After the storm. Alas! that there should be a wreck-strewn shore

so soon! That within three days of the bridal morning a tempest

should have raged, scattering on the wind sweet blossoms which had

just opened to the sunshine, tearing away the clinging vines of

love, and leaving marks of desolation which no dew and sunshine

could ever obliterate!

It was not a blessed honeymoon to them. How could it be, after what

had passed? Both were hurt and mortified; and while there was mutual

forgiveness and great tenderness and fond concessions, one toward

the other, there was a sober, (sic) thoughful state of mind, not

favorable to happiness.

Mr. Delancy hoped the lesson--a very severe one--might prove the

guarantee of future peace. It had, without doubt, awakened Irene's

mind to sober thoughts--and closer self-examination than usual. She

was convicted in her own heart of folly, the memory of which could

never return to her without a sense of pain.

At the end of three weeks from the day of their marriage, Mr. and

Mrs. Emerson went down to the city to take possession of their new

home. On the eve of their departure from Ivy Cliff, Mr. Delancy had

a long conference with his daughter, in which he conjured her, by

all things sacred, to guard herself against that blindness of

passion which had already produced such unhappy consequences. She

repeated, with many tears, her good resolutions for the future, and

showed great sorrow and contrition for the past.

"It may come out right," said the old man to himself; as he sat

alone, with a pressure of foreboding on his mind, looking into the

dim future, on the day of their departure for New York. His only and

beloved child had gone forth to return no more, unless in sorrow or

wretchedness. "It may come out right, but my heart has sad

misgivings."

There was a troubled suspense of nearly a week, when the first

letter came from Irene to her father. He broke the seal with

unsteady hands, fearing to let his eyes fall upon the opening page.

"My dear, dear father! I am a happy young wife."

"Thank God!" exclaimed the old man aloud, letting the hand fall that

held Irene's letter. It was some moments before he could read

farther; then he drank in, with almost childish eagerness, every

sentence of the long letter.

"Yes, yes, it may come out right," said Mr. Delancy; "it may come

out right." He uttered the words, so often on his lips, with more

confidence than usual. The letter strongly urged him to make her a

visit, if it was only for a day or two.

"You know, dear father," she wrote, "that most of your time is to be

spent with us--all your winters, certainly; and we want you to begin

the new arrangement as soon as possible."




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