June day, in silent abstraction of thought, when the +serving-man, who had been to the village, stepped into the portico +and handed Irene a letter. The sight of it caused her heart to leap +and the blood to crimson suddenly her face. It was not an ordinary +letter—one in such a shape had never come to her hand before. +</P> + +<P> +"What is that?" asked her father, coming back as it were to life. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," she answered, with an effort to appear indifferent. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Delancy looked at his daughter with a perplexed manner, and then +let his eyes fall upon the legal envelope in her hand, on which a +large red seal was impressed. +</P> + +<P> +Rising in a quiet way, Irene left the portico with slow steps; but +no sooner was she beyond her father's observation than she moved +toward her chamber with winged feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless me, Miss Irene!" exclaimed Margaret, who met her on the +stairs, "what has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +But Irene swept by her without a response, and, entering her room, +shut the door and locked it. Margaret stood a moment irresolute, and +then, going back to her young lady's chamber, knocked for admission. +There was no answer to her summons, and she knocked again. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it?" +</P> + +<P> +She hardly knew the voice. +</P> + +<P> +"It is Margaret. Can't I come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not now," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter, Miss Irene?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, Margaret. I wish to be alone now." +</P> + +<P> +"Something has happened, though, or you'd never look just like +that," said Margaret to herself, as she went slowly down stairs. "Oh +dear, dear! Poor child! there's nothing but trouble for her in this +world." +</P> + +<P> +It was some minutes before Irene found courage to break the imposing +seal and look at the communication within. She guessed at the +contents, and was not wrong. They informed her, in legal phrase, +that her husband had filed an application for a divorce on the +ground of desertion, and gave notice that any resistance to this +application must be on file on or before a certain date. +</P> + +<P> +The only visible sign of feeling that responded to this announcement +was a deadly paleness and a slight, nervous crushing of the paper in +her hands. Moveless as a thing inanimate, she sat with fixed, dreamy +eyes for a long, long time. +</P> + +<P> +A divorce! She had looked for this daily for more than a year, and +often wondered at her husband's tardiness. Had she desired it? Ah, +that is the probing question. Had she desired an act of law to push +them fully asunder—to make the separation plenary in all respects? +No. She did not really wish for the irrevocable sundering decree. +</P> + +<P> +Since her return to her father's house, the whole life of Irene had +been marked by great circumspection. The trial through which she had +passed was enough to sober her mind and turn her thoughts in some +new directions; and this result had followed. Pride, self-will and +impatience of control found no longer any spur to reactive life, and +so her interest in woman's rights, social reforms and all their +concomitants died away, for lack of a personal bearing. At first +there had been warm arguments with Miss Carman on these subjects, +but these grew gradually less earnest, and were finally avoided by +both, as not only unprofitable, but distasteful. Gradually this wise +and true friend had quickened in the mind of Irene an interest in +things out of herself. There are in every neighborhood objects to +awaken our sympathies, if we will only look at and think of them. +"The poor ye have always with you." Not the physically poor only, +but, in larger numbers, the mentally and spiritually poor. The hands +of no one need lie idle a moment for lack of work, for it is no +vague form of speech to say that the harvest is great and the +laborers few. +</P> + +<P> +There were ripe harvest-fields around Ivy Cliff, though Irene had +not observed the golden grain bending its head for the sickle until +Rose led her feet in the right direction. Not many of the naturally +poor were around them, yet some required even bodily +ministrations—children, the sick and the aged. The destitution that +most prevailed was of the mind; and this is the saddest form of +poverty. Mental hunger! how it exhausts the soul and debases its +heaven-born faculties, sinking it into a gross corporeal sphere, +that is only a little removed from the animal! To feed the hungry +and clothe the naked mean a great deal more than the bestowal of +food and raiment; yes, a great deal more; and we have done but a +small part of Christian duty—have obeyed only in the letter—when +we supply merely the bread that perishes. +</P> + +<P> +Rose Carman had been wisely instructed, and she was an apt scholar. +Now, from a learner she became a teacher, and in the suffering Irene +found one ready to accept the higher truths that governed her life, +and to act with her in giving them a real ultimatum. So, in the two +years which had woven their web of new experiences for the heart of +Irene, she had been drawn almost imperceptibly by Rose into fields +of labor where the work that left her hands was, she saw, good work, +and must endure for ever. What peace it often brought to her +striving spirit, when, but for the sustaining and protecting power +of good deeds, she would have been swept out upon the waves of +turbulent passion—tossed and beaten there until her exhausted heart +sunk down amid the waters, and lay dead for a while at the bottom of +her great sea of trouble! +</P> + +<P> +It was better—oh, how much better!—when she laid her head at night +on her lonely pillow, to have in memory the face of a poor sick +woman, which had changed from suffering to peace as she talked to +her of higher things than the body's needs, and bore her mind up +into a region of tranquil thought, than to be left with no image to +dwell upon but an image of her own shattered hopes. Yes, this was +far better; and by the power of such memories the unhappy one had +many peaceful seasons and nights of sweet repose. +</P> + +<P> +All around Ivy Cliff, Irene and Rose were known as ministrant +spirits to the poor and humble. The father of Rose was a man of +wealth, and she had his entire sympathy and encouragement. Irene had +no regular duties at home, Margaret being housekeeper and directress +in all departments. So there was nothing to hinder the free course +of her will as to the employment of time. With all her pride of +independence, the ease with which Mrs. Talbot drew Irene in one +direction, and now Miss Carman in another, showed how easily she +might be influenced when off her guard. This is true in most cases +of your very self-willed people, and the reason why so many of them +get astray. Only conceal the hand that leads them, and you may often +take them where you will. Ah, if Hartley Emerson had been wise +enough, prudent enough and loving enough to have influenced aright +the fine young spirit he was seeking to make one with his own, how +different would the result have been! +</P> + +<P> +In the region round about, our two young friends came in time to be +known as the "Sisters of Charity." It was not said of them +mockingly, nor in gay depreciation, nor in mean ill-nature, but in +expression of a common sentiment, that recognized their high, +self-imposed mission. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it had been with Irene since her return to the old home at Ivy +Cliff. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +STRUCK DOWN. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>YES</I>, Irene had looked for this—looked for it daily for now more +than a year. Still it came upon her with a shock that sent a +strange, wild shudder through all her being. A divorce! She was less +prepared for it than she had ever been. +</P> + +<P> +What was beyond? Ah! that touched a chord which gave a thrill of +pain. What was beyond? A new alliance, of course. Legal disabilities +removed, Hartley Emerson would take upon himself new marriage vows. +Could she say, "Yea, and amen" to this? No, alas! no. There was a +feeling of intense, irrepressible anguish away down in heart-regions +that lay far beyond the lead-line of prior consciousness. What did +it mean? She asked herself the question with a fainting spirit. Had +she not known herself? Were old states of tenderness, which she had +believed crushed out and dead along ago, hidden away in secret +places of her heart, and kept there safe from harm? +</P> + +<P> +No wonder she sat pale and still, crumpling nervously that fatal +document which had startled her with a new revelation of herself. +There was love in her heart still, and she knew it not. For a long +time she sat like one in a dream. +</P> + +<P> +"God help me!" she said at length, looking around her in a wild, +bewildered manner. "What does all this mean?" +</P> + +<P> +There came at this moment a gentle tap at her door. She knew whose +soft hand had given the sound. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," exclaimed Rose Carman, as she took the hand of her friend +and looked into her changed countenance, "what ails you?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene turned her face partly away to get control of its expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, Rose," she said, as soon as she could trust herself to +speak. +</P> + +<P> +They sat down together, Rose troubled and wondering. Irene then +handed her friend the notice which she had received. Miss Carman +read it, but made no remark for some time. +</P> + +<P> +"It has disturbed you," she said at length, seeing that Irene +continued silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, more than I could have believed," answered Irene. Her voice +had lost its familiar tones. +</P> + +<P> +"You have expected this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were prepared for it." +</P> + +<P> +"And I am," replied Irene, speaking with more firmness of manner. +"Expectation grows so nervous, sometimes, that when the event comes +it falls upon us with a painful shock. This is my case now. I would +have felt it less severely if it had occurred six months ago." +</P> + +<P> +"What will you do?" asked Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What can I do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Resist the application, if you will." +</P> + +<P> +"But I will not," answered Irene, firmly. "He signifies his wishes +in the case, and those wishes must determine everything. I will +remain passive." +</P> + +<P> +"And let the divorce issue by default of answer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +There was a faintness of tone which Rose could not help remarking. