After the Storm

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.