“As I have shadowed yours.”

“No, no,” she answered quickly, “I did not mean that; as I have shadowed yours.”

She could not veil the tender interest that was in her eyes; would not, perhaps, if it had been in her power.

At this moment a bell rang out clear and loud.  Irene started and glanced from the window; then, rising quickly, she said—­

“We are at the landing.”

There was a hurried passage from cabin to deck, a troubled confusion of thought, a brief period of waiting, and then Irene stood on the shore and Hartley Emerson on the receding vessel.  In a few hours miles of space lay between them.

“Irene, darling,” said Mrs. Everet, as they met at Ivy Cliff on the next day, “how charming you look!  This pure, sweet, bracing air has beautified you like a cosmetic.  Your cheeks are warm and your eyes are full of light.  It gives me gladness of heart to see in your face something of the old look that faded from it years ago.”

Irene drew her arm around her friend and kissed her lovingly.

“Come and sit down here in the library.  I have something 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.