“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.  The application of warm stimulants was immediately ordered, and their good effects soon became apparent.

“All will come right in a little while,” said Dr. Edmundson, encouragingly.  “It seems to be only a fainting fit of unusual length.”

Hartley drew Mr. Delancy aside.

“It will be best that I should be alone with her when she recovers,” said he.

“You may be right in that,” said Mr. Delancy, after a moment’s reflection.

“I am sure that I am,” was returned.

“You think she will recover soon?” said Mr. Delancy, approaching the doctor.

“Yes, at any moment.  She is breathing deeper, and her heart beats with a fuller impulse.”

“Let us, retire, then;” and he drew the doctor from the apartment.  Pausing at the door, he called to Margaret in a half whisper.  She went out also, Emerson alone remaining.

Taking his place by the bedside, he waited, in trembling anxiety, for the moment when her eyes should open and recognize him.  At last there came a quivering of the eyelids and a motion about the sleeper’s lips.  Emerson bent over and took one of her hands in his.

“Irene!” He called her name in a voice of the tenderest affection.  The sound seemed to penetrate to the region of consciousness, for her lips moved with a murmur of inarticulate words.  He kissed her, and said again—­

“Irene!”

There was a sudden lighting up of her face.

“Irene, love! darling!” The voice of Emerson was burdened with tenderness.

“Oh, Hartley!” she exclaimed, opening her eyes and looking with a kind of glad bewilderment into his face.  Then, half rising and drawing her arms around his neck, she hid her face on his bosom, murmuring—­

“Thank God that it is only a dream!”

“Yes, thank God!” replied her husband, as he kissed her in a kind of wild fervor; “and may such dreams never come again.”

She lay very still for some moments.  Thought and memory were beginning to act feebly.  The response of her husband had in it something that set her to questioning.  But there was one thing that made her feel happy:  the sound of his loving voice was in her ears; and all the while she felt his hand moving, with a soft, caressing touch, over her cheek and temple.