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Irene added, "he desires this complete separation, and I can +have nothing to say in opposition. I left him, and have remained +ever since a stranger to his home and heart. We are nothing to each +other, and yet are bound together by the strongest of bonds. Why +should he not wish to be released from these bonds? And if he +desires it, I have nothing to say. We are divorced in fact—why then +retain the form?" +</P> + +<P> +"There may be a question of the fact," said Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I understand you. We have discussed that point fully. Your +view may be right, but I do not see it clearly. I will at least +retain passive. The responsibility shall rest with him." +</P> + +<P> +No life or color came back to the face of Irene. She looked as cold +as marble; not cold without feeling, but with intense feeling +recorded as in a piece of sculpture. +</P> + +<P> +There were deeds of kindness and mercy set down in the purposes of +our young friend, and it was to go forth and perform them that Rose +had called for Irene this morning. But only one Sister of Charity +went to the field that day, and only one for many days afterward. +</P> + +<P> +Irene could not recover from the shock of this legal notice. It +found her less prepared than she had been at any time during the +last two years of separation. Her life at Ivy Cliff had not been +favorable to a spirit of antagonism and accusation, nor favorable to +a self-approving judgment of herself when the past came up, as it +often came, strive as she would to cover it as with a veil. She had +grown in this night of suffering, less self-willed and blindly +impulsive. Some scales had dropped from her eyes, and she saw +clearer. Yet no repentance for that one act of her life, which +involved a series of consequences beyond the reach of conjecture, +had found a place in her heart. There was no looking back from +this—no sober questioning as to the right or necessity which had +been involved. There had been one great mistake—so she decided the +case—and that was the marriage. +</P> + +<P> +From this fatal error all subsequent evil was born. +</P> + +<P> +Months of waiting and expectation followed, and then came a decree +annulling the marriage. +</P> + +<P> +"It is well," was the simple response of Irene when notice of the +fact reached her. +</P> + +<P> +Not even to Rose Carman did she reveal a thought that took shape in +her mind, nor betray a single emotion that trembled in her heart. If +there had been less appearance of indifference—less avoidance of +the subject—her friends would have felt more comfortable as to her +state of mind. The unnatural repose of, exterior was to them +significant of a strife within which she wished to conceal from all +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +About this time her true, loving friend, Miss Carman, married. Irene +did not stand as one of the bridesmaids at the ceremony. Rose gently +hinted her wishes in the case, but Irene shrunk from the position, +and her feeling was respected. The husband of Rose was a merchant, +residing in New York, named Everet. After a short bridal tour she +went to her new home in the city. Mr. Everet was five or six years +her senior, and a man worthy to be her life-companion. No sudden +attachment had grown up between them. For years they had been in the +habit of meeting, and in this time the character of each had been +clearly read by the other. When Mr. Everet asked the maiden's hand, +it, was yielded without a sign of hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +The removal of Rose from the neighborhood of Ivy Cliff greatly +disturbed the even-going tenor of Irene's life. It withdrew also a +prop on which she had leaned often in times of weakness, which would +recur very heavily. +</P> + +<P> +"How can I live without you?" she said in tears, as she sat alone +with the new-made bride on the eve of her departure; "you have been +everything to me, Rose—strength in weakness; light, when all around +was cold and dark; a guide when I had lost my way. God bless and +make you happy, darling! And he will. Hearts like yours create +happiness wherever they go." +</P> + +<P> +"My new home will only be a few hours' distant," replied Rose; "I +shall see you there often." +</P> + +<P> +Irene sighed. She had been to the city only a few times since that +sad day of separation from her husband. Could she return again and +enter one of its bright social circles? Her heart said no. But love +drew her too strongly. In less than a month after Rose became the +mistress of a stately mansion, Irene was her guest. This was just +six years from the time when she set up her home there, a proud and +happy young wife. Alas! that hearth was desolate, "its bright fire +quenched and gone." +</P> + +<P> +It was best for Irene thus to get back again into a wider social +sphere—to make some new friends, and those of a class that such a +woman as Mrs. Everet would naturally draw around her. Three years of +suffering, and the effort to lead a life of self-denial and active +interest in others, had wrought in Irene a great change. The old, +flashing ardor of manner was gone. If she grew animated in +conversation, as she often did from temperament, her face would +light up beautifully, but it did not show the radiance of old times. +Thought, more than feeling, gave its living play to her countenance. +All who met her were attracted; as her history was known, +observation naturally took the form of close scrutiny. People wished +to find the angular and repellant sides of her character in order to +see how far she might be to blame. But they were not able to +discover them. On the subjects of woman's rights, domestic tyranny, +sexual equality and all kindred themes she was guarded in speech. +She never introduced them herself, and said but little when they +formed the staple of conversation. +</P> + +<P> +Even if, in three years of intimate, almost daily, association with +Rose, she had not learned to think in some new directions on these +bewildering questions, certain womanly instincts must have set a +seal upon her lips. Not for all the world would she, to a +stranger—no, nor to any new friend—utter a sentiment that could in +the least degree give color to the thought that she wished to throw +even the faintest shadow of blame on Hartley Emerson. Not that she +was ready to take blame to herself, or give the impression that +fault rested by her door. No. The subject was sacred to herself, and +she asked no sympathy and granted no confidences. There were those +who sought to draw her out, who watched her face and words with keen +intentness when certain themes were discussed. But they were unable +to reach the penetralia of her heart. There was a chamber of record +there into which no one could enter but herself. +</P> + +<P> +Since the separation of Irene from her husband, Mr. Delancy had +shown signs of rapid failure. His heart was bound up in his +daughter, who, with all her captious self-will and impulsiveness, +loved him with a tenderness and fervor that never knew change or +eclipse. To see her make shipwreck of life's dearest hopes—to know +that her name was spoken by hundreds in reprobation—to look daily +on her quiet, changing, suffering face, was more than his fond heart +could bear. It broke him down. This fact, more perhaps, than her own +sad experiences, tended to sober the mind of Irene, and leave it +almost passive under the right influences of her wise young friend. +</P> + +<P> +After the removal of Rose from the neighborhood of Ivy Cliff, the +health of Mr. Delancy failed still more rapidly, and in a few months +the brief visits of Irene to her friend in New York had to be +intermitted. She could no longer venture to leave her father, even +under the care of their faithful Margaret. A sad winter for Irene +succeeded. Mr. Delancy drooped about until after Christmas, in a +weary, listless way, taking little interest in anything, and bearing +both physical and mental consciousness as a burden it would be +pleasant to lay down. Early in January he had to give up and go to +bed; and now the truth of his condition startled the mind of Irene +and filled her with alarm. By slow, insidious encroachments, that +dangerous enemy, typhoid fever, had gained a lodgment in the very +citadel of life, and boldly revealed itself, defying the healer's +art. For weeks the dim light of mortal existence burned with a low, +wavering flame, that any sudden breath of air might extinguish; then +it grew steady again, increased, and sent a few brighter rays into +the darkness which had gathered around Ivy Cliff. +</P> + +<P> +Spring found Mr. Delancy strong enough to sit, propped up with +pillows, by the window of his chamber, and look out upon the +newly-mantled trees, the green fields, and the bright river flashing +in the sunshine. The heart of Irene took courage again. The cloud +which had lain upon it all winter like a funereal pall dissolved, +and went floating away and wasting itself in dim expanses. +</P> + +<P> +Alas, that all this sweet promise was but a mockery of hope! A +sudden cold, how taken it was almost impossible to tell—for Irene +guarded her father as tenderly as if he were a new-born +infant—disturbed life's delicate equipoise, and the scale turned +fatally the wrong way. +</P> + +<P> +Poor Irene! She had only staggered under former blows—this one +struck her down. Had life anything to offer now? "Nothing! nothing!" +she said in her heart, and prayed that she might die and be at rest +with her father. +</P> + +<P> +Months of stupor followed this great sorrow; then her heart began to +beat again with some interest in life. There was one friend, almost +her only friend—for she now repelled nearly every one who +approached her—who never failed in hopeful, comforting, stimulating +words and offices, who visited her frequently in her recluse life at +Ivy Cliff, and sought with untiring assiduity to win her once more +away from its dead seclusion. And she was at last successful. In the +winter after Mr. Delancy's death, Irene, after much earnest +persuasion, consented to pass a few weeks in the city with Mrs. +Everet. This gained, her friend was certain of all the rest. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE HAUNTED VISION. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>GRADUALLY</I> the mind of Irene attained clearness of perception as to +duty, and a firmness of will that led her to act in obedience to +what reason and religion taught her was right. The leading idea +which Mrs. Everet endeavored to keep before her was this: that no +happiness is possible, except in some work that removes +self-consciousness and fills our minds with an interest in the +well-being of others. While Rose was at Ivy Cliff, Irene acted with +her, and was sustained by her love and companionship. After her +marriage and removal to New York, Irene was left to stand alone, and +this tried her strength. It was feeble. The sickness and death of +her father drew her back again into herself, and for a time +extinguished all interest in what was on the outside. To awaken a +new and higher life was the aim of her friend, and she never wearied +in her generous efforts. During this winter plans were matured for +active usefulness in the old spheres, and Mrs. Everet promised to +pass as much time in the next summer with her father as possible, so +as to act with Irene in the development of these schemes. +</P> + +<P> +The first warm days of summer found Irene back again in her home at +Ivy Cliff. Her visit in New York had been prolonged far beyond the +limit assigned to it in the beginning, but Rose would not consent to +an earlier return. This winter of daily life with Mrs. Everet, in +the unreserved intercourse of home, was of great use to Irene. +Affliction had mellowed all the harder portions of her disposition, +which the trouble and experiences of the past few years could not +reach with their softening influences. There was good soil in her +mind, well prepared, and the sower failed not in the work of +scattering good seed upon it with a liberal hand—seed that felt +soon a quickening life and swelled in the delight of coming +germination. +</P> + +<P> +It is not our purpose to record the history of Irene during the +years of her discipline at Ivy Cliff, where she lived, nun-like, for +the larger part of her time. She had useful work there, and in its +faithful performance peace came to her troubled soul. Three or four +times every year she paid a visit to Rose, and spent on each +occasion from one to three or four weeks. It could not but happen +that in these visits congenial friendship would be made, and tender +remembrances go back with her into the seclusion of her country +home, to remain as sweet companions in her hours of loneliness. +</P> + +<P> +It was something remarkable that, during the six or seven years +which followed Irene's separation from her husband, she had never +seen him. He was still a resident of New York, and well known as a +rapidly advancing member of the bar. Occasionally his name met her +eyes in the newspapers, as connected with some important suit; but, +beyond this, his life was to her a dead letter. He might be married +again, for all she knew to the contrary. But she never dwelt on that +thought; its intrusion always disturbed her, and that profoundly. +</P> + +<P> +And how was it with Hartley Emerson? Had he again tried the +experiment which once so signally failed? No; he had not ventured +upon the sea whose depths held the richest vessel he had freighted +in life. Visions of loveliness had floated before him, and he had +been lured by them, a few times, out of his beaten path. But he +carried in his memory a picture that, when his eyes turned inward, +held their gaze so fixedly that all other images grew dim or +unlovely. And so, with a sigh, he would turn again to the old way +and move on as before. +</P> + +<P> +But the past was irrevocable. "And shall I," he began to say to +himself, "for this one great error of my youth—this blind +mistake—pass a desolate and fruitless life?" +</P> + +<P> +Oftener