After the Storm

After 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.

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!

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.

"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.

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.

Thus received, he sat down.