After the Storm

"Why not?"

"I wished him to go to the arbor."

"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.

"He is always opposing me!" said Irene, giving way to a flood of

tears and weeping for a time bitterly.

"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."

"Nor I. He takes this means to punish me," said Irene.

"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."

Irene did not reply.

"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."

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 be

had really loved her--so she queried--would be 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.

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.