After the Storm

Mr. Delancy was gratified to see that there was no jarring between

them. But he failed not at the same time to notice something else

that gave him uneasiness. The warmth of feeling, the tenderness, the

lover-like ardor which displayed itself in the beginning, no longer

existed. They did not even show that fondness for each other which

is so beautiful a trait in young married partners. And yet he could

trace no signs of alienation. The truth was, the action of their

lives had been inharmonious. Deep down in their hearts there was no

defect of love. But this love was compelled to hide itself away; and

so, for the most part, it lay concealed from even their own

consciousness.

During the second year of their married life there came a change of

state in both Irene and her husband. They had each grown weary of

constraint when together. It was irksome to be always on guard, lest

some word, tone or act should be misunderstood. In consequence, old

collisions were renewed, and Hartley often grew impatient and even

contemptuous toward his wife, when she ventured to speak of social

progress, woman's rights, or any of the kindred themes in which she

still took a warm interest. Angry retort usually followed on these

occasions, and periods of coldness ensued, the effect of which was

to produce states of alienation.

If a babe had come to soften the heart of Irene, to turn thought and

feeling in a new direction, to awaken a mother's love with all its

holy tenderness, how different would all have been!--different with

her, and different with him. There would then have been an object on

which both could centre interest and affection, and thus draw

lovingly together again, and feel, as in the beginning, heart

beating to heart in sweet accordings. They would have learned their

love-lessons over again, and understood their meanings better. Alas

that the angels of infancy found no place in their dwelling!

With no central attraction at home, her thoughts stimulated by

association with a class of intellectual, restless women, who were

wandering on life's broad desert in search of green places and

refreshing springs, each day's journey bearing them farther and

farther away from landscapes of perpetual verdure, Irene grew more

and more interested in subjects that lay for the most part entirely

out of the range of her husband's sympathies; while he was becoming

more deeply absorbed in a profession that required close application

of thought, intellectual force and clearness, and cold, practical

modes of looking at all questions that came up for consideration.

The consequence was that they were, in all their common interests,

modes of thinking and habits of regarding the affairs of life,

steadily receding from each other. Their evenings were now less

frequently spent together. If home had been a pleasant place to him,

Mr. Emerson would have usually remained at home after the day's

duties were over; or, if he went abroad, it would have been usually

in company with his wife. But home was getting to be dull, if not

positively disagreeable. If a conversation was started, it soon

involved disagreement in sentiment, and then came argument, and

perhaps ungentle words, followed by silence and a mutual writing

down in the mind of bitter things. If there was no conversation,

Irene buried herself in a book--some absorbing novel, usually of the

heroic school.