After the Storm

"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."

"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.

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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.