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 escape the notice of her father; but it was natural that she should feel sober in thinking of her husband as likely to be kept from her by the storm. That such were her thoughts her words made evident, for she said, glancing toward the window-- "If there should be a deep snow, and the boats stop running, how can Hartley reach here in time?" On the next morning the sun rose bright and warm for the season. Several inches of snow had fallen, giving to the landscape a wintry whiteness, but the wind was coming in from the south, genial as spring. Before night half the snowy covering was gone. "We had our fears for nothing," said Mr. Delancy, on the second day, which was as mild as the preceding one. "All things promise well. I saw the boats go down as usual; so the river is open still." Irene did not reply. Mr. Delancy looked at her curiously, but her face was partly turned away and he did not get its true expression. The twenty-fourth came. No letter had been received by Irene, nor had she written to New York since her arrival at Ivy Cliff. "Isn't it singular that you don't get a letter from Hartley?" said Mr. Delancy. Irene had been sitting silent for some time when her father made this remark. "He is very busy," she said, in reply. "That's no excuse. A man is never too busy to write to his absent wife." "I haven't expected a letter, and so am not disappointed. But he's on his way, no doubt. How soon will the boat arrive?" "Between two and three o'clock." "And it's now ten."