and an elm, whose great arms had for nearly a
century spread themselves out in the sunshine tranquilly or battled
with the storms, fell crashing against the house, shaking it to the
very foundations.

The maiden drew back from the window, overcome with terror. These
shocks were too much for her nerves. But her lover restrained her,
saying, with a covert chiding in his voice,

"Stay, Irene! There is a wild delight in all this, and are you not
brave enough to share it with me?"

But she struggled to release herself from his arm, replying with a
shade of impatience--

"Let me go, Hartley! Let me go!"

The flexed arm was instantly relaxed, and the maiden was free. She
went back, hastily, from the window, and, sitting down on a sofa,
buried her face in her hands. The young man did not follow her, but
remained standing by the window, gazing out upon Nature in her
strong convulsion. It may, however, be doubted whether his mind took
note of the wild images that were pictured in his eyes. A cloud was
in the horizon of his mind, dimming its heavenly azure. And the
maiden's sky was shadowed also.

For two or three minutes the young man stood by the window, looking
out at the writhing trees and the rain pouring down an avalanche of
water, and then, with a movement that indicated a struggle and a
conquest, turned and walked toward the sofa on which the maiden
still sat with her face hidden from view. Sitting down beside her,
he took her hand. It lay passive in his. He pressed it gently; but
she gave back no returning pressure. There came a sharp, quick gleam
of lightning, followed by a crash that jarred the house. But Irene
did not start--we may question whether she even saw the one or heard
the other, except as something remote.

"Irene!"

She did not stir.

The young man leaned closer, and said, in a tender voice--

"Irene--darling--"

Her hand moved in his--just moved--but did not return the pressure
of his own.

"Irene." And now his arm stole around her. She yielded, and,
turning, laid her head upon his shoulder.

There had been a little storm in the maiden's heart, consequent upon
the slight restraint ventured on by her lover when she drew back
from the window; and it was only now subsiding.

"I did not mean to offend you," said the young man, penitently.

"Who said that I was offended?" She looked up, with a smile that
only half obliterated the shadow. "I was frightened, Hartley. It is
a fearful storm!"