ast and
sighed deeply.

At this moment the library door was pushed gently open, and the form
of a woman stood in the presence of Mr. Delancy and Rose. She was
dressed in a dark silk, but had on neither bonnet nor shawl. Both
started; Mr. Delancy raised his hands and bent forward, gazing at
her eagerly, his lips apart. The face of the woman was pale and
haggard, yet familiar as the face of an old friend; but in it was
something so strange and unnatural that for a moment or two it was
not recognized.

"Father!" It was Irene. She advanced quietly and held but her hand.

"My daughter!" He caught the extended hand and kissed her, but she
showed no emotion.

"Rose, dear, I am glad to see you." There was truth in the dead
level tone with which "I am glad to see you" was spoken, and Rose,
who perceived this, took her hand and kissed her. Both hands and
lips were cold.

"What's the matter, Irene? Have you been sick?" asked Mr. Delancy,
in a choking voice.

"No, father, I'm very well." You would never have recognized that
voice as the voice of Irene.

"No, child, you are not well. What ails you? Why are you here in so
strange a way and looking so strangely?"

"Do I look strangely?" There was a feeble effort to awaken a smile,
which only gave her face a ghastly expression.

"Is Hartley with you?"

"No." Her voice was fuller and more emphatic as she uttered this
word. She tried to look steadily at her father, but her eyes moved
aside from the range of his vision.

For a little while there was a troubled silence with all. Rose had
placed an arm around the waist of Irene and drawn her to the sofa,
on which they were now sitting; Mr. Delancy stood before them.
Gradually the cold, almost blank, expression of Irene's face changed
and the old look came back.

"My daughter," said Mr. Delancy.

"Father"--Irene interrupted him--"I know what you are going to say.
My sudden, unannounced appearance, at this time, needs explanation.
I am glad dear Rose is here--my old, true friend"--and she leaned
against Miss Carman--"I can trust her."

The arm of Rose tightened around the waist of Irene.

"Father"--the voice of Irene fell to a deep, solemn tone; there was
no emphasis on one word more than on another; all was a dead level;
yet the meaning was as full and the involved purpose as fixed as if
her voice had run through the whole range of passionate
intonation--"Father, I have come back to Ivy Cliff and to you, after
having s