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After the Storm

Page 102

"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.

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.

"Oh, yes! yes! I thought you were here this moment! And so it's all

true?" he said, in a quick, troubled way.

"True? What is true, father?" asked Irene, as she paused before him.

"True, what you told me yesterday."

She did not answer.

"You have left your husband?" He looked soberly into her face.

"I have, father." She thought it best to use no evasion.

He groaned, sat down in the chair from which he had arisen, and let

his head fall upon his bosom.

"Father!" Irene kneeled before him and clasped his hands. "Father!

dear father!"

He laid a hand on her head, and smoothed her hair in a caressing

manner.

"Poor child! poor daughter!" he said, in a fond, pitying voice,

"don't take it so to heart. Your old father loves you still."

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.

"Now, don't, Irene! Don't take on so, daughter! I love you still,

and we will be happy here, as in other days."

"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."

"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.

"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."

"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."

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.

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