Hartley Emerson loved truly the beautiful, talented and affectionate, but badly-disciplined, quick-tempered, self-willed girl he had chosen for a wife; and Irene Delancy would have gone to prison and to death for the sake of the man to whom she had yielded up the rich treasures of her young heart.  In both cases the great drawback to happiness was the absence of self-discipline, self-denial and self-conquest.  They could overcome difficulties, brave danger, set the world at defiance, if need be, for each other, and not a coward nerve give way; but when pride and passion came between them, each was a child in weakness and blind self-will.  Unfortunately, persistence of character was strong in both.  They were of such stuff as martyrs were made of in the fiery times of power and persecution.

A brighter, purer morning than that on which their marriage vows were said the year had not given to the smiling earth.  Clear and softly blue as the eye of childhood bent the summer sky above them.  There was not a cloud in all the tranquil heavens to give suggestion of dreary days to come or to wave a sign of warning.  The blithe birds sung their matins amid the branches that hung their leafy drapery around and above Irene’s windows, in seeming echoes to the songs love was singing in her heart.  Nature put on the loveliest attire in all her ample wardrobe, and decked herself with coronals and wreaths of flowers that loaded the air with sweetness.

“May your lives flow together like two pure streams that meet in the same valley, and as bright a sky bend always over you as gives its serene promise for to-day.”

Thus spoke the minister as the ceremonials closed that wrought the external bond of union between them.  His words were uttered with feeling and solemnity; for marriage, in his eyes, was no light thing.  He had seen too many sad hearts struggling in chains that only death could break, ever to regard marriage with other than sober thoughts that went questioning away into the future.

The “amen” of Mr. Delancy was not audibly spoken, but it was deep-voiced in his heart.

There was to be a wedding-tour of a few weeks, and then the young couple were to take possession of a new home in the city, Which Mr. Emerson had prepared for his bride.  The earliest boat that came up from New York was to bears the party to Albany, Saratoga being the first point of their destination.

After the closing of the marriage ceremony some two or three hours passed before the time of departure came.  The warm congratulations were followed by a gay, festive scene, in which glad young hearts had a merry-making time.  How beautiful the bride looked! and how proudly the gaze of her newly-installed husband turned ever and ever toward her, move which way she would among her maidens, as if she were a magnet to his eyes.  He was standing in the portico that looked out upon the distant river, about an hour after the wedding, talking with one of the bridesmaids, when the latter, pointing to the sky, said, laughing—­