“I await with impatience your answer. If it should prove that I have had but a pleasant vision, too bright and sweet ever to be realized, be at least frank with me, Florence, as I have been with you. “IDA.” Florence Hastings closed that precious letter, upon which, as she read, her tears had fallen thick and fast. To her it was the first of those moments in life “When such sensations in the soul assemble As make it pleasure to the eyes to weep.” And with scarce an instant’s delay, she traced the following reply. “Do not leave me, Ida. Heaven bless you for your generous avowal—for your sweet offer of affection! Oh! if you could but imagine how intensely happy it has made me! I have always loved _you_, though I scarcely dared confess it even to myself, for I never dreamed that I could be an object of interest to any one. My life has hitherto been _so_ sad, and dark, and desolate; and my proud efforts to conceal from view the yearning for sympathy and appreciation that possessed my soul, have given me an apathy of manner which could not but prove repelling to those with whom chance brought me in contact. _You_ alone have read me aright—you alone know that I am not what I seem; that discipline and not nature, is shadowed forth in my outward demeanor. “Come, then, to me, darling, and let me reveal myself to you _more_ fully. Let me fold you to my bosom, and then, while I confess how precious to my soul is the promise of your true and earnest friendship, you will forget that to _you_ at least I have ever seemed “THE ICEBERG.” Florence had just finished her answer when the servant came for it, and this time her voice trembled perceptibly, as she repeated to the messenger her desire to see Miss Hamilton as soon as she had perused it. Five minutes elapsed; Florence, meanwhile, impatiently pacing the apartment, her usually colorless cheek deeply flushed, and her dark eyes glowing with an excitement that was destined speedily to end in happiness the most perfect she had known since early childhood. At length there was a light, hurrying tread upon the stair; nearer and nearer it drew—and in another instant the door of Florence’s apartment was hastily unclosed, and Ida Hamilton stood before her! There was a quick burst of tears on the part of each; then Florence Hastings sprung forward and clasped her newly found friend to her heart, returning her caresses with impassioned fondness, and in tones that thrilled to the inmost soul of her companion, murmuring, “Ida—my own Ida! Darling, darling Ida!” The Iceberg was irremediably _thawed_. * * * * *