hing to tell
you," she answered, "that will make your heart beat quicker, as it
has mine."

"I have met him," she said, as they sat down and looked again into
each other's faces.

"Him! Who?"

"Hartley."

"Your husband?"

"He who was my husband. Met him face to face; touched his hand;
listened to his voice; almost felt his heart beat against mine. Oh,
Rose darling, it has sent the blood bounding in new life through my
veins. He was on the boat yesterday, and came to me as I sat
reading. We talked together for a few minutes, when our landing was
reached, and we parted. But in those few minutes my poor heart had
more happiness than it has known for twenty years. We are at peace.
He asked why we might not be as friends who could meet now and then,
and feel kindly toward each other? God bless him for the words!
After a long, long night of tears, the sweet morning has broken!"

And Irene laid her head down against Rose, hiding her face and
weeping from excess of joy.

"What a pure, true, manly face he has!" she continued, looking up
with swimming eyes. "How full it is of thought and feeling! You
called him my husband just now, Rose. My husband!" The light went
back from her face. "Not for time, but--" and she glanced upward,
with eyes full of hope--"for the everlasting ages! Oh is it not a
great gain to have met here in forgiveness of the past--to have
looked kindly into each other's faces--to have spoken words that
cannot die?"

What could Rose say to all this? Irene had carried her out of her
depth. The even tenor of her life-experiences gave no deep sea-line
that could sound these waters. And so she sat silent, bewildered and
half afraid.

Margaret came to the library, and, opening the door, looked in.
There was a surprised expression on her face.

"What is it?" Irene asked.

"A gentleman has called, Miss Irene."

"A gentleman!"

"Yes, miss; and wants to see you."

"Did he send his name?"

"No, miss."

"Do you know him, Margaret?"

"I can't say, miss, for certain, but--" she stopped.

"But what, Margaret?"

"It may be just my thought, miss; but he looks for all the world as
if he might be--"

She paused again.

"Well?"

"I can't say it, Miss Irene, no how, and I won't. But the gentleman
asked for you. What shall I tell him?"

"That I will see him in a moment," answered Irene.

Margaret retired.

The face of Irene, which flushed at first, now became pale as ashes.
A wild hope tremble