CHAPTER V. THE BURSTING OF THE STORM. _MR. DELANCY_ was sitting in his library on the afternoon of the fourth day since the wedding-party left Ivy Cliff, when the entrance of some one caused him to turn toward the door. "Irene!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anxiety and alarm, as he started to his feet; for his daughter stood before him. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed and sad, her dress in disorder. "Irene, in Heaven's name, what has happened?" "The worst," she answered, in a low, hoarse voice, not moving from the spot where she first stood still. "Speak plainly, my child. I cannot bear suspense." "I have left my husband and returned to you!" was the firmly uttered reply. "Oh, folly! oh, madness! What evil counselor has prevailed with you, my unhappy child?" said Mr. Delancy, in a voice of anguish. "I have counseled with no one but myself." "Never a wise counselor--never a wise counselor! But why, why have you taken this desperate step?" "In self-protection," replied Irene. "Sit down, my child. There!" and he led her to a seat. "Now let me remove your bonnet and shawl. How wretched you look, poor, misguided one! I could have laid you in the grave with less agony than I feel in seeing you thus." Her heart was touched at this, and tears fell over her face. In the selfishness of her own sternly-borne trouble, she had forgotten the sorrow she was bringing to her father's heart. "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,