I feel better; I don't know what came over me." He added the last sentence in an undertone.
Irene returned into the house, but not to resume her place at the table.

Her mind was in an agony of dread.

She had reached the dining-room, and was about to ring for a servant, when she heard her name called by her father.

Running back quickly to the portico, she found him standing in the attitude of one who had been suddenly startled; his face all alive with question and suspense.
"Oh, yes! yes! I thought you were here this moment! And so it's all true ?" he said, in a quick, troubled way.
"True?
What is true, father ?" asked Irene, as she paused before him.
"True, what you told me yesterday." She did not answer.
"You have left your husband ?" He looked soberly into her face.
"I have, father." She thought it best to use no evasion.
He groaned, sat down in the chair from which he had arisen, and let his head fall upon his bosom.
"Father!" Irene kneeled before him and clasped his hands.

"Father! dear father!" He laid a hand on her head, and smoothed her hair in a caressing manner.
"Poor child! poor daughter!" he said, in a fond, pitying voice, "don't take it so to heart.