Then, sitting down beside the bed upon which he had placed her, he kissed her pale cheeks and, laying his face to hers, sobbed and moaned, in the abandonment of his grief, like a distressed child weeping in despair for some lost treasure.
"Come," said Margaret, who was an old family domestic, drawing Hartley from the bedside, "leave her alone with me for a little while." And the husband and father retired from the room.

When they returned, at the call of Margaret, they found Irene in bed, her white, unconscious face scarcely relieved against the snowy pillow on which her head was resting.
"She is alive," said Margaret, in a low and excited voice; "I can feel her heart beat." "Thank God!" ejaculated Emerson, bending again over the motionless form and gazing anxiously down upon the face of his bride.
But there was no utterance of thankfulness in the heart of Mr.
Delancy.

For her to come back again to conscious life was, he felt, but a return to wretchedness.

If the true prayer of his heart could have found voice, it would have been for death, and not for life.
In silence, fear and suspense they waited an hour before the doctor arrived.

Little change in Irene took place during that time, except that her respiration became clearer and the pulsations of her heart distinct and regular.