And she turned away from her kind-hearted domestic. On entering her chamber Irene locked the door in order to be safe from intrusion, for she knew that Margaret would not let half an hour pass without coming up to ask how she was. Sitting down by the window, she looked out upon the river, along whose smooth surface had passed the vessel in which, a little while before, she met the man once called by the name of husband--met him and looked into his face for the first time in ten long years! The meeting had disturbed her profoundly. In the cabin of that vessel she had seen him by the side of a fair young girl in earnest conversation; and she had watched with a strange, fluttering interest the play of his features. What was he saying to that fair young girl that she listened with such a breathless, waiting air? Suddenly he turned toward her, their eyes met and were spell-bound for moments. What did she read in his eyes in those brief moments? What did he read in hers? Both questions pressed themselves upon her thoughts as she retreated among the crowd of passengers, and then hid herself from the chance of another meeting until the boat reached the landing at Ivy Cliff. Why did she pause on the shore, and turn to look upon the crowded decks? She knew not. The act was involuntary. Again their eyes met--met and held each other until the receding vessel placed dim distance between them. In less than half an hour Margaret's hand was on the door, but she could not enter. Irene had not moved from her place at the window in all that time. "Is that you, Margaret?" she called, starting from her abstraction. "Do you want anything, Miss Irene?" "No, thank you, Margaret." She answered in as cheerful a tone as she could assume, and the kind old waiting-woman retired. From that time every one noted a change in Irene. But none knew, or even guessed, its cause or meaning. Not even to her friend, Mrs. Everet, did she speak of her meeting with Hartley Emerson. Her face did not light up as before, and her eyes seemed always as if looking inward or gazing dreamily upon something afar off. Yet in good deeds she failed not. If her own heart was heavier, she made other hearts lighter by her presence. And still the years went on in their steady revolutions--one, two, three, four, five more years, and in all that time the parted ones did not meet again. CHAPTER XXV. BORN FOR EACH OTHER. _I SAW_ Mr. Emerson yesterday," said Mrs. Everet. She was sitting with Irene in her own house in New York. "Did you?" Irene spoke evenly and quietly, but did not turn her face toward Mrs. Everet. "Yes. I saw him at my husband's store. Mr. Everet has engaged him to conduct an important suit, in which many thousands of dollars are at stake." "How does be look?" inquired Irene, without showing any feelings but still keeping her face turned from Mrs Everet. "Well, I should say, though rather too much frosted for a man of his years."