After the Storm

"Irene! Love! Darling! What ails you? Where are we?" were the

confusedly uttered sentences of Mr. Emerson, as he started from the

sofa and, holding his young wife from him, looked into her weeping

face.

"Call me again 'love' and 'darling,' and I care not where we are!"

she answered, in tones of passionate entreaty. "Oh, Hartley, my

dear, dear husband! A desert island, with you, would be a paradise;

a paradise, without you, a weary desert! Say the words again. Call

me 'darling!'" And she let her head fall upon his bosom.

"God bless you!" he said, laying his hand upon her head. He was

awake and clearly conscious of place and position. His voice was

distinct, but tremulous and solemn. "God bless you, Irene, my wife!"

"And make me worthy of your love," she responded faintly.

"Mutually worthy of each other," said he. "Wiser--better--more

patient and forbearing. Oh, Irene," and his voice grew deep and

tender, "why may we not be to each other all that our hearts

desire?"

"We can--we must--we will!" she answered, lifting her hidden face

from his bosom and turning it up fondly to his. "God helping me, I

will be to you a better wife in the future."

"And I a more patient, loving, and forbearing husband," he replied.

"Oh that our hearts might beat together as one heart!"

For a little while Irene continued to gaze into her husband's

countenance with looks of the tenderest love, and then hid her face

on his bosom again.

And thus were they again reconciled.