and oftener the question was repeated in his thoughts, until +it found answer in an emphatic No! Then he looked around with a new +interest, and went more into society. Soon one fair face came more +frequently before the eyes of his mind than any other face. He saw +it as he sat in his law-office, saw it on the page of his book as he +read in the evening, lying over the printed words and hiding from +his thoughts their meaning; saw it in dreams. The face haunted him. +How long was this since that fatal night of discord and separation? +Ten years. So long? Yes, so long. Ten weary years had made their +record upon his book of life and upon hers. Ten weary years! The +discipline of this time had not worked on either any moral +deterioration. Both were yet sound to the core, and both were +building up characters based on the broad foundations of virtue. +</P> + +<P> +Steadily that face grew into a more living distinctness, haunting +his daily thoughts and nightly visions. Then new life-pulses began +to throb in his heart; new emotions to tremble over its long calm +surface; new warmth to flow, spring-like, into the indurated soil. +This face, which had begun thus to dwell with him, was the face of a +maiden, beautiful to look upon. He had met her often during a year, +and from the beginning of their acquaintance she had interested him. +If he erred not, the interest was mutual. From all points of view he +now commenced studying her character. Having made one mistake, he +was fearful and guarded. Better go on a lonely man to the end of +life than again have his love-freighted bark buried in mid-ocean. +</P> + +<P> +At last, Emerson was satisfied. He had found the sweet being whose +life could blend in eternal oneness with his own; and it only +remained for him to say to her in words what she had read as plainly +as written language in his eyes. So far as she was concerned, no +impediment existed. We will not say that she was ripe enough in soul +to wed with this man, who had passed through experiences of a kind +that always develop the character broadly and deeply. No, for such +was not the case. She was too young and inexperienced to understand +him; too narrow in her range of thought; too much a child. But +something in her beautiful, innocent, sweet young face had won his +heart; and in the weakness of passion, not in the manly strength of +a deep love, he had bowed down to a shrine at which he could never +worship and be satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +But even strong men are weak in woman's toils, and Hartley Emerson +was a captive. +</P> + +<P> +There was to be a pleasure-party on one of the steamers that cut the +bright waters of the fair Hudson, and Emerson and the maiden, whose +face was now his daily companion, were to be of the number. He felt +that the time had come for him to speak if he meant to speak at +all—to say what was in his thought, or turn aside and let another +woo and win the lovely being imagination had already pictured as the +sweet companion of his future home. The night that preceded this +excursion was a sleepless one for Hartley Emerson. Questions and +doubts, scarcely defined in his thoughts before, pressed themselves +upon him and demanded a solution. The past came up with a vividness +not experienced for years. In states of +semi-consciousness—half-sleeping, half-waking—there returned to +him such life-like realizations of events long ago recorded in his +memory, and covered over with the dust of time, that he started from +them to full wakefulness, with a heart throbbing in wild tumult. +Once there was presented so vivid a picture of Irene that for some +moments he was unable to satisfy himself that all these ten years of +loneliness were not a dream. He saw her as she stood before him on +that ever-to-be-remembered night and said, "<I>I go!</I>" Let us turn +back and read the record of her appearance as he saw her then and +now: +</P> + +<P> +"She had raised her eyes from the floor, and turned them full upon +her husband. Her face was not so pale. Warmth had come back to the +delicate skin, flushing it with beauty. She did not stand before him +an impersonation of anger, dislike or rebellion. There was not a +repulsively attitude or expression. No flashing of the eyes, nor +even the cold, diamond glitter seen a little while before. Slowly +turning away, she left the room. But to her husband she seemed still +standing there, a lovely vision. There had fallen, in that instant +of time, a sunbeam, which fixed the image upon his memory in +imperishable colors." +</P> + +<P> +Emerson groaned as he fell back upon his pillow and shut his eyes. +What would he not then have given for one full draught of Lethe's +fabled waters. +</P> + +<P> +Morning came at last, its bright beams dispersing the shadows of +night; and with it came back the warmth of his new passion and his +purpose on that day, if the opportunity came, to end all doubt, by +offering the maiden his hand—we do not say heart, for of that he +was not the full possessor. +</P> + +<P> +The day opened charmingly, and the pleasure-party were on the wing +betimes. Emerson felt a sense of exhilaration as the steamer passed +out from her moorings and glided with easy grace along the city +front. He stood upon her deck with a maiden's hand resting on his +arm, the touch of which, though light as the pressure of a flower, +was felt with strange distinctness. The shadows of the night, which +had brooded so darkly over his spirit, were gone, and only a dim +remembrance of the gloom remained. Onward the steamer glided, +sweeping by the crowded line of buildings and moving grandly along, +through palisades of rock on one side and picturesque landscapes on +the other, until bolder scenery stretched away and mountain barriers +raised themselves against the blue horizon. +</P> + +<P> +There was a large number of passengers on board, scattered over the +decks or lingering in the cabins, as inclination prompted. The +observer of faces and character had field enough for study; but +Hartley Emerson was not inclined to read in the book of character on +this occasion. One subject occupied his thoughts to the exclusion of +all others. There had come a period that was full of interest and +fraught with momentous consequences which must extend through all of +his after years. He saw little but the maiden at his side—thought +of little but his purpose to ask her to walk with him, a +soul-companion, in the journey of life. +</P> + +<P> +During the first hour there was a constant moving to and fro and the +taking up of new positions by the passengers—a hum and buzz of +conversation—laughing—exclamations—gay talk and enthusiasm. Then +a quieter tone prevailed. Solitary individuals took places of +observation; groups seated themselves in pleasant circles to chat, +and couples drew away into cabins or retired places, or continued +the promenade. +</P> + +<P> +Among the latter were Emerson and his companion. Purposely he had +drawn the fair girl away from their party, in order to get the +opportunity he desired. He did not mean to startle her with an +abrupt proposal here, in the very eye of observation, but to advance +toward the object by slow approaches, marking well the effect of his +words, and receding the moment he saw that, in beginning to +comprehend him, her mind showed repulsion or marked disturbance. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it was with them when the boat entered the Highlands and swept +onward with wind-like speed. They were in one of the gorgeously +furnished cabins, sitting together on a sofa. There had been earnest +talk, but on some subject of taste. Gradually Emerson changed the +theme and began approaching the one nearest to his heart. Slight +embarrassment followed; his voice took on a different tone; it was +lower, tenderer, more deliberate and impressive. He leaned closer, +and the maiden did not retire; she understood him, and was waiting +the pleasure of his speech with heart-throbbings that seemed as if +they must be audible in his ears as well as her own. +</P> + +<P> +The time had come. Everything was propitious. The words that would +have sealed his fate and hers were on his lips, when, looking up, he +knew not why, but under an impulse of the moment, he met two calm +eyes resting upon him with an expression that sent the blood leaping +back to his heart. Two calm eyes and a pale, calm face were before +him for a moment; then they vanished in the crowd. But he knew them, +though ten years lay between the last vision and this. +</P> + +<P> +The words that were on his lips died unspoken. He could not have +uttered them if life or death hung on the issue. No—no—no. A dead +silence followed. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you ill?" asked his companion, looking at him anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"No, oh no," he replied, trying to rally himself. +</P> + +<P> +"But you are ill, Mr. Emerson. How pale your face is!" +</P> + +<P> +"It will pass off in a moment." He spoke with an effort to appear +self-possessed. "Let us go on deck," he added, rising. "There are a +great many people in the cabin, and the atmosphere is oppressive." +</P> + +<P> +A dead weight fell upon the maiden's heart as she arose and went on +deck by the side of Mr. Emerson. She had noticed his sudden pause +and glance across the cabin at the instant she was holding her +breath for his next words, but did not observe the object, a sight +of which had wrought on him so remarkable a change. They walked +nearly the entire length of the boat, after getting on deck, before +Mr. Emerson spoke. He then remarked on the boldness of the scenery +and pointed out interesting localities, but in so absent and +preoccupied a way that his companion listened without replying. In a +little while he managed to get into the neighborhood of three or +four of their party, with whom he left her, and, moving away, took a +position on the upper deck just over the gangway from which the +landings were made. Here he remained until the boat came to at a +pier on which his feet had stepped lightly many, many times. Ivy +Cliff was only a little way distant, hidden from view by a belt of +forest trees. The ponderous machinery stood still, the plunging +wheels stopped their muffled roar, and in the brooding silence that +followed three or four persons stepped on the plank which had been +thrown out and passed to the shore. A single form alone fixed the +eyes of Hartley Emerson. He would have known it on the instant among +a thousand. It was that of Irene. Her step was slow, like one +abstracted in mind or like one in feeble health. After gaining the +landing, she stood still and turned toward the boat, when their eyes +met again—met, and held each other, by a spell which neither had +power to break. The fastenings were thrown off, the engineer rung +his bell; there was a clatter of machinery, a rush of waters and the +boat glanced onward. Then Irene started like one suddenly aroused +from sleep and walked rapidly away. +</P> + +<P> +And thus they met for the first time after a separation of ten +years. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MINISTERING ANGEL. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>A CLATTER</I> of machinery, a rush of waters, and the boat glanced +onward but still Hartley Emerson stood motionless and statue-like, +his eyes fixed upon the shore, until the swiftly-gliding vessel bore +him away, and the object which had held his vision by a kind of +fascination was concealed from view. +</P> + +<P> +"An angel, if there ever was one on this side of heaven!" said a +voice close to his ear. Emerson gave a start and turned quickly. A +man plainly dressed stood beside him. He was of middle age, and had +a mild, grave, thoughtful countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Of whom do you speak?" asked Emerson, not able entirely to veil his +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Of the lady we saw go ashore at the landing just now. She turned +and looked at us. You could not help noticing her." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is she?" asked Emerson, and then held his breath awaiting the +answer. The question was almost involuntary, yet prompted by a +suddenly awakened desire to bear the world's testimony regard to +Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know her, then?" remarked the stranger. +</P> + +<P> +"I asked who she was." Emerson intended to say this firmly, but his +voice was unsteady. "Let us sit down," he added, looking around, and +then leading the way to where some unoccupied chairs were standing. +By the time they were seated he had gained the mastery over himself. