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.

"There are some things in the past, Irene," said Mr. Emerson, "of

which I must speak, now that I can do so. There are confessions that

I wish to make. Will you hear me?"

"Better," answered Irene, "let the dead past bury its dead."

"I do not seek to justify myself, but you, Irene."

"You cannot alter the estimate I have made of my own conduct," she

replied. "A bitter stream does not flow from a sweet fountain. That

dead, dark, hopeless past! Let it sleep if it will!"

"And what, then, of the future?" asked Mr. Emerson.

"Of the future!" The question startled her. She looked at him with a

glance of eager inquiry.

"Yes, of the future, Irene. Shall it be as the past? or have we both

come up purified from the fire? Has it consumed the dross, and left

only the fine gold? I can believe it in your case, and hope that it

is so in mine. But this I do know, Irene: after suffering and trial

have done their work of abrasion, and I get down to the pure metal

of my heart, I find that your image is fixed there in the

imperishable substance. I did not hope to meet you again in this

world as now--to look into your face, to hold your hand, to listen

to your voice as I have done this day--but I have felt that God was

fitting us through earthly trial, for a heavenly union. We shall be

one hereafter, dear Irene--one and for ever!"




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