After the Storm

"Look!" exclaimed the young man, suddenly, pointing to the river. A

boat had just come in sight. It contained a man and a woman. The

former was striving with a pair of oars to keep the boat right in

the eye of the wind; but while the maiden and her lover still gazed

at them, a wild gust swept down upon the water and drove their frail

bark under. There was no hope in their case; the floods had

swallowed them, and would not give up their living prey.

A moment afterward, and an elm, whose great arms had for nearly a

century spread themselves out in the sunshine tranquilly or battled

with the storms, fell crashing against the house, shaking it to the

very foundations.

The maiden drew back from the window, overcome with terror. These

shocks were too much for her nerves. But her lover restrained her,

saying, with a covert chiding in his voice, "Stay, Irene! There is a wild delight in all this, and are you not

brave enough to share it with me?"

But she struggled to release herself from his arm, replying with a

shade of impatience-"Let me go, Hartley! Let me go!"

The flexed arm was instantly relaxed, and the maiden was free. She

went back, hastily, from the window, and, sitting down on a sofa,

buried her face in her hands. The young man did not follow her, but

remained standing by the window, gazing out upon Nature in her

strong convulsion. It may, however, be doubted whether his mind took

note of the wild images that were pictured in his eyes. A cloud was

in the horizon of his mind, dimming its heavenly azure. And the

maiden's sky was shadowed also.

For two or three minutes the young man stood by the window, looking

out at the writhing trees and the rain pouring down an avalanche of

water, and then, with a movement that indicated a struggle and a

conquest, turned and walked toward the sofa on which the maiden

still sat with her face hidden from view. Sitting down beside her,

he took her hand. It lay passive in his. He pressed it gently; but

she gave back no returning pressure. There came a sharp, quick gleam

of lightning, followed by a crash that jarred the house. But Irene

did not start--we may question whether she even saw the one or heard

the other, except as something remote.

"Irene!"

She did not stir.

The young man leaned closer, and said, in a tender voice-"Irene--darling--"

Her hand moved in his--just moved--but did not return the pressure

of his own.