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know her, then?" said the man, repeating his words. "She +is well known about these parts, I can assure you. Why, that was old +Mr. Delancy's daughter. Did you never hear of her?" +</P> + +<P> +"What about her?" was asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, in the first place, she was married some ten or twelve years +ago to a lawyer down in New York; and, in the second place, they +didn't live very happily together—why, I never heard. I don't +believe it was her fault, for she's the sweetest, kindest, gentlest +lady it has ever been my good fortune to meet. Some people around +Ivy Cliff call her the 'Angel,' and the word has meaning in it as +applied to her. She left her husband, and he got a divorce, but +didn't charge anything wrong against her. That, I suppose, was more +than he dared to do, for a snow-flake is not purer." +</P> + +<P> +"You have lived in the neighborhood?" said Emerson, keeping his face +a little averted. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, sir. I have lived about here pretty much all my life." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you knew Miss Delancy before she was married?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; I can't say that I knew much about her before that time. I +used to see her now and then as she rode about the neighborhood. She +was a gay, wild girl, sir. But that unhappy marriage made a great +change in her. I cannot forget the first time I saw her after she +came back to her father's. She seemed to me older by many years than +when I last saw her, and looked like one just recovered from a long +and serious illness. The brightness had passed from her face, the +fire from her eyes, the spring from her footsteps. I believe she +left her husband of her own accord, but I never knew that she made +any complaint against him. Of course, people were very curious to +know why she had abandoned him. But her lips must have been sealed, +for only a little vague talk went floating around. I never heard a +breath of wrong charged against him as coming from her." +</P> + +<P> +Emerson's face was turned still more away from his companion, his +eyes bent down and his brows firmly knit. He did not ask farther, +but the man was on a theme that interested him, and so continued. +</P> + +<P> +"For most of the time since her return to Ivy Cliff the life of Miss +Delancy has been given to Christian charities. The death of her +father was a heavy stroke. It took the life out of her for a while. +Since her recovery from that shock she has been constantly active +among us in good deeds. Poor sick women know the touch of her gentle +hand and the music of her voice. She has brought sunlight into many +wintry homes, and kindled again on hearths long desolate the fires +of loving kindness. There must have been some lack of true +appreciation on the part of her husband, sir. Bitter fountains do +not send forth sweet waters like these. Don't you think so?" +</P> + +<P> +"How should I know?" replied Emerson, a little coldly. The question +was sprung upon him so suddenly that his answer was given in +confusion of thought. +</P> + +<P> +"We all have our opinions, sir," said the man, "and this seems a +plain case. I've heard said that her husband was a hot-headed, +self-willed, ill-regulated young fellow, no more fit to get married +than to be President. That he didn't understand the woman—or, +maybe, I should say child—whom he took for his wife is very +certain, or he never would have treated her in the way he did!" +</P> + +<P> +"How did he treat her?" asked Mr. Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"As to that," replied his talkative companion, "we don't know +anything certain. But we shall not go far wrong in guessing that it +was neither wise nor considerate. In fact, he must have outraged her +terribly." +</P> + +<P> +"This, I presume, is the common impression about Ivy Cliff?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said the man; "I've heard him well spoken of. The fact is, +people are puzzled about the matter. We can't just understand it. +But, I'm all on her side." +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder she has not married again?" said Emerson. "There are +plenty of men who would be glad to wed so perfect a being as you +represent her to be." +</P> + +<P> +"She marry!" There was indignation and surprise in the man's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sir, she is a Christian woman!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can believe that, after hearing your testimony in regard to her," +said Emerson. But he still kept his face so much turned aside that +its expression could not be seen. +</P> + +<P> +"And reads her Bible." +</P> + +<P> +"As we all should." +</P> + +<P> +"And, what is more, believes in it," said the man emphatically. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't all Christian people believe in the Bible?" asked Mr. +Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose so, after a fashion; and a very queer fashion it is, +sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +"How does this lady of whom you speak believe in it differently from +some others?" +</P> + +<P> +"In this, that it means what it says on the subject of divorce." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I understand. You think that if she were to marry again it +would be in the face of conscientious scruples?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson was about asking another question when one of the party +to which he belonged joined him, and so the strange interview +closed. He bowed to the man with whom he had been conversing, and +then passed to another part of the boat. +</P> + +<P> +With slow steps, that were unsteady from sudden weakness, Irene +moved along the road that led to her home. After reaching the +grounds of Ivy Cliff she turned aside into a small summer-house, and +sat down at one of the windows that looked out upon the river as it +stretched upward in its gleaming way. The boat she had just left was +already far distant, but it fixed her eyes, and they saw no other +object until it passed from view around a wooded point of land. And +still she sat motionless, looking at the spot where it had vanished +from her sight. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Irene!" exclaimed Margaret, the faithful old domestic, who +still bore rule at the homestead, breaking in upon her reverie, +"what in the world are you doing here? I expected you up to-day, and +when the boat stopped at the landing and you didn't come, I was +uneasy and couldn't rest. Why child, what is the matter? You're +sick!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, Margaret, I'm well enough," said Irene, trying to smile +indifferently. And she arose and left the summer-house. +</P> + +<P> +Kind, observant old Margaret was far from being satisfied, however. +She saw that Irene was not as when she departed for the city a week +before. If she were not sick in body, she was troubled in her mind, +for her countenance was so changed that she could not look upon it +without feeling a pang in her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure you're sick, Miss Irene," she said as they entered the +house. "Now, what is the matter? What can I do or get for you? Let +me send over for Dr. Edmondson?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, my good Margaret, don't think of such a thing," replied +Irene. "I'm not sick." +</P> + +<P> +"Something's the matter with you, child," persisted Margaret. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing that won't cure itself," said Irene, trying to speak +cheerfully. "I'll go up to my room for a little while." +</P> + +<P> +And she turned away from her kind-hearted domestic. On entering her +chamber Irene locked the door in order to be safe from intrusion, +for she knew that Margaret would not let half an hour pass without +coming up to ask how she was. Sitting down by the window, she looked +out upon the river, along whose smooth surface had passed the vessel +in which, a little while before, she met the man once called by the +name of husband—met him and looked into his face for the first time +in ten long years! The meeting had disturbed her profoundly. In the +cabin of that vessel she had seen him by the side of a fair young +girl in earnest conversation; and she had watched with a strange, +fluttering interest the play of his features. What was he saying to +that fair young girl that she listened with such a breathless, +waiting air? Suddenly he turned toward her, their eyes met and were +spell-bound for moments. What did she read in his eyes in those +brief moments? What did he read in hers? Both questions pressed +themselves upon her thoughts as she retreated among the crowd of +passengers, and then hid herself from the chance of another meeting +until the boat reached the landing at Ivy Cliff. Why did she pause +on the shore, and turn to look upon the crowded decks? She knew not. +The act was involuntary. Again their eyes met—met and held each +other until the receding vessel placed dim distance between them. +</P> + +<P> +In less than half an hour Margaret's hand was on the door, but she +could not enter. Irene had not moved from her place at the window in +all that time. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Margaret?" she called, starting from her abstraction. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you want anything, Miss Irene?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, thank you, Margaret." +</P> + +<P> +She answered in as cheerful a tone as she could assume, and the kind +old waiting-woman retired. +</P> + +<P> +From that time every one noted a change in Irene. But none knew, or +even guessed, its cause or meaning. Not even to her friend, Mrs. +Everet, did she speak of her meeting with Hartley Emerson. Her face +did not light up as before, and her eyes seemed always as if looking +inward or gazing dreamily upon something afar off. Yet in good deeds +she failed not. If her own heart was heavier, she made other hearts +lighter by her presence. +</P> + +<P> +And still the years went on in their steady revolutions—one, two, +three, four, five more years, and in all that time the parted ones +did not meet again. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BORN FOR EACH OTHER. +</H3> + +<P> +"<I>I SAW</I> Mr. Emerson yesterday," said Mrs. Everet. She was sitting +with Irene in her own house in New York. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you?" Irene spoke evenly and quietly, but did not turn her face +toward Mrs. Everet. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I saw him at my husband's store. Mr. Everet has engaged him to +conduct an important suit, in which many thousands of dollars are at +stake." +</P> + +<P> +"How does he look?" inquired Irene, without showing any feelings but +still keeping her face turned from Mrs Everet. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I should say, though rather too much frosted for a man of his +years." +</P> + +<P> +"Gray, do you mean?" Irene manifested some surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; his hair and beard are quite sprinkled with time's white +snow-flakes." +</P> + +<P> +"He is only forty," remarked Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"I should say fifty, judging from his appearance." +</P> + +<P> +"Only forty." And a faint sigh breathed on the lips of Irene. She +did not look around at her friend but sat very still, with her face +turned partly away. Mrs. Everet looked at her closely, to read, if +possible, what was passing in her mind. But the countenance of Irene +was too much hidden. Her attitude, however, indicated intentness of +thought, though not disturbing thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Rose," she said at length, "I grow less at peace with myself as the +years move onward." +</P> + +<P> +"You speak from some passing state of mind," suggested Mrs. Everet. +</P> + +<P> +"No; from a gradually forming permanent state. Ten years ago I +looked back upon the past in a stern, self-sustaining, +martyr-spirit. Five years ago all things wore a different aspect. I +began to have misgivings; I could not so clearly make out my case. +New thoughts on the subject—and not very welcome ones—began to +intrude. I was self-convicted of wrong; yes, Rose, of a great and an +irreparable wrong. I shut my eyes; I tried to look in other +directions; but the truth, once seen, could not pass from the range +of mental vision. I have never told you that I saw Mr. Emerson five +years ago. The effect of that meeting was such that I could not +speak of it, even to you. We met on one of the river steamboats—met +and looked into each other's eyes for just a moment. It may only be +a fancy of mine, but I have thought sometimes that, but for this +seemingly accidental meeting, he would have married again." