After the Storm

For such a reception the young wife was wholly unprepared.

Suddenly her husband had put on a new character and assumed a right

of control against which her sensitive pride and native love of

freedom arose in strong rebellion. That she had done wrong in going

away she acknowledged to herself, and had acknowledged to him. But

he had met confession in a spirit so different from what was

anticipated, and showed an aspect so cold, stern, and exacting, that

she was bewildered. She did not, however, mistake the meaning of his

language. It was plain that she understood the man's position to be

one of dictation and control: we use the stronger aspect in which it

was presented to her mind. As to submission, it was not in all her

thoughts. Wrung to agony as her heart was, and appalled as she

looked, trembling and shrinking into the future, she did not yield a

moment to weakness.

Midnight found Irene alone in her chamber. She had flung herself

upon a bed when she came up from the parlor, and fallen asleep after

an hour of fruitless beating about in her mind. Awaking from a maze

of troubled dreams, she started up and gazed, half fearfully, around

the dimly-lighted room.

"Where am I?" she asked herself. Some moments elapsed before the

painful events of the past few days began to reveal themselves to

her consciousness.

"And where is Hartley?" This question followed as soon as all grew

clear. Sleep had tranquilized her state, and restored a measure of

just perception. Stepping from the bed, she went from the room and

passed silently down stairs. A light still burned in the parlor

where she had left her husband some hours before, and streamed out

through the partly opened door. She stood for some moments,

listening, but there was no sound of life within. A sudden fear

crept into her heart. Her hand shook as she laid it upon the door

and pressed it open. Stepping within, she glanced around with a

frightened air.

On the sofa lay Hartley, with his face toward the light. It was wan

and troubled, and the brows were contracted as if from intense pain.

For some moments Irene stood looking at him; but his eyes were shut

and he lay perfectly still. She drew nearer and bent down over him.

He was sleeping, but his breath came so faintly, and there was so

little motion of his chest, that the thought flashed through her

with an electric thrill that he might be dying! Only by a strong

effort of self-control did she repress a cry of fear, or keep back

her hands from clasping his neck. In what a strong tide did love

rush back upon her soul! Her heart overflowed with tenderness, was

oppressed with yearning.

"Oh, Hartley, my husband, my dear husband!" she cried out, love,

fear, grief and anguish blending wildly in her voice, as she caught

him in her arms and awoke him with a rain of tears and kisses.