ent of this contact, a light flashed on the maiden's face,
and she exclaimed, with sudden emotion--

"Andrew Howland! Can it be?"

And she stepped back a pace or two, and sunk upon a chair. Andrew
did not relinquish her hand, but sat down by her side, replying, as
he did so--

"Yes, Emily, it is even so. After a long, long absence, I have come
back to my old home, wiser and better, I trust, than when I went
away."

It was some time before Emily looked up or replied; but she did not
make a motion to withdraw the hand which Andrew held with no slight
pressure.

"How often, Emily," continued Andrew, seeing that she remained
silent, "have I thought of the sweet hours we spent together as
children--hours, too often, of stolen delight. Their remembrance
has, many a time, saved me from evil when strongly tempted. But for
that, and the memory of my mother, I should long since have become a
castaway on the ocean of life."

The voice of Andrew became tremulous as he uttered the last
sentence. It was then that Emily raised her eyes from the floor,
gently withdrawing her hand at the same time, and fixed them upon
his face. His words had sent her thoughts back to the old time when
they were children together, and when, to be within him, was one of
her highest pleasures; and, not only that, his words and tones had
reached her heart, and awakened therein an echo.

"It is a long time since you went away," said Emily. "A very long
time."

"Yes; it is a long time. But, the weary slow-passing years are
ended, and I am back again among early scenes and old friends, and
back, I trust, to remain."

"How is your mother?" inquired Emily, after a slight pause.

"I found her much changed--older by twice the number of years that
have elapsed since I went away."

But all that passed between Andrew Howland and Emily Winters in the
hour they spent together at this first meeting, after so long an
absence, we cannot write. For a time, their intercourse was marked
by a reserve and embarrassment on the part of Emily; but this
insensibly wore off, and, ere the young man went away, their hearts,
if not their lips, had spoken to each other almost as freely as in
the days of childhood.

Not many months elapsed ere the tender regard that was spontaneously
awakened in their bosoms when children, and which had never ceased
to exist, led them into a true marriage union, to which no one
raised even a whisper of opposition. Almost at the very ti