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you think so?" asked Mrs. Everet. +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not answer for some moments. She hardly dared venture to +put what she had seen in words. It was something that she felt more +like hiding even from her own consciousness, if that were possible. +But, having ventured so far, she could not well hold back. So she +replied, keeping her voice into as dead a level as it was possible +to assume: +</P> + +<P> +"He was sitting in earnest conversation with a young lady, and from +the expression of her face, which I could see, the subject on which +he was speaking was evidently one in which more than her thought was +interested. I felt at the time that he was on the verge of a new +life-experiment—was about venturing upon a sea on which he had once +made shipwreck. Suddenly he turned half around and looked at me +before I had time to withdraw my eyes—looked at me with a strange, +surprised, startled look. In another moment a form came between us; +when it passed I was lost from his gaze in the crowd of passengers. +I have puzzled myself a great many times over that fact of his +turning his eyes, as if from some hidden impulse, just to the spot +where I was sitting. There are no accidents—as I have often heard +you say—in the common acceptation of the term; therefore this was +no accident." +</P> + +<P> +"It was a providence," said Rose. +</P> + +<P> +"And to what end?" asked Irene. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Everet shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not even presume to conjecture." +</P> + +<P> +Irene sighed, and then sat lost in thought. Recovering herself, she +said: +</P> + +<P> +"Since that time I have been growing less and less satisfied with +that brief, troubled portion of my life which closed so +disastrously. I forgot how much the happiness of another was +involved. A blind, willful girl, struggling in imaginary bonds, I +thought only of myself, and madly rent apart the ties which death +only should have sundered. For five years, Rose, I have carried in +my heart the expression which looked out upon me from the eyes of +Mr. Emerson at that brief meeting. Its meaning was not then, nor is +it now, clear. I have never set myself to the work of +interpretation, and believe the task would be fruitless. But +whenever it is recalled I am affected with a tender sadness. And so +his head is already frosted, Rose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Though in years he has reached only manhood's ripened state. How I +have marred his life! Better, far better, would it have been for him +if I had been the bride of Death on my wedding-day!" +</P> + +<P> +A shadow of pain darkened her face. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Mrs. Everet; "it is better for both you and him that +you were not the bride of Death. There are deeper things hidden in +the events of life than our reason can fathom. We die when it is +best for ourselves and best for others that we should die—never +before. And the fact that we live is in itself conclusive that we +are yet needed in the world by all who can be affected by our mortal +existence." +</P> + +<P> +"Gray hairs at forty!" This seemed to haunt the mind of Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"It may be constitutional," suggested Mrs. Everet; "some heads begin +to whiten at thirty." +</P> + +<P> +"Possibly." +</P> + +<P> +But the tone expressed no conviction. +</P> + +<P> +"How was his face?" asked Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Grave and thoughtful. At least so it appeared to me." +</P> + +<P> +"At forty." It was all Irene said. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Everet might have suggested that a man of his legal position +would naturally be grave and thoughtful, but she did not. +</P> + +<P> +"It struck me," said Mrs. Everet, "as a true, pure, manly face. It +was intellectual and refined; delicate, yet firm about the mouth and +expansive in the upper portions. The hair curled softly away from +his white temples and forehead." +</P> + +<P> +"Worthy of a better fate!" sighed Irene. "And it is I who have +marred his whole life! How blind is selfish passion! Ah, my friend, +the years do not bring peace to my soul. There have been times when +to know that he had sought refuge from a lonely life in marriage +would have been a relief to me. Were this the case, the thought of +his isolation, of his imperfect life, would not be for ever rebuking +me. But now, while no less severely rebuked by this thought, I feel +glad that he has not ventured upon an act no clear sanction for +which is found in the Divine law. He could not, I feel, have +remained so true and pure a man as I trust he is this day. God help +him to hold on, faithful to his highest intuitions, even unto the +end." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Everet looked at Irene wonderingly as she spoke. She had never +before thus unveiled her thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"He struck me," was her reply, "as a man who had passed through +years of discipline and gained the mastery of himself." +</P> + +<P> +"I trust that it may be so," Irene answered, rather as if speaking +to herself than to another. +</P> + +<P> +"As I grow older," she added, after a long pause, now looking with +calm eyes upon her friend, "and life-experiences correct my judgment +and chasten my feelings, I see all things in a new aspect. I +understand my own heart better—its needs, capacities and yearnings; +and self-knowledge is the key by which we unlock the mystery of +other souls. So a deeper self-acquaintance enables me to look deeper +into the hearts of all around me. I erred in marrying Mr. Emerson. +We were both too hasty, self-willed and tenacious of rights and +opinions to come together in a union so sacred and so intimate. But, +after I had become his wife, after I had taken upon myself such holy +vows, it was my duty to stand fast. I could not abandon my place and +be innocent before God and man. And I am not innocent, Rose." +</P> + +<P> +The face of Irene was strongly agitated for some moments; but she +recovered herself and went on: +</P> + +<P> +"I am speaking of things that have hitherto been secrets of my own +heart. I could not bring them out even for you to look at, my +dearest, truest, best of friends. Now it seems as if I could not +bear the weight of my heavy thoughts alone; as if, in admitting you +beyond the veil, I might find strength to suffer, if not ease from +pain. There is no such thing as living our lives over again and +correcting their great errors. The past is an irrevocable fact. Ah, +if conscience would sleep, if struggles for a better life would make +atonement for wrong—then, as our years progress, we might lapse +into tranquil states. But gradually clearing vision increases the +magnitude of a fault like mine, for its fatal consequences are seen +in broader light. There is a thought which has haunted me for a year +past like a spectre. It comes to me unbidden; sometimes to disturb +the quiet of my lonely evenings, sometimes in the silent +night-watches to banish sleep from my pillow; sometimes to place +silence on my lips as I sit among cherished friends. I never +imagined that I would put this thought in words for any mortal ear; +yet it is coming to my lips now, and I feel impelled to go on. You +believe that there are, as you call them 'conjugal partners,' or men +and women born for each other, who, in a true marriage of souls, +shall become eternally one. They do not always meet in this life; +nay, for the sake of that discipline which leads to purification, +may form other and uncongenial ties in the world, and live +unhappily; but in heaven they will draw together by a +divinely-implanted attraction, and be there united for ever. I have +felt that something like this must be true; that every soul must +have its counterpart. The thought which has so haunted me is, that +Hartley Emerson and unhappy <I>I</I> were born for each other." +</P> + +<P> +She paused and looked with a half-startled air upon Mrs. Everet to +mark the effect of this revelation. But Rose made no response and +showed no surprise, however she might have been affected by the +singular admission of her friend. +</P> + +<P> +"It has been all in vain," continued Irene "that I have pushed the +thought aside—called it absurd, insane, impossible—back it would +come and take its old place. And, stranger still, out of facts that +I educed to prove its fallacy would come corroborative suggestions. +I think it is well for my peace of mind that I have not been in the +way of hearing about him or of seeing him. Since we parted it has +been as if a dark curtain had fallen between us; and, so far as I am +concerned, that curtain has been lifted up but once or twice, and +then only for a moment of time. So all my thoughts of him are joined +to the past. Away back in that sweet time when the heart of girlhood +first thrills with the passion of love are some memories that haunt +my soul like dreams from Elysium. He was, in my eyes, the +impersonation of all that was lovely and excellent; his presence +made my sense of happiness complete; his voice touched my ears as +the blending of all rich harmonies. But there fell upon him a +shadow; there came hard discords in the music which had entranced my +soul; the fine gold was dimmed. Then came that period of mad strife, +of blind antagonism, in which we hurt each other by rough contact. +Finally, we were driven far asunder, and, instead of revolving +together around a common centre, each has moved in a separate orbit. +For years that dark period of pain has held the former period of +brightness in eclipse; but of late gleams from that better time have +made their way down to the present. Gradually the shadows are giving +away. The first state is coming to be felt more and more as the true +state—as that in best agreement with what we are in relation to +each other. It was the evil in us that met in such fatal +antagonism—not the good; it was something that we must put off if +we would rise from natural and selfish life into spiritual and +heavenly life. It was our selfishness and passion that drove us +asunder. Thus it is, dear Rose, that my thoughts have been wandering +about in the maze of life that entangles me. In my isolation I have +time enough for mental inversion—for self-exploration—for idle +fancies, if you will. And so I have lifted the veil for you; +uncovered my inner life; taken you into the sanctuary over whose +threshold no foot but my own had ever passed." +</P> + +<P> +There was too much in all this for Mrs. Everet to venture upon any +reply that involved suggestion or advice. It was from a desire to +look deeper into the heart of her friend that she had spoken of her +meeting with Mr. Emerson. The glance she obtained revealed far more +than her imagination had ever reached. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LOVE NEVER DIES. