her breast--"somebody beside yourself
would be a great deal happier. There now, child, I've said it; and
you needn't go to getting angry with me."

"They are often our best friends who use the plainest speech," said
Irene. "No, Margaret, I am not going to be angry with one whom I
know to be true-hearted."

"Not truer-hearted than your husband, Miss Irene; nor half so
loving."

"Why did you say that?" Margaret started at the tone of voice in
which this interrogation was made.

"Because I think so," she answered naively.

Irene looked at her for some moments with a penetrating gaze, and
then said, with an affected carelessness of tone--

"Your preacher and your dreams have made you quite a moralist."

"They have not taken from my heart any of the love it has felt for
you," said Margaret, tears coming into her eyes.

"I know that, Margaret. You were always too kind and indulgent, and
I always too wayward and unreasonable. But I am getting years on my
side, and shall not always be a foolish girl."

Snow had now begun to fall thickly, and the late December day was
waning toward the early twilight. Margaret went down stairs and left
Irene alone in her chamber, where she remained until nearly tea-time
before joining her father.

Mr. Delancy did not altogether feel satisfied in his mind about this
unheralded visit from his daughter, with whose wayward moods he was
too familiar. It might be all as she said, but there were intrusive
misgivings that troubled him.

At tea-time she took her old place at the table in such an easy,
natural way, and looked so pleased and happy, that her father was
satisfied. He asked about her husband, and she talked of him without
reserve.

"What day is Hartley coming up?" he inquired.

"I hope to see him on the day before Christmas," returned Irene.
There was a falling in her voice that, to the ears of Mr. Delancy,
betrayed a feeling of doubt.

"He will not, surely, put it off later," said the father.

"I don't know," said Irene. "He may be prevented from leaving early
enough to reach here before Christmas morning. If there should be a
cold snap, and the river freeze up, it will make the journey
difficult and attended with delay."

"I think the winter has set in;" and Mr. Delancy turned his ear
toward the window, against which the snow and hail were beating with
violence. "It's a pity Hartley didn't come up with you."

A sober hue came over the face of Irene. This did not esca