“Poor child! poor child!” sobbed the old man, as he sat down beside Irene and drew her head against his breast.  And so both wept together for a time.  After they had grown calm, Mr. Delancy said—­

“Tell me, Irene, without disguise of any kind, the meaning of this step which you have so hastily taken.  Let me have the beginning, progress and consummation of the sad misunderstanding.”

While yet under the government of blind passion, ere her husband returned from the drive which Irene had refused to take with him, she had, acting from a sudden suggestion that came to her mind, left her room and, taking the cars, passed down to Albany, where she remained until morning at one of the hotels.  In silence and loneliness she had, during the almost sleepless night that followed, ample time for reflection and repentance.  And both came, with convictions of error and deep regret for the unwise, almost disgraceful step she had taken, involving not only suffering, but humiliating exposure of herself and husband.  But it was felt to be too late now to look back.  Pride would have laid upon her a positive interdiction, if other considerations had not come in to push the question of return aside.

In the morning, without partaking of food, Irene left in the New York boat, and passed down the river toward the home from which she had gone forth, only a few days before, a happy bride—­returning with the cup, then full of the sweet wine of life, now brimming with the bitterest potion that had ever touched her lips.

And so she had come back to her father’s house.  In all the hours of mental anguish which had passed since her departure from Saratoga, there had been an accusing spirit at her ear, and, resist as she would, self-condemnation prevailed over attempted self-justification.  The cause of this unhappy rupture was so slight, the first provocation so insignificant, that she felt the difficulty of making out her case before her father.  As to the world, pride counseled silence.

With but little concealment or extenuation of her own conduct, Irene told the story of her disagreement with Hartley.

“And that was all!” exclaimed Mr. (sic) Delancey, in amazement, when she ended her narrative.

“All, but enough!” she answered, with a resolute manner.

Mr. Delancy arose and walked the floor in silence for more than ten minutes, during which time Irene neither spoke nor moved.

“Oh, misery!” ejaculated the father, at length, lifting his hands above his head and then bringing them down with a gesture of despair.

Irene started up and moved to his side.

“Dear father!” She spoke tenderly, laying her hands upon him; but he pushed her away, saying—­

“Wretched girl! you have laid upon my old head a burden of disgrace and wretchedness that you have no power to remove.”

“Father! father!” She clung to him, but he pushed her away.  His manner was like that of one suddenly bereft of reason.  She clung still, but he resolutely tore himself from her, when she fell exhausted and fainting upon the floor.