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>THE</I> brief meeting with Mrs. Everet had stirred the memory of old +times in the heart of Mr. Emerson. With a vividness unknown for +years, Ivy Cliff and the sweetness of many life-passages there came +back to him, and set heart-pulses that he had deemed stilled for +ever beating in tumultuous waves. When the business of the day was +over he sat down in the silence of his chamber and turned his eyes +inward. He pushed aside intervening year after year, until the +long-ago past was, to his consciousness, almost as real as the +living present. What he saw moved him deeply. He grew restless, then +showed disturbance of manner. There was an effort to turn away from +the haunting fascination of this long-buried, but now exhumed +period; but the dust and scoria were removed, and it lifted, like +another Pompeii, its desolate walls and silent chambers in the clear +noon-rays of the present. +</P> + +<P> +After a long but fruitless effort to bury the past again, to let the +years close over it as the waves close over a treasure-laden ship, +Mr. Emerson gave himself up to its thronging memories and let them +bear him whither they would. +</P> + +<P> +In this state of mind he unlocked one of the drawers in a secretary +and took therefrom a small box or casket. Placing this on a table, +he sat down and looked at it for some minutes, as if in doubt +whether it were best for him to go further in this direction. +Whether satisfied or not, he presently laid his fingers upon the lid +of the casket and slowly opened it. It contained only a morocco +case. He touched this as if it were something precious and sacred. +For some moments after it was removed he sat holding it in his hand +and looking at the dark, blank surface, as a long-expected letter is +sometimes held before the seal is broken and the contents devoured +with impatient eagerness. At last his finger pressed the spring on +which it had been resting, and he looked upon a young, sweet face, +whose eyes gazed back into his with a living tenderness. In a little +while his hand so trembled, and his eyes grew so dim, that the face +was veiled from his sight. Closing the miniature, but still +retaining it in his hand, he leaned back in his chair and remained +motionless, with shut eyes, for a long time; then he looked at the +fair young face again, conning over every feature and expression, +until sad memories came in and veiled it again with tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Folly! weakness!" he said at last, pushing the picture from him and +making a feeble effort to get back his manly self-possession. "The +past is gone for ever. The page on which its sad history is written +was closed long ago, and the book is sealed. Why unclasp the volume +and search for that dark record again?" +</P> + +<P> +Yet, even as he said this, his hand reached out for the miniature, +and his eyes were on it ere the closing words had parted from his +lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Irene!" he murmured, as he gazed on her pictured face. "You +had a pure, tender, loving heart—" then, suddenly shutting the +miniature, with a sharp click of the spring, he tossed it from him +upon the table and said, +</P> + +<P> +"This is folly! folly! folly!" and, leaning back in his chair, he +shut his eyes and sat for a long time with his brows sternly knitted +together and his lips tightly compressed. Rising, at length, he +restored the miniature to its casket, and the casket to its place in +the drawer. A servant came to the door at this moment, bringing the +compliments of a lady friend, who asked him, if not engaged, to +favor her with his company on that evening, as she had a visitor, +just arrived, to whom she wished to introduce him. He liked the +lady, who was the wife of a legal friend, very well; but he was not +always so well pleased with her lady friends, of whom she had a +large circle. The fact was, she considered him too fine a man to go +through life companionless, and did not hesitate to use every art in +her power to draw him into an entangling alliance. He saw this, and +was often more amused than annoyed by her finesse. +</P> + +<P> +It was on his lips to send word that he was engaged, but a regard +for truth would not let him make this excuse; so, after a little +hesitation and debate, he answered that he would present himself +during the evening. The lady's visitor was a widow of about thirty +years of age—rich, educated, accomplished and personally +attractive. She was from Boston, and connected with one of the most +distinguished families in Massachusetts, whose line of ancestry ran +back among the nobles of England. In conversation this lady showed +herself to be rarely gifted, and there was a charm about her manners +that was irresistible. Mr. Emerson, who had been steadily during the +past five years growing less and less attracted by the fine women he +met in society, found himself unusually interested in Mrs. Eager. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew you would like her," said his lady friend, as Mr. Emerson +was about retiring at eleven o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +"You take your conclusion for granted," he answered, smiling. "Did I +say that I liked her?" +</P> + +<P> +"We ladies have eyes," was the laughing rejoinder. "Of course you +like her. She's going to spend three or four days with me. You'll +drop in to-morrow evening. Now don't pretend that you have an +engagement. Come; I want you to know her better. I think her +charming." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson did not promise positively, but said that he might look +in during the evening. +</P> + +<P> +For a new acquaintance, Mrs. Eager had attracted him strongly; and +his thoughtful friend was not disappointed in her expectation of +seeing him at her house on the succeeding night. Mrs. Eager, to whom +the lady she was visiting had spoken of Mr. Emerson in terms of +almost extravagant eulogy, was exceedingly well pleased with him, +and much gratified at meeting him again, A second interview gave +both an opportunity for closer observation, and when they parted it +was with pleasant thoughts of each other lingering in their minds. +During the time that Mrs. Eager remained in New York, which was +prolonged for a week beyond the period originally fixed, Mr. Emerson +saw her almost every day, and became her voluntary escort in +visiting points of local interest. The more he saw of her the more +he was charmed with her character. She seemed in his eyes the most +attractive woman he had ever met. Still, there was something about +her that did not wholly satisfy him, though what it was did not come +into perception. +</P> + +<P> +Five years had passed since any serious thought of marriage had +troubled the mind of Mr. Emerson. After his meeting with Irene he +had felt that another union in this world was not for him—that he +had no right to exchange vows of eternal fidelity with any other +woman. She had remained unwedded, and would so remain, he felt, to +the end of her life. The legal contract between them was dissolved; +but, since his brief talk with the stranger on the boat, he had not +felt so clear as to the higher law obligations which were upon them. +And so he had settled it in his mind to bear life's burdens alone. +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Eager had crossed his way, and filled, in many respects, +his ideal of a woman. There was a charm about her that won him +against all resistance. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let this opportunity pass," said his interested lady friend, +as the day of Mrs. Eager's departure drew nigh. "She is a woman in a +thousand, and will make one of the best of wives. Think, too, of her +social position, her wealth and her large cultivation. An +opportunity like this is never presented more than once in a +lifetime." +</P> + +<P> +"You speak," replied Mr. Emerson, "as if I had only to say the word +and this fair prize would drop into my arms." +</P> + +<P> +"She will have to be wooed if she is won. Were this not the case she +would not be worth having," said the lady. "But my word for it, if +you turn wooer the winning will not be hard. If I have not erred in +my observation, you are about mutually interested. There now, my +cautious sir, if you do not get handsomely provided for, it will be +no fault of mine." +</P> + +<P> +In two days from this time Mrs. Eager was to return to Boston. +</P> + +<P> +"You must take her to see those new paintings at the rooms of the +Society Library to-morrow. I heard her express a desire to examine +them before returning to Boston. Connoisseurs are in ecstasies over +three or four of the pictures, and, as Mrs. Eager is something of an +enthusiast in matters of art, your favor in this will give her no +light pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be most happy to attend her," replied Mr. Emerson. "Give +her my compliments, and say that, if agreeable to herself, I will +call for her at twelve to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"No verbal compliments and messages," replied the lady; "that isn't +just the way." +</P> + +<P> +"How then? Must I call upon her and deliver my message? That might +not be convenient to me nor agreeable to her." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" ejaculated the lady, with affected impatience, "you men are so +stupid at times! You know how to write?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! yes, I comprehend you now." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Send your compliments and your message in a note; and +let it be daintily worded; not in heavy phrases, like a legal +document." +</P> + +<P> +"A very princess in feminine diplomacy!" said Mr. Emerson to +himself, as he turned from the lady and took his way homeward. "So I +must pen a note." +</P> + +<P> +Now this proved a more difficult matter than he had at first +thought. He sat down to the task immediately on returning to his +room. On a small sheet of tinted note-paper he wrote a few words, +but they did not please him, and the page was thrown into the fire. +He tried again, but with no better success—again and again; but +still, as he looked at the brief sentences, they seemed to express +too much or too little. Unable to pen the note to his satisfaction, +he pushed, at last, his writing materials aside, saying, +</P> + +<P> +"My head will be clearer and cooler in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +It was drawing on to midnight, and Mr. Emerson had not yet retired. +His thoughts were too busy for sleep. Many things were crowding into +his mind—questions, doubts, misgivings—scenes from the past and +imaginations of the future. And amid them all came in now and then, +just for a moment, as he had seen it five years before, the pale, +still face of Irene. +</P> + +<P> +Wearied in the conflict, tired nature at last gave way, and Mr. +Emerson fell asleep in his chair. +</P> + +<P> +Two hours of deep slumber tranquilized his spirit. He awoke from +this, put off his clothing and laid his head on his pillow. It was +late in the morning when he arose. He had no difficulty now in +penning a note to Mrs. Eager. It was the work of a moment, and +satisfactory to him in the first effort. +</P> + +<P> +At twelve he called with a carriage for the lady, whom he found all +ready to accompany him, and in the best possible state of mind. Her +smile, as he presented himself, was absolutely fascinating; and her +voice seemed like a freshly-tuned instrument, every tone was so rich +in musical vibration, and all the tones came chorded to his ear. +</P> + +<P> +There were not many visitors at the exhibition rooms—a score, +perhaps—but they were art-lovers, gazing in rapt attention or +talking in hushed whispers. They moved about noiselessly here and +there, seeming scarcely conscious that others were present. +Gradually the number increased, until within an hour after they +entered it was more than doubled. Still, the presence of art subdued +all into silence or subdued utterances. +</P> + +<P> +Emerson was charmed with his companion's appreciative admiration of +many pictures. She was familiar with art-terms and special points of +interest, and pointed out beauties and harmonies that to him were +dead letters without an interpreter. They came, at last, to a small +but wonderfully effective picture, which contained a single figure, +that of a man sitting by a table in a room which presented the +appearance of a library. He held a letter in his hand—a old letter; +the artist had made this plain—but was not reading. He had been +reading; but the words, proving conjurors, had summoned the dead +past before him, and he was now looking far away, with sad, dreamy +eyes, into the long ago. A casket stood open. Time letter had +evidently been taken from this repository. There was a miniature; a +bracelet of auburn hair; a ring and a chain of gold lying on the +table. Mr. Emerson turned to the catalogue and read, +</P> + +<P> +"WITH THE BURIED PAST." +</P> + +<P> +And below this title the brief sentiment— +</P> + +<P> +"Love never dies." +</P> + +<P> +A deep, involuntary sigh came through his lips and stirred the +pulseless air around him. Then, like an echo, there came to his ears +an answering sigh, and, turning, he looked into the face of Irene! +She had entered the rooms a little while before, and in passing from +picture to picture had reached this one a few moments after Mr. +Emerson. She had