AFTER the storm! How long the treasure remained buried in deep waters! How long the earth showed unsightly furrows and barren places! For nearly twenty years there had been warm sunshine, and no failure of the dews nor the early and latter rain. But grass had not grown nor flowers blossomed in the path of that desolating tempest. Nearly twenty years! If the history of these two lives during that long period could be faithfully written, it would flood the soul with tears.

Four years later than the time when we last presented Irene to the reader we introduce her again. That meeting in the picture-gallery had disturbed profoundly the quiet pulses of her life. She did not observe Mr. Emerson\'s companion. The picture alone had attracted her attention; and she had just began to feel its meaning when an audible sigh reached her ears. The answering sigh was involuntary. Then they looked into each other\'s faces again—only for an instant—but with what a volume of mutual revelations!

It was four years subsequent to this time that Irene, after a brief visit in New York to her friend, Mrs. Everet, returned to her rural home. Mrs. Everet was to follow on the next day, and spend a few weeks with her father. It was yet in the early summer, and there were not many passengers on the-boat. As was usual, Irene provided herself with a volume, and soon after going on board took a retired place in one of the cabins and buried herself in its pages. For over three hours she remained completely absorbed in what she was reading. Then her mind began to wander and dwell on themes that made the even pulses of her heart beat to a quicker measure; yet still her eyes remained fixed on the book she held in her hand. At length she became aware that some one was near her, by the falling of a shadow on the page she was trying to read. Lifting her head, she met the eyes of Hartley Emerson. He was standing close to her, his hand resting on the back of a chair, which he now drew nearly in front of her.

"Irene," he said, in a low, quiet voice, "I am glad to meet you again in this world." And he reached out his hand as he spoke.

For a moment Irene sat very still, but she did not take her eyes from Mr. Emerson\'s face; then she extended her hand and let it lie in his. He did not fail to notice that it had a low tremor.

Thus received, he sat down.

"Nearly twenty years have passed, Irene, since a word or sign has passed between us."

Her lips moved, but there was no utterance.

"Why should we not, at least, be friends?"

Her lips moved again, but no words trembled on the air.

"Friends, that may meet now and then, and feel kindly one toward the other."

His voice was still event in tone—very even, but very distinct and impressive.

At first Irene\'s face had grown pale, but now a warm flush was pervading it.

"If you desire it, Hartley," she answered, in a voice that trembled in the beginning, but grew firm ere the sentence closed, "it is not for me to say, \'No.\' As for kind feelings, they are yours always—always. The bitterness passed from my heart long ago."

"And from mine," said Mr. Emerson.

They were silent for a few moments, and each showed embarrassment.

"Nearly twenty years! That is a long, long time, Irene." His voice showed signs of weakness.

"Yes, it is a long time." It was a mere echo of his words, yet full of meaning.

"Twenty years!" he repeated. "There has been full time for reflection, and, it may be, for repentance. Time for growing wiser and better."

Irene\'s eyelids drooped until the long lashes lay in a dark fringed line on her pale cheeks. When she lifted them they were wet.

"Yes, Hartley," she answered with much feeling, "there has been, indeed, time for reflection and repentance. It is no light thing to shadow the whole life of a human being."

"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............