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 trembled in her heart. "Excuse me for a few minutes," she said to Mrs. Everet, and, rising, left the room. It was as Irene had supposed. On entering the parlor, a gentleman advanced to meet her, and she stood face to face with Hartley Emerson! "Irene," he said, extending his hand. "Hartley," fell in an irrepressible throb from her lips as she put her hand in his. "I could not return to New York without seeing you again," said Mr. Emerson, as he stood holding the hand of Irene. "We met so briefly, and were thrown apart again so suddenly, that some things I meant to say were left unspoken." He led her to a seat and sat down beside her, still looking intently in her face. Irene was far from being as calm as when they sat together the day before. A world of new hopes had sprung up in her heart since then. She had lain half asleep and half awake nearly all night, in a kind of delicious dream, from which the morning awoke her with a cold chill of reality. She had dreamed again since the sun had risen; and now the dream was changing into the actual. "Have I done wrong in this, Irene?" he asked. And she answered, "No, it is a pleasure to meet you, Hartley." She had passed through years of self-discipline, and the power acquired during this time came to her aid. And so she was able to answer with womanly dignity. It was a pleasure to meet him there, and she said so.