TEN years had glided away, yet not in all that time had Jessie Loring received a word of intelligence from Paul Hendrickson.

He had passed from sight like a ship when darkness falls upon the ocean--the morning sees her not again, and the billows give no record of the way she went.

But still Jessie bore his image at her heart; still her love was undimmed, and her confidence unshaken--and still she felt herself bound by the old shackles, which no human hand could break from her fettered limbs.
One day, about this time, as Mrs.Denison sat reading, a servant came into her room and handing her a card, said: "There is a gentleman waiting in the parlor to see you." She looked at the card, and started with surprise.

It bore the name of PAUL HENDRICKSON.
"My dear friend!" she exclaimed, grasping both of his hands, as she stood facing him a few moments afterwards.
"My best friend!" was the simple response, but in a voice tremulous with feeling.
A little while they stood, gazing curiously yet with affectionate interest, into each other's face.
"You are not much changed; and nothing for the worse," said Mrs.
Denison.
"And you wear the countenance of yesterday," he replied, almost fondly.

"How many thousands of times since we parted, have I desired to stand looking into your eyes as I do now! Dear friend! my heart has kept your memory fresh as spring's first offerings." "Where have you been, in all these years of absence ?" Mrs.Denison asked, as they sat down, still holding each other's hands tightly.
"Far away from here; but of that hereafter.