not observed him, and was just beginning to feel +its meaning, when the sigh that attested its power over him reached +her ears and awakened an answering sigh. For several moments their +eyes were fixed in a gaze which neither had power to withdraw. The +face of Irene had grown thinner, paler and more shadowy—if we may +use that term to express something not of the earth, earthy—than it +was when he looked upon it five years before. But her eyes were +darker in contrast with her colorless face, and had a deeper tone of +feeling. +</P> + +<P> +They did not speak nor pass a sign of recognition. But the instant +their eyes withdrew from each other Irene turned from the picture +and left the rooms. +</P> + +<P> +When Mr. Emerson looked back into the face of his companion, its +charm was gone. Beside that of the fading countenance, so still and +nun-like, upon which he had gazed a moment before, it looked coarse +and worldly. When she spoke, her tones no longer came in chords of +music to his ears, but jarred upon his feelings. He grew silent; +cold, abstracted. The lady noted the change, and tried to rally him; +but her efforts were vain. He moved by her side like an automaton, +and listened to her comments on the pictures they paused to examine +in such evident absent-mindedness that she became annoyed, and +proposed returning home. Mr. Emerson made no objection, and they +left the quiet picture-gallery for the turbulence of Broadway. The +ride home was a silent one, and they separated in mutual +embarrassment, Mr. Emerson going back to his rooms instead of to his +office, and sitting down in loneliness there, with a shuddering +sense of thankfulness at his heart for the danger he had just +escaped. +</P> + +<P> +"What a blind spell was on me!" he said, as he gazed away down into +his soul—far, far deeper than any tone or look from Mrs. Eager had +penetrated—and saw needs, states and yearnings there which must be +filled or there could be no completeness of life. And now the still, +pale face of Irene stood out distinctly; and her deep, weird, +yearning eyes looked into his with a fixed intentness that stirred +his heart to its profoundest depths. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson was absent from his office all that day. But on the next +morning he was at his post, and it would have taken a close observer +to have detected any change in his usually quiet face. But there was +a change in the man—a great change. He had gone down deeper into +his heart than he had ever gone before, and understood himself +better. There was little danger of his ever being tempted again in +this direction. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +EFFECTS OF THE STORM. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>IT</I> was more than a week before Mr. Emerson called again upon the +lady friend who had shown so strong a desire to procure him a wife. +He expected her to introduce the name of Mrs. Eager, and came +prepared to talk in a way that would for ever close the subject of +marriage between them. The lady expressed surprise at not having +seen him for so long a time, and then introduced the subject nearest +her thought. +</P> + +<P> +"What was the matter with you and Mrs. Eager?" she asked, her face +growing serious. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson shook his head, and said, "Nothing," with not a shadow +of concern in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing? Think again. I could hardly have been deceived." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you ask? Did the lady charge anything ungallant against me?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson was unmoved. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, no! She scarcely mentioned your name after her return from +viewing the pictures. But she was not in so bright a humor as when +she went out, and was dull up to the hour of her departure for +Boston. I'm afraid you offended her in some way—unconsciously on +your part, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I think not," said Mr. Emerson. "She would be sensitive in the +extreme if offended by any word or act of mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, letting that all pass, Mr. Emerson, what do you think of Mrs. +Eager?" +</P> + +<P> +"That she is an attractive and highly accomplished woman." +</P> + +<P> +"And the one who reaches your ideal of a wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, ma'am," was the unhesitating answer, and made in so emphatic a +tone that there was no mistaking his sincerity. There was a change +in his countenance and manner. He looked unusually serious. +</P> + +<P> +The lady tried to rally him, but he had come in too sober a state of +mind for pleasant trifling on this subject, of all others. +</P> + +<P> +"My kind, good friend," he said, "I owe you many thanks for the +interest you have taken in me, and for your efforts to get me a +companion. But I do not intend to marry." +</P> + +<P> +"So you have said—" +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me for interrupting you." Mr. Emerson checked the light +speech that was on her tongue. "I am going to say to you some things +that have never passed my lips before. You will understand me; this +I know, or I would not let a sentence come into utterance. And I +know more, that you will not make light of what to me is sacred." +</P> + +<P> +The lady was sobered in a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"To make light of what to you is sacred would be impossible," she +replied. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe it, and therefore I am going to speak of things that are +to me the saddest of my life, and yet are coming to involve the +holiest sentiments. I have more than one reason for desiring now to +let another look below the quiet surface; and I will lift the veil +for your eyes alone. You know that I was married nearly twenty years +ago, and that my wife separated herself from me in less than three +years after our union; and you also know that the separation was +made permanent by a divorce. This is all that you or any other one +knows, so far as I have made communication on the subject; and I +have reason to believe that she who was my wife has been as reserved +in the matter as myself. +</P> + +<P> +"The simple facts in the case are these: We were both young and +undisciplined, both quick-tempered, self-willed, and very much +inclined to have things our own way. She was an only child, and so +was I. Each had been spoiled by long self-indulgence. So, when we +came together in marriage, the action of our lives, instead of +taking a common pulsation, was inharmonious. For a few years we +strove together blindly in our bonds, and then broke madly asunder. +I think we were about equally in fault; but if there was a +preponderance of blame, it rested on my side, for, as a man, I +should have kept a cooler head and shown greater forbearance. But +the time for blame has long since passed. It is with the stern, +irrevocable facts that we are dealing now. +</P> + +<P> +"So bitter had been our experience, and so painful the shock of +separation, that I think a great many years must have passed before +repentance came into either heart—before a feeling of regret that +we had not held fast to our marriage vows was born. How it was with +me you may infer from the fact that, after the lapse of two years, I +deliberately asked for and obtained a divorce on the ground of +desertion. But doubt as to the propriety of this step stirred +uneasily in my mind for the first time when I held the decree in my +hand; and I have never felt wholly satisfied with myself since. +There should be something deeper than incompatibility of temper to +warrant a divorce. The parties should correct what is wrong in +themselves, and thus come into harmony. There is no excuse for +pride, passion and self-will. The law of God does not make these +justifiable causes of divorce, and neither should the law of man. A +purer woman than my wife never lived; and she had elements of +character that promised a rare development. I was proud of her. Ah, +if I had been wiser and more patient! If I had endeavored to lead, +instead of assuming the manly prerogative! But I was young, and +blind, and willful! +</P> + +<P> +"Fifteen years have passed since the day we parted, and each has +remained single. If we had not separated, we might now be living in +a true heart-union; for I believe, strange as it may sound to you, +that we were made for each other—that, when the false and evil of +our lives are put off, the elements of conjunction will appear. We +have made for ourselves of this world a dreary waste, when, if we +had overcome the evil of our hearts, our paths would have been +through green and fragrant places. It may be happier for us in the +next; and it will be. I am a better man, I think, for the discipline +through which I have passed, and she is a better woman." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Emerson paused. +</P> + +<P> +"She? Have you seen her?" the lady asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Twice since we parted, and then only for a moment. Suddenly each +time we met, and looked into each other's eyes for a single instant; +then, as if a curtain had dropped suddenly between us, we were +separated. But the impression of her face remained as vivid and +permanent as a sun-picture. She lives, for most of her time, +secluded at Ivy Cliff, her home on the Hudson; and her life is +passed there, I hear, in doing good. And, if good deeds, from right +ends, write their history on the human face, then her countenance +bears the record of tenderest charities. It was pale when I last saw +it—pale, but spiritual—I can use no other word; and I felt a +sudden panic at the thought that she was growing into a life so pure +and heavenly that I must stand afar off as unworthy. It had +sometimes come into my thought that we were approaching each other, +as both put off, more and more, the evil which had driven us apart +and held us so long asunder. But this illusion our last brief +meeting dispelled. She has passed me on the road of self-discipline +and self-abnegation, and is journeying far ahead. And now I can but +follow through life at a distance. +</P> + +<P> +"So much, and no more, my friend. I drop the veil over my heart. You +will understand me better hereafter. I shall not marry. That legal +divorce is invalid. I could not perjure my soul by vows of fidelity +toward another. Patiently and earnestly will I do my allotted work +here. My better hopes lie all in the heavenly future. +</P> + +<P> +"And now, my friend, we will understand each other better. You have +looked deeper into my thoughts and experiences than any other human +being. Let the revelation be sacred to yourself. The knowledge you +possess may enable you to do me justice sometimes, and sometimes to +save me from an intrusion of themes that cannot but touch me +unpleasantly. There was a charm about Mrs. Eager that, striking me +suddenly, for a little while bewildered my fancy. She is a woman of +rare endowments, and I do not regret the introduction and passing +influence she exercised over me. It was a dream from which the +awakening was certain. Suddenly the illusion vanished, as I saw her +beside my lost Irene. The one was of the earth, earthy—the other +of heaven, heavenly; and as I looked back into her brilliant face, +radiant with thought and feeling, I felt a low, creeping shudder, as +if just freed from the spell of a siren. I cannot be enthralled +again, even for a moment." +</P> + +<P> +Back again into his world's work Mr. Emerson returned after this +brief, exciting episode, and found in its performance from high and +honorable motives that calmly sustaining power which comes only as +the reward of duties faithfully done. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVIII. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AFTER THE STORM. +</H3> + +<P> +<I>AFTER</I> the storm! How long the treasure remained buried in deep +waters! How long the earth showed unsightly furrows and barren +places! For nearly twenty years there had been warm sunshine, and no +failure of the dews nor the early and latter rain. But grass had not +grown nor flowers blossomed in the path of that desolating tempest. +Nearly twenty years! If the history of these two lives during that +long period could be faithfully written, it would flood the soul +with tears. +</P> + +<P> +Four years later than the time when we last presented Irene to the +reader we introduce her again. That meeting in the picture-gallery +had disturbed profoundly the quiet pulses of her life. She did not +observe Mr. Emerson's companion. The picture alone had attracted her +attention; and she had just began to feel its meaning when an +audible sigh reached her ears. The answering sigh was involuntary. +Then they looked into each other's faces again—only for an +instant—but with what a volume of mutual revelations! +</P> + +<P> +It was four years subsequent to this time that Irene, after a brief +visit in New York to her friend, Mrs. Everet, returned to her rural +home. Mrs. Everet was to follow on the next day, and spend a few +weeks with her father. It was yet in the early summer, and there +were not many passengers on the-boat. As was usual, Irene provided +herself with a volume, and soon after going on board took a retired +place in one of the cabins and buried herself in its pages. For over +three hours she remained completely absorbed in what she was +reading. Then her mind began to wander and dwell on themes that made +the even pulses of her heart beat to a quicker measure; yet still +her eyes remained fixed on the book she held in her hand. At length +she became aware that some one was near her, by the falling of a +shadow on the page she was trying to read. Lifting her head, she met +the eyes of Hartley Emerson. He was standing close to her, his hand +resting on the back of a chair, which he now drew nearly in front of +her. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," he said, in a low, quiet voice, "I am glad to meet you +again in this world." And he reached out his hand as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Irene sat very still, but she did not take her eyes +from Mr. Emerson's face; then she extended her hand and let it lie +in his. He did not fail to notice that it had a low tremor. +</P> + +<P> +Thus received, he sat down. +</P> + +<P> +"Nearly twenty years have passed, Irene, since a word or sign has +passed between us." +</P> + +<P> +Her lips moved, but there was no utterance. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should we not, at least, be friends?" +</P> + +<P> +Her lips moved again, but no words trembled on the air. +</P> + +<P> +"Friends, that may meet now and then, and feel kindly one toward the +other." +</P> + +<P> +His voice was still event in tone—very even, but very distinct and +impressive. +</P> + +<P> +At first Irene's face had grown pale, but now a warm flush was +pervading it. +</P> + +<P> +"If you desire it, Hartley," she answered, in a voice that trembled +in the beginning, but grew firm ere the sentence closed, "it is not +for me to say, 'No.' As for kind feelings, they are yours +always—always. The bitterness passed from my heart long ago." +</P> + +<P> +"And from mine," said Mr. Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +They were silent for a few moments, and each showed embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"Nearly twenty years! That is a long, long time, Irene." His voice +showed signs of weakness. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is a long time." It was a mere echo of his words, yet full +of meaning. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty years!" he repeated. "There has been full time for +reflection, and, it may be, for repentance. Time for growing wiser +and better." +</P> + +<P> +Irene's eyelids drooped until the long lashes lay in a dark fringed +line on her pale cheeks. When she lifted them they were wet. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Hartley," she answered with much feeling, "there has been, +indeed, time for reflection and repentance. It is no light thing to +shadow the whole life of a human being." +</P> + +<P> +"As I have shadowed yours." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," she answered quickly, "I did not mean that; as I have +shadowed yours." +</P> + +<P> +She could not veil the tender interest that was in her eyes; would +not, perhaps, if it had been in her power. +</P> + +<P> +At this moment a bell rang out clear and loud. Irene started and +glanced from the window; then, rising quickly, she said— +</P> + +<P> +"We are at the landing." +</P> + +<P> +There was a hurried passage from cabin to deck, a troubled confusion +of thought, a brief period of waiting, and then Irene stood on the +shore and Hartley Emerson on the receding vessel. In a few hours +miles of space lay between them. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene, darling," said Mrs. Everet, as they met at Ivy Cliff on the +next day, "how charming you look! This pure, sweet, bracing air has +beautified you like a cosmetic. Your cheeks are warm and your eyes +are full of light. It gives me gladness of heart to see in your face +something of the old look that faded from it years ago." +</P> + +<P> +Irene drew her arm around her friend and kissed her lovingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Come and sit down here in the library. I have something to tell +you," she answered, "that will make your heart beat quicker, as it +has mine." +</P> + +<P> +"I have met him," she said, as they sat down and looked again into +each other's faces. +</P> + +<P> +"Him! Who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hartley." +</P> + +<P> +"Your husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"He who was my husband. Met him face to face; touched his hand; +listened to his voice; almost felt his heart beat against mine. Oh, +Rose darling, it has sent the blood bounding in new life through my +veins. He was on the boat yesterday, and came to me as I sat +reading. We talked together for a few minutes, when our landing was +reached, and we parted. But in those few minutes my poor heart had +more happiness than it has known for twenty years. We are at peace. +He asked why we might not be as friends who could meet now and then, +and feel kindly toward each other? God bless him for the words! +After a long, long night of tears, the sweet morning has broken!" +</P> + +<P> +And Irene laid her head down against Rose, hiding her face and +weeping from excess of joy. +</P> + +<P> +"What a pure, true, manly face he has!" she continued, looking up +with swimming eyes. "How full it is of thought and feeling! You +called him my husband just now, Rose. My husband!" The light went +back from her face. "Not for time, but—" and she glanced upward, +with eyes full of hope—"for the everlasting ages! Oh is it not a +great gain to have met here in forgiveness of the past—to have +looked kindly into each other's faces—to have spoken words that +cannot die?" +</P> + +<P> +What could Rose say to all this? Irene had carried her out of her +depth. The even tenor of her life-experiences gave no deep sea-line +that could sound these waters. And so she sat silent, bewildered and +half afraid. +</P> + +<P> +Margaret came to the library, and, opening the door, looked in. +There was a surprised expression on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" Irene asked. +</P> + +<P> +"A gentleman has called, Miss Irene." +</P> + +<P> +"A gentleman!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, miss; and wants to see you." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he send his name?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, miss." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know him, Margaret?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say, miss, for certain, but—" she stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"But what, Margaret?" +</P> + +<P> +"It may be just my thought, miss; but he looks for all the world as +if he might be—" +</P> + +<P> +She paused again. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say it, Miss Irene, no how, and I won't. But the gentleman +asked for you. What shall I tell him?" +</P> + +<P> +"That I will see him in a moment," answered Irene. +</P> + +<P> +Margaret retired. +</P> + +<P> +The face of Irene, which flushed at first, now became pale as ashes. +A wild hope trembled in her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me for a few minutes," she said to Mrs. Everet, and, rising, +left the room. +</P> + +<P> +It was as Irene had supposed. On entering the parlor, a gentleman +advanced to meet her, and she stood face to face with Hartley +Emerson! +</P> + +<P> +"Irene," he said, extending his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Hartley," fell in an irrepressible throb from her lips as she put +her hand in his. +</P> + +<P> +"I could not return to New York without seeing you again," said Mr. +Emerson, as he stood holding the hand of Irene. "We met so briefly, +and were thrown apart again so suddenly, that some things I meant to +say were left unspoken." +</P> + +<P> +He led her to a seat and sat down beside her, still looking intently +in her face. Irene was far from being as calm as when they sat +together the day before. A world of new hopes had sprung up in her +heart since then. She had lain half asleep and half awake nearly all +night, in a kind of delicious dream, from which the morning awoke +her with a cold chill of reality. She had dreamed again since the +sun had risen; and now the dream was changing into the actual. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I done wrong in this, Irene?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +And she answered, +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is a pleasure to meet you, Hartley." +</P> + +<P> +She had passed through years of self-discipline, and the power +acquired during this time came to her aid. And so she was able to +answer with womanly dignity. It was a pleasure to meet him there, +and she said so. +</P> + +<P> +"There are some things in the past, Irene," said Mr. Emerson, "of +which I must speak, now that I can do so. There are confessions that +I wish to make. Will you hear me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Better," answered Irene, "let the dead past bury its dead." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not seek to justify myself, but you, Irene." +</P> + +<P> +"You cannot alter the estimate I have made of my own conduct," she +replied. "A bitter stream does not flow from a sweet fountain. That +dead, dark, hopeless past! Let it sleep if it will!" +</P> + +<P> +"And what, then, of the future?" asked Mr. Emerson. +</P> + +<P> +"Of the future!" The question startled her. She looked at him with a +glance of eager inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, of the future, Irene. Shall it be as the past? or have we both +come up purified from the fire? Has it consumed the dross, and left +only the fine gold? I can believe it in your case, and hope that it +is so in mine. But this I do know, Irene: after suffering and trial +have done their work of abrasion, and I get down to the pure metal +of my heart, I find that your image is fixed there in the +imperishable substance. I did not hope to meet you again in this +world as now—to look into your face, to hold your hand, to listen +to your voice as I have done this day—but I have felt that God was +fitting us through earthly trial, for a heavenly union. We shall be +one hereafter, dear Irene—one and for ever!" +</P> + +<P> +The strong man broke down. His voice fell into low sobs—tears +blinded his vision. He groped about for the hand of Irene, found it, +and held it wildly to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +Was it for a loving woman to hold back coldly now? No, no, no! That +were impossible. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband!" she said, tenderly and reverently, as she placed her +saintly lips on his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +There was a touching ceremonial at Ivy Cliff on the next day—one +never to be forgotten by the few who were witnesses. A white-haired +minister—the same who, more than twenty years before, had said to +Hartley Emerson and Irene Delancy, "May your lives flow together +like two pure streams that meet in the same valley,"—again joined +their hands and called them "husband and wife." The long, dreary, +tempestuous night had passed away, and the morning arisen in +brightness and beauty. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of After the Storm, by T. S. Arthur + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTER THE STORM *** + +***** This file should be named 4590-h.htm or 4590-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/9/4590/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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