After the Storm

Irene did not reply. Mr. Delancy looked at her curiously, but her

face was partly turned away and he did not get its true expression.

The twenty-fourth came. No letter had been received by Irene, nor

had she written to New York since her arrival at Ivy Cliff.

"Isn't it singular that you don't get a letter from Hartley?" said

Mr. Delancy.

Irene had been sitting silent for some time when her father made

this remark.

"He is very busy," she said, in reply.

"That's no excuse. A man is never too busy to write to his absent

wife."

"I haven't expected a letter, and so am not disappointed. But he's

on his way, no doubt. How soon will the boat arrive?"

"Between two and three o'clock."

"And it's now ten."

The hours passed on, and the time of arrival came. The windows of

Irene's chamber looked toward the river, and she was standing at one

of them alone when the boat came in sight. Her face was almost

colorless, and contracted by an expression of deep anxiety. She

remained on her feet for the half hour that intervened before the

boat could reach the landing. It was not the first time that she had

watched there, in the excitement of doubt and fear, for the same

form her eyes were now straining themselves to see.

The shrill sound of escaping steam ceased to quiver on the air, and

in a few minutes the boat shot forward into view and went gliding up

the river. Irene scarcely breathed, as she stood, with colorless

face, parted lips and eager eyes, looking down the road that led to

the landing. But she looked in vain; the form of her husband did not

appear--and it was Christmas Eve!

